It Was A Dark and Stormy Night!

I woke up this past Sunday morning surprised to see that it had snowed over night.  It wasn't any major snowfall, only an inch or so, but just enough to cover the driveway and sidewalk.  I was surprised because the forecast for the week hadn't mentioned anything about snow, only that the temperatures were going to be unseasonably high for the next five days. When I saw the white stuff on the ground I couldn't help thinking back to thirty six years ago, just this time of year, in fact, to another unexpected snow event that will stay in my memory forever.

It was the third weekend in February of 1980 and my wife and I had just been blessed, through adoption, with a baby girl.  Our daughter, Lindsay, had arrived on this earth on January 14 of that year and six weeks later, on February 21, a Thursday evening, to be exact, we received a call saying that we should drive to Sioux City to meet her for the first time and to bring her home to stay.  

Lindsay on February 22, 1980.
The day that we first brought her home.
She was six weeks old.

We spent the next two days, Friday and Saturday, shopping with Lindsay for baby supplies and getting to know each other and to bond.  On Sunday morning, February 24, we decided that we wanted to share our good fortune with family and so we decided to take a trip to Windom, Minnesota so that my parents could meet their new granddaughter.  We were living in Cherokee, Iowa at the time and it was about a 100 mile trip, or just under two hours to Windom.  We loaded up our ’77 Dodge Charger and off the three of us went.  We had a great afternoon at my parents house and I remember being as proud as the proverbial peacock being able to show this adorable little bundle to Mom and Dad.  They were thrilled and both of them fussed over her quite a bit, something that wasn't all that normal for my dad.

We ate a late afternoon meal in Windom and headed for home just as it was starting to get dark. By the time we had made it to Worthington, just 28 miles down Minnesota highway 60, it had started to snow lightly.  But it seemed to be just flurries and nothing to worry about.  However, when we got to the Iowa border, just 10 miles south of Worthington the snow had started to come down more heavily and it was starting to accumulate just a little on the highway.  I had driven through some bad weather a number of times before and this snowfall certainly wasn't going to be anything more than a minor annoyance.  I was sure about that, so I wasn't at all worried.

Twenty two miles farther south, at Sanborn, Iowa things were not looking so good.  The snowfall by now was heavy and visibility was extremely limited.  As I recall, I was now only able to drive 35 to 40 miles per hour and, I'm sure, I was starting to grip the wheel just a little bit tighter.  If you've ever driven in a heavy snowfall I'm sure you know what I mean by that.  By this time LeeAnn and I were both starting to worry about the baby and I know that I was also questioning my common sense as well as my worthiness to be a father.  I started wondering how any responsible parent could bring their precious infant daughter out into dangerous conditions such as this.

Just to the east of Sanborn we turned south on Highway 59 and headed for Cherokee, just 35 more miles to go.  But this wasn't going to be an easy 35 mile drive.  The wind had picked up now and it was out of the west blowing snow across the roadway and causing white out conditions that were so bad that, at times, made it hard to see anything beyond the hood of my own car. Eventually we crawled in to the little town of Primghar and got some temporary relief driving through town.  The lights along the highway made it easier to see and I recall that we gave some thought to trying to find a hotel or someplace to stay and wait out the storm.  

The lure of the warmth and safety of home was evidently too strong, however, and so we pressed on.  Cherokee was now just 28 miles further and, if we had made it this far, surely we could make it 28 more miles if I was really, really careful.  Lindsay, was strapped in the back seat and sleeping through all of this.   Just six weeks old, she wasn't worried one bit.  Her new parents, however, were frightened and frazzled.

Just south of Primghar driving became virtually impossible.  The snow had accumulated on the roadway to the point that the car was straining to get through it.  There was no way to tell if I was in the right lane or not.  In fact, it was not even possible to be sure that I was on the road at all.  Everything was white and covered with snow.  I couldn't tell the roadway from the ditch and the snow was falling and drifting furiously making visibility impossible.  I could not see where I was going.

At this point I was dragging along at 5 miles per hour and both LeeAnn and I had our windows rolled down, me trying see where the road was and she trying to see where the ditch was, when I noticed a light in the window of a farm house on the left.   I inched along as slowly as I could, just enough to keep the car moving without getting stuck in the snow.  I was sure that I saw the farm driveway so I turned toward it and gunned the engine just enough to get the car off of the highway and up into the end of the driveway. I remember telling LeeAnn that I was going to see if whoever lived there could help, but I had no idea what I really expected.  I just knew that I couldn't go any farther.

As I walked up the driveway, stumbling through the piles of snow, I noticed that a man had come to the door and was watching my approach.  I remember that he shouted something to me, but I couldn't make out what he said, so I just hollered back at him telling him that I had my wife and baby in the car, we were on our way to Cherokee, and we just couldn't make it any further.  Thankfully, the man told me to get my wife and baby out of the car and come on in.

It was a young farm family that lived there.  We recounted the details of our driving adventure and they understood our plight and took pity on us.  They said that we should not worry about trying to get to Cherokee that night and they would let us stay with them.  They apologized that they had no spare room for us but said that, if we didn't mind sleeping on the living room floor, they did have plenty of extra blankets and pillows.  I can't even begin to describe the relief that I felt, and the gratitude.  We were safe and warm, all three of us including the baby, and that was most important.

The morning came and the snow had stopped.  We said our thank yous and goodbyes to the family that had been so gracious and hospitable and then the  farmer helped me dig our car out so that I could back onto the highway and proceed home to Cherokee.  The highway was treacherous as the plows hadn't been out yet, but the visibility was perfect.  It was a cold, crisp, clear morning.  With God’s help, and that of the family of "Good Samaritans" that he led us to, we had survived this ordeal.  

Over the years the memory of that night and the strong emotions that came with it, have vividly stayed with me.  Because of that experience, I'm smarter now. I always check the weather report before heading out on the highway and I just won't go anywhere in bad weather if I can help it.  Lindsay survived the whole thing quite well too. She grew up to be an incredible young woman. Smart, talented and beautiful.  Pretty much everything you could hope for in a daughter.  I can't help but think that there must be some memory of that terrible, cold, snowy night stuck somewhere in her psyche too, though, as she grew up hating the snow and cold of midwest winters and now lives in the warm and dry climate of Arizona. So you see, just like me, she’s smarter now too.

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Black is Black....I Want My Maroon & Gold Back

Anyone who knows me knows that I’m a long standing, loyal and totally committed fan of the University of Minnesota football and basketball programs.  I have been for about 60 years, going back to my childhood days growing up on the farm in southwest Minnesota.  I have always loved the maroon and gold color combination worn by the Golden Gopher teams and I was proud to wear those colors myself as they were also the school colors worn by the Heron Lake Falcons  when I was earning  varsity letters during my high school athletic career.  Sixty years of unwavering devotion to the Maroon & Gold! 

Tonight the Ohio State Buckeyes, currently ranked #22 in the latest  Associated Press NCAA Basketball poll, will visit Williams Arena to take on my hallowed Gophers and I’m not sure that I’ll be able to bring myself to watch.  Why?  Because tonight the University of Minnesota men’s basketball program is doing something so reprehensible and repulsive that I don’t think I can bear to see it. Tonight the Golden Gophers plan to wear……….black uniforms.  Black Uniforms!  With gold trim!  Like Iowa, or Purdue.  It’s enough to make me want to run to the bathroom stool.  The very thought of it nauseates me.

Why are they doing this?  Who is responsible for this abomination?  I’m pretty sure it’s not head coach Richard Pitino.  He has enough to be concerned about right now with two senior guards underperforming and a bench weakened by some disgruntled players leaving the program.  Plus, I think he’s just too smart to be so stupid.  I’m certain that this is the work of  some athletic administration underlings who have the misguided notion that black will somehow excite the student fan base.  They’re promoting this game as a “black out” night and all of the fans are supposed to wear black.

Now, that would make some sense if Williams Arena was the home of the Iowa Hawkeyes which, of course, it's not..  Williams Arena has been the sacred shrine of Golden Gopher basketball since 1928 and every one of those teams have worn Maroon and Gold.

Coach Pitino and DeAndre Mathieu 
wearing the Maroon & Gold!

The U of M isn’t the first program to be infected with this tradition attacking syndrome. There has been an epidemic of this insidious nonsense spreading throughout college and professional sports in the last few years and there doesn’t seem to be any way to stop it.  Locally both the University of Sioux Falls and South Dakota State University have  caught the dreadful bug.  USF, whose colors have traditionally been Purple and White, now wear black uniforms in football and basketball, while the Jackrabbits of SDSU have besmirched their Blue and Gold legacy with black and grey. 

This absurdity of messing with tradition in sports uniforms goes far beyond just desecrating color schemes, however.  Don’t even get me started on the superfluity of the University of Oregon’s football uniforms. 

This summer the Minnesota Twins, whom I hold in much the same esteem as my Golden Gophers, have decided that they no longer will have pin stripes adorning their home uniforms, and they have added gold to their traditional navy blue and red color scheme.  This isn’t the first time in their 54 year history that they’ve monkeyed around with their uniform design.  Thankfully, they brought back their original home uniform, the one that they wore when I first fell in love with the team back in 1961(read more about that here) as an alternative home uniform a few years ago.  They will continue to wear that one on occasion again this season.  I always enjoy watching the games a little more whenever they sport that traditional look.  Unfortunately their main home uniform this season will have a more peculiar and unfamiliar look. Obviously, I am not impressed.

Harmon Killebrew wearing the
 traditional Twins Uniform.

I’m not a New York Yankee fan or a Green Bay Packer fan which, in both cases, is an understatement, but I do greatly admire their tradition.  A tradition that is manifested in their enduring uniform designs.  There is no doubt as to who they are, all you need is to see the uniform to know that it’s the Yankees or the Packers.  At the college level the Michigan Wolverines come to mind.  They’ve had those same, strange looking winged helmets since 1935.  I hope they never change, and I’ll bet they never will.  I firmly believe that the success that the Yankees, Packers and Michigan Wolverines have had over the years has a great deal to do with the heritage of their attire.

But, back to tonight’s game at Williams Arena.  I suppose I could just listen to the game on the radio, which I did so often in my youth.  I would listen to the play by play of legendary Gopher announcer Ray Christensen and, though I wasn’t there, I could imagine how the Minnesota players looked in those Maroon & Gold uniforms as they took on the Hawkeyes or the Boilermakers, who were wearing their ugly black and gold.  If only Ray hadn‘t retired in 2001.  So what’s an old curmudgeon to do.  Maybe I’ll just listen to these old clips of Ray in his heyday and read about the Gopher’s victory in the Minneapolis Star-Tribune tomorrow morning.

http://www.pavekmuseum.org/christensen.mp3

The Soundtrack of My Life

The music that we ‘baby boomers” listened to as we were growing up in the 1950’s and ‘60’s seems to have stuck with us like the music of no other generation did before, or has since.   This may surprise some and others may argue, but I really do think it’s true.  If not, how do you explain the continuing popularity of “oldies” radio?

One of the reasons that this is so, I believe, is that the music of our time defined us and united us as a generation.  We listened to music that reached deeply into our core.  There were songs that made you feel good and there were songs that made you cry,  and whatever mood you happened to be in at the time, when you turned on your radio or dropped a record onto your turn table, that mood could be intensified or changed, depending on the song.   The music could reach into the depths of your soul and take your emotions to higher, or deeper levels

As I’ve grown older I’ve come to realize more and more just how much the music has meant to me.  Lately I’ve taken to calling it the “soundtrack of my life”.  I think this is so because, as we all know, the older we get the more memories we have and cherish.  Music has a way of helping us to recall those memories and the feelings that we had at the time the memories were made.  It takes us back to those times and places like almost nothing else can.  Those times and places that shaped us,  became a part us, and helped to make us of who we are today.

Since I’m now well into my 70th decade of life, I have lots of memories that I hold onto which makes the soundtrack of my life a rather long one.  There aren’t enough records, compact discs or cassette tapes to hold all of the music that makes up my personal soundtrack. A great deal of it is, however, stored in my personal music collection which,  by my best estimate,  includes well over 2,000 individual songs from the ‘50’s, 60’s and early ‘70’s stored on one or the other of those devices and on my Rock-Ola juke box that I fire up from time to time.

There are obviously too many songs connected to  too many memories to include in this writing, but here’s just a small sampling of the music and the memories that are a part of the soundtrack of my life.

1957 - I was just ten years old in the spring of 1957. I remember a bus ride to our elementary school’s annual,  year end,  school “picnic” at Arnold’s Park (Lake Okoboji) Iowa.  Someone had a transister radio on the bus and I’ll always remember hearing “Party Doll” by Buddy Knox on the radio several times that day.  That song always takes me back to those fun times at Arnold’s Park.

1959 - My family took a vacation trip to our cousin’s Wisconsin dairy farm in the summer of ‘59.  I vividly recall that they had a radio in the barn and and it seemed that “Lipstick on Your Collar” by Connie Francis and “My Heart Is An Open Book” by Carl Dobkins, Jr were played on that radio each afternoon at milking time.  Hearing either of those songs today instantly takes me back to Wisconsin, that barn, and the fun we had on that visit, even now some 55 years later.

1960 - New Years Eve.  I remember my brothers and I listened to the radio that evening as KOMA radio from Oklahoma City played the Top 100 Count Down from the year 1960.  I remember waiting to hear where some of my favorites would place on the final list. Songs like “Devil or Angel” by Bobby Vee, “Cathy’s Clown” by the Everly Brothers, “Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini” by Brian Hyland or “Alley Oop“ by the Hollywood Argyles (as you can tell, my musical tastes were quite eclectic).  I often get taken back to that time and place when I hear any those songs.

1961 - I believe it was during ‘61 that Dick Biondi, the venerable DJ from WLS in Chicago started using the Shirelles “Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow” as his opening theme song.  Every time I hear that song today I think back to my room on the farm north of Heron Lake  listening to Dick Biondi spin the records each night from WLS in Chicago.

1963 -  I turned 16 in 1963 and the musical memories of that year bring back old time feelings constantly.    I fell in love at a school dance in January of ‘63 dancing to “Roses Are Red” by Bobby Vinton and, when things didn’t work out so well a few months later, I cried myself to sleep at night listening to “Out of My Mind” by Johnny Tillotson, "The Rhythm of The Rain" by the Cascades,  and “End of The World” by Skeeter Davis.  Then, that summer shooting hoops in my backyard and listening to the radio strategically placed in the garage window I got invigorated by songs like “Walk Like A Man” by the Four Seasons,  along with the Beach boys “Surfin USA” and “Shutdown”, and Jan and Dean’s “Surf City”.  How I‘d like to be able to go out in my backyard now, crank up those tunes and drain a few three pointers and reverse lay-ups.  My neighbors would probably call the cops.

1964 -The Beatles arrived.  The first time I ever heard a Beatles song I was at my friend Butch Hanson’s house and “She Loves You” came on the radio.  I was hooked instantly and every time I hear that song, or “I Want To Hold Your Hand”,  today I remember where I was when I first heard them.

1969 -  I spent a fantastic winter in Watertown, South Dakota, student teaching at the junior high school from January through March of ‘69.  Some people might recall that winter was one of the coldest and snowiest on record.  I’ve always fondly remembered my last weekend in Watertown in late March cruising around town with two of the other student teachers who had become good friends.  The sun was out, the snow was melting and “Proud Mary” by Creedence Clearwater Revival was playing on the radio.  It was a great day and Proud Mary takes me back there each time.

1972 - Early in ’72 I met the lady who would become my wife.  Around that time Neil Young’s “Heart of Gold” had hit the charts and it seemed like whenever I heard that song I would think of her.  I had been searching for a “heart of gold” for a long time and sometime in the spring of that year I began to realize that I might have found one.  We were married in April, 1973 just as Stevie Wonder’s “You Are The Sunshine of My Life” was hitting the pop charts.  Thinking back on that time I’ve come to understand that those two songs pretty much sum up that time of my life.  In my search for a “heart of gold” I finally had found “the sunshine of my life”. We’ve been together for 42 years come next April and the sun is still shining!

Of course, all of that is just a part of the story.  I hope that each of you has your own soundtrack.  We were lucky, we “boomers”, because our music was either so positive and uplifting or so emotive and impassioned. I think that many of us have turned out better because of it.  I worry about those who grew up with the music that came later.  It seems to this old curmudgeon that today’s music is lacking in so many of those qualities that made our music great, that allowed it stand the test of time.  Our music truly was “here to stay, and it will never die"!

Twenty Five Years As The "Voice of the Vikings"!

This fall I will be starting my 25^th year as the public address announcer for Augustana College football and basketball.  Like so many other things that have happened in the lifetime of an old-timer like me, these years have flown by.  Whether or not this season of Augie athletics will be my last is yet to be determined.  I have mentioned to several people that 25 years is long enough but, who knows, maybe Augie’s move back to the Arena for home basketball games will stoke my fire again just like the football team’s move from Howard Wood to Kirkeby-Over Stadium did a few years back.  So, as far as this being my last year as the PA “Voice of the Vikings”, I guess it’s too soon to tell.

Speaking of telling, I’ve decided to use this blog to tell the true story of just how I got started in this PA announcer “gig” in the first place.

I first became aware of the role of the PA announcer at sports events as a young kid way back in the late 1950’s listening to University of Minnesota football and basketball games on the radio. The PA announcer for the U of M and for the state high school basketball tournament in those days was a man named Julius Perlt.  Perlt was an icon as recognizable as Goldy Gopher himself to Gopher fans, and many other fans across the country. He had a unique voice which is difficult to describe.  Unless you had the experience of actually hearing it for yourself, there is no way that I could do it justice, but I can say that it was rather quaint, piercing and somewhat esoteric in that, as far as I could tell, you had to be born and raised in Minnesota to fully appreciate it.  Until 1963 I had only heard Julius Perlt’s voice on the radio or on TV, but that year I attended the state basketball tournament for the first time.  One of the first things I heard as I entered Williams Arena on the first day of the tournament was the voice of Julius Perlt.  I was quickly consumed with chills that engulfed my body from head to toe.  I could hardly believe that I was hearing that voice in person.  His voice, almost more than the games themselves, made that tournament a great experience for me.

There were three other PA announcers that had influence on me through my years.  One was Al Swanson.  Swanson was a high school English and speech teacher in Worthington, Minnesota.  He also served as the public address announcer for Worthington High School sports and for the district and regional high school basketball tournaments played in Worthington’s spacious gym.  Though Julius Perlt’s voice is hard to describe, Swanson’s can easily be described as commanding and forceful.  Hearing his voice addressing the crowd made every spectator feel like they were in attendance at a very significant and, perhaps historical, event.  When he announced the starting line-up, not only were the players pumped up and ready to rumble, but so was the crowd.  The crowds were always huge for those tournament games back in the 1960’s and people would come early and begin to fill the place long before the game began.  I’ll always remember Swanson imploring the fans to make room for the late comers with a booming voice saying, “More people need to be seated, so get to know your neighbor, and please squeeze together!”  Years later I used that line a few times myself whenever Augie hosted South Dakota State at the Elmen Center. 

When I first came to the Sioux Falls area as a young teacher and coach at West Lyon High school in the early 1970’s I began to attend Augustana basketball games whenever I could.  The Augie basketball announcer during those years was A. Richard “Pastor Pete” Petersen.  Pastor Pete had served as the campus pastor, dean of men, associate dean of students, assistant football coach, and assistant athletic director at Augie, and for more than 30 years he was the public address announcer at all Augustana athletic events.   He had a strong, powerful, deep voice that absolutely captured everyone’s attention. The sound system at the arena, though not what it is today, was exceptional for it’s time and Pastor Pete’s voice resonated like thunder. I’ve often heard people say that it was like hearing “the Voice of God”.  To me that describes it perfectly.

In January of 1992, just a few short months after winning the 1991 World Series, the Minnesota Twins Caravan came to Sioux Falls.  I remember that Kent Hrbek, relief pitcher Carl Willis, and radio announcer John Gordon were there, but the member of the group that I was most interested in meeting was long time Twins public address announcer Bob Casey.  This was three years after I had started announcing Augustana football and basketball games and I thought it would be interesting to meet a fellow announcer of Casey’s stature, so after the program was over I sought him out.  I found him to be cordial and unassuming and we spoke together at some length about the role and function of the PA announcer. During that conversation, Mr. Casey gave me some simple advice that has served me well over the last 22 years.  He said, “There are two things that you need to know if you want to be a good PA guy.  One is that you don’t have to have a great voice to do the job as long as you put energy and enthusiasm into it.” He went on, “the second thing is don’t try to copy anyone else. Just be yourself and develop your own style.” That was great advice from one of the best!  Up until that time I think I had been trying too hard to copy the Perlts, Swansons and Pastor Petes of the announcing world but, because of Bob Casey’s sage advice, I began to develop my own style, always with energy and enthusiasm.

Now it’s time for the true confessions.  I’ve been asked how I got started as a PA announcer in the first place. You might be surprised to learn that it started with a little white lie.  Obviously by now you know that I have always been interested in the role of the PA announcer and I always had a desire to be one, but until one day in 1987 the opportunity just had not been there.  I was in my first year as a counselor at Huron High School and I heard, through the grapevine, that our Athletic Director was looking for someone to announce the football games that fall.  I thought that this could be the opportunity that I had been waiting for so I went to him and offered my services.  He asked me if I had any experience doing public address and I was sure that, if I said no, he would say no in reply.

It was one of those make or break moments.  What should I tell him?   I had imagined myself in this role so many times.  As a kid I had actually practiced the art frequently while playing back yard games so that, in my mind, I did have some experience.  However, I was pretty sure that to Mr Heitema, the A.D.,  those things wouldn’t qualify me and so, out of desperation I told a little white lie and said that I had been a football PA guy at my previous school.  The next thing I knew I found myself in the announcers booth at Tiger Stadium and I was the “Voice of the Huron Tigers” for the next three years.  With the help of a friend and community leader, Lee Larsen, I also was asked to do the basketball games at the Huron Arena as well.

When we moved to Sioux Falls in the summer of 1990 I wasn’t ready to just give up my announcing endeavors so I wrote a letter and sent it to the Athletic Directors at all of the Sioux Falls high schools and also to the University of Sioux Falls and Augustana College  I included some recommendation letters from Huron coaches, administrators and community people, one of which was written by Lee Larsen, who just happened to be an old Augustana football player and Augie booster.  Then, a month before the 1990 football season was to get underway, Bill Gross, who was Augie’s Director of Athletics at the time, called me and offered me the football announcing position. As the saying goes, the rest is history.  I’m sure that Lee Larsen played a big part in Bill deciding to make that phone call, and I will always be grateful to him.

It has been a great 25 years. A fulfillment of a dream, you might say.  The people at Augustana have been great to work alongside of over the years.  I have such admiration for people like Bill Gross, Jeff Holm, Bryan Miller, Jon Eng and so many others in the Augustana athletic and academic community.  Bill has retired from the Athletic Department now and Jeff has moved on to another position.  A new administration has taken over and I’m anxious to get to know them as well. 

On September 13 the Vikings kick-off their home season against Minnesota-Duluth and I’ll be behind the microphone for my 25^th home opener.  It seems like only yesterday that it all began.  Thanks to everyone who made it possible and Go Vikings!

I Can't Go Home Again

I was born in the hospital in Windom, Minnesota on May 16, 1947.  After a short stay my parents took me home to the farm on section twenty nine of Springfield Township, Cottonwood County, Minnesota.  The farm was 320 acres on the west side of the section and the house, barn and other outbuildings were located just ½ mile north of the intersection of Minnesota Highway 62 and county road 5.

It was an idyllic setting.  The house was antiquated, with no running water or centralized heating system.  We did have electricity, but there were times when kerosene lanterns would have to be used because a strong thunder storm or snow storm knocked out the power. There was an oil burning stove in the living room and a coal and cob burning stove in the kitchen which served the dual purpose of cooking our meals and keeping the kitchen warm on those cold winter nights.  It wasn’t until the mid 1950’s that we finally got running water to the house.  Prior to that our drinking water came from the well located down by the barn and the water used for laundry, baths, and dishwashing was hand pumped from a cistern on the north side of the house.  Of course, no running water meant trips to the outhouse whenever nature called.  In the middle of a Minnesota winter that was certainly not a particularly enjoyable experience.

Saturday nights were bath nights and everyone in the family had to take a bath, dirty or not.  After a week I’m pretty sure that we all qualified as dirty.  Baths were taken in a galvanized tub with water that was heated in pails on the old kitchen cook stove.  In the winter the tub would be placed in front of that kitchen stove because that was the warmest place in the house.   We kids had our baths early and, I suspect, that Mom & Dad’s baths came after we were all safely tucked into bed.

During the winter months the only rooms used on the main floor were the living room, kitchen and a porch on the north side of the kitchen where my mother had her washtubs and a ringer washing machine.  The doors to the rest of the rooms on the main level would remain closed until spring because what heat that the oil burning stove could provide was needed just to keep the living room and kitchen warm.  Upstairs there were four rooms and two large storage closets, but just two rooms were heated by registers in the floor that allowed heat to come in from the living room stove below.  My parents slept in one of those rooms and my brothers and I crowded into the other. 

In the 1950’s in rural Minnesota television sets were not found in many homes.  A neighboring family was the first around to own one of those amazing talking picture boxes and we were privileged to be invited over several times to watch with them.  It wasn’t until I was around six years old that we finally got our own TV.  At first there was only one station to watch, KELO from Sioux Falls.  Occasionally we would pull in a weak signal from a Sioux City station and eventually more stations became available and were added to our viewing choices.

Though this description of my early childhood might seem quite primitive to many people, especially those much younger than I, that farm and that old house hold many fond memories for me.  Memories that recall a life that felt simple and carefree. 

The farmstead was surrounded by box elder trees, walnut trees, and evergreens near the house and cottonwoods and poplars in a shelter belt to the north and northwest edge of the farm site.  Each spring and fall hundreds of blackbirds would come to roost in those trees on their migration journey.   I remember many cool crisp fall days walking near the shelter belt, my feet rustling through fallen leaves, listening to the cacophonic sounds of those huge flocks of birds.   Occasionally I would throw a rock up into one of the trees and instantly the cackling would stop and the birds would take flight, filling the sky like a big dark cloud as they moved on toward their ultimate destination.  It never was long, however, before another huge flock would come by, settle into the trees, and serenade us again with their noisy, inharmonious, warbling.

Perhaps my earliest memories go back to around the year 1950.  I would have been three years old that summer.  I remember that we still had a team of work horses on the farm back then. My grandfather was often the one driving the team and I remember him stopping in the yard near the house when they would come in from the field pulling a wagon load of hay or straw.   When he pulled back on the reins and hollered “whoa” the horses would stop and stand there snorting and stomping the ground, impatiently waiting to move on. Perhaps they were anxious to head for the barn and the stock tank filled with cool water to quench their thirst.  I was both fascinated and afraid.  Those horses were really big.

When my dad was in the field my mom would have to feed the chickens and collect the eggs.  I have a vivid memory of going with her to the granary to get a bucket full of shelled corn for the chickens. I was thrilled to be able to go along and help with that chore.  It was fun to scatter the shelled corn on the ground and watch the chickens come running from all directions to gobble up the little golden nuggets.  The problem was that in order to get from the house to the granary we had to open the gate to the fenced area where the horses were kept.  I remember holding tightly to my Mom’s hand as we walked through to the granary and back again, all the while keeping a wary eye on those big animals. 

Chickens were much less scary than horses to a three year old.  I remember one time my Mom let me go outside to play in the yard but it wasn’t long before I got bored with whatever I was doing and decided to go and visit the chicken coop. I must really have been fascinated by those funny looking birds because as I was looking through the chicken wire door of the coop my mother was franticly searching around the yard for me.  I still remember how upset she was when she found me standing there among the chickens and not in the front yard where I was supposed to be.  I guess that was the first time in my life that I was in trouble!

There are so many reasons why I loved that old place.  I took my first steps there.  I learned to ride a bike there.  I learned to drive a tractor there.   I developed my life-long love of sports there playing in the yard with my brothers and listening to radio broadcasts of the Minnesota Gophers football and basketball games. Mostly I remember a safe, secure, and happy existence on that old farm so many years ago.

We left that farm in the fall of 1959 when I was twelve years old.  A farm just one half mile north had more tillable land and provided a greater opportunity for my dad and so we made the short move north.  

Another farm family moved on to the old farmstead and during my high school years I would drive by almost every day.  Each time I’d look over and recall the great times I had had there.  Eventually the people that were on the old place retired and moved into town and someone else moved in, but by then I was long gone, married and with kids of my own.  I was busy with my life and career and didn’t give the old farm much thought.

With the passage of time the buildings on the old farm site began to show their age.  The last people to live there moved into town and still farmed the land, but they let the buildings deteriorate.  A few years ago my brothers and I had the opportunity to go back to that abandoned farm site and tour the old place.  To say it was bittersweet is an big understatement.  It was like visiting an old friend or relative in a nursing home, knowing that this would be the last visit.

As we walked around the yard and through the buildings the memories came rushing at me from all directions.  The house seemed smaller than I remembered but, aside from that, so much of it was still the same.  The location of the light switches, the high ceilings, the stairway railing, the view from the windows, were all like I remembered only it all seemed so old and so fragile now.   The interior of the barn was exactly as I remembered, but the exterior was weather beaten and crumbling.  The garage and the granary had suffered the same fate.  It was sad.

In 1940 a novel by Thomas Wolfe was published entitled “You Can’t Go Home Again”.   For me, now, that title rings true.  A few years ago the owners of the land decided that the buildings were beyond repair. They thought the best thing to do was to put them out of their misery and so they burned them all down.

I drove by one day last fall and everything but the trees were gone.  The sight of that gave me a feeling of emptiness, like a part of me was gone forever.  The finality hit me in the gut but, then as I drove on, I noticed a large flock of blackbirds taking to the sky from those familiar shelter belt trees, and I found some comfort in knowing that, at least for the blackbirds, it still was possible to go home again.     

Two Gifts From God

In January of 1979 my wife and I, knowing that we were unable to have children, decided to get serious about adoption.  We were living in Cherokee, Iowa at that time so we searched for adoption agencies in the area and eventually contacted Lutheran Social Services and Catholic Charities, both located in Sioux City.  After reading through the literature that we received from both agencies, we made the decision to apply for adoption through Catholic Charities.

Applying for adoption is no simple process.  Initially there was a considerable amount of paper work to complete.  After that was submitted there began a rather lengthy study process involving meetings with the agency's social work team both at the agency and in our home.  We both needed to have physical examinations done.  We had to hire an attorney to take care of the legal aspects of the adoption. All of these things were done throughout the summer of 1979. In September we each had to take three days off from work to attend adoptive group meetings with social workers and other prospective adoptive parents, and then on December 11, 1979 we received a letter from Catholic Charities telling us that we had been approved for adoption.  Although that letter came almost 35 years ago, I can still recall the excitement that we felt upon receiving it.  There was no stopping us now.  We were going to be parents!

We had been told throughout the process that once you were approved it could take up to two years, or possibly longer, before a baby would be placed with you.  After being approved you were placed on an active waiting list.  If I remember the process correctly, we were told that the birth mother (and father if he chose to be involved) was given some biographical data on the next few couples on the list and also some from farther down the list who closely matched the criteria that was most important to the birth parent(s).   I've always assumed that because my wife was a pediatric Registered Nurse and I was a School Counselor, we were able to "jump" up the list in a hurry because on Thursday evening February 21, 1980, just a little over two months after being accepted and placed on the waiting list, our phone rang.  I picked it up and was absolutely shocked to hear our case workers voice telling me that the next morning we could drive to the Catholic Charities office in Sioux City and meet our little girl and take her home!

To say that we were unprepared is an understatement.  We were expecting a wait of at least one year so, obviously, there were some important things to take care of quickly.  Things like clothes, blankets, bottles, diapers, etc.  After we were able to catch our breath and calm down a little, we went shopping.

On Friday morning, February 22, after a rather sleepless night we made the 50 mile drive to Sioux City to get our daughter.  We had already decided that she would be named Lindsay. 

When we arrived at the agency we were escorted into the large meeting room were our adoptive group meetings had been held back in September.  A wide array of emotions were swirling through me as I waited for what was about to happen next.  After a few minutes one of the social workers came into the room with the baby in her arms.  She was wrapped tightly in a blanket with one corner of the blanket covering her face.  I put my arm around my wife as the lady handed the bundle to her and slowly lifted the blanket from the baby's face.  There she was...and she was perfect!  The moment was indescribable!  I can truthfully say that it was love at first sight. She was asleep but she seemed so peaceful and content. At that moment we became a family and everything just seemed so right.  We took her home and our lives were changed forever.

About a year after Lindsay was placed with us we decided that it was time to start the process again. After all, we didn’t want Lindsay to grow up without a brother or sister.  When we adopted Lindsay we hadn’t declared a preference for a girl or boy.  We really had no preference and we were told that if we did indicate one sex or the other the whole process could take longer.  However, this time we decided that we would request that the next baby be a boy.  We thought it would be nice to have one of each.

Even though we had been through this before, there were no short cuts involved in the second adoption.  Everything, from the paper work to the group meetings were a part of the process this time around as well.  We met with the social work supervisor to start the process in May of 1981 and by Thanksgiving of that year we were approved for the second adoption.  This time we were fully aware that things could happen fast, but we weren’t expecting it because we had requested that this child be a boy and we were certain that would mean that the wait would be much longer.  So, obviously we were surprised to get a phone call on February 13 telling us that there was a little boy waiting for us at the Catholic Charities branch office in Carroll, Iowa.  It was just one week short of two years since we had gotten the call telling us to come and get Lindsay.

The next morning the three of us headed for Carroll and our first meeting with the newest member of our family, Eric! 

Meeting Eric for the first time was quite different from the quiet, peaceful first encounter that we had with Lindsay.  Eric was wide awake and screaming at the top of his lungs.  He had just awakened and he wanted to be changed and fed.  Lindsay, who was now two years old, took one look at him and must have decided that he was too noisy.  She went back out to the waiting area to see if anyone out there might have something to play with.

After Eric was changed and given a bottle we each got to hold him for the first time.  When he was handed to my wife he calmed down instantly and seemed to find contentment there in her arms. Again, as it was two years earlier, an instantaneous bond of love began to grow in each of us.  Again, it just seemed so right!  When Eric was handed to me I immediately noticed how long he was, especially in comparison to Lindsay, who had been so small and compact two years earlier.  I remember thinking that this little guy might be a tall one someday.  I had no idea how accurate that prediction would turn out to be.

It was just a week or so after we brought Eric home that we got a call from our caseworker.  He asked if we were going to be home later in the week because he needed to come and talk to us.  He said that it was something that he didn’t want to discuss over the phone and he felt it would be best to talk about face to face. He indicated that it had something to do with the baby but, he said we shouldn’t worry, and he would explain when he saw us. This was Monday and we set a time for him to visit with us on Thursday afternoon.

Of course we did worry.  For three days we wondered what the case worker was going to tell us.  Was there a problem with the adoption?  Did the birth mother want the baby back? Was there something wrong with the baby?  Was it a health issue?  It was easy for him to tell us not to worry, but it sure wasn’t easy for us not to.

By the time that Thursday afternoon arrived we were prepared for anything.  Anything, that is, except for what we heard.  Our caseworker explained that when the paperwork on Eric arrived in his Sioux City office from the Carroll branch office he noticed something that he had not been aware of before. The last name of the birth mother had a familiar ring.  He said that upon seeing that name on Eric’s record he decided to pull Lindsay’s file and review it, just to make sure that he wasn’t just imagining something.  When he looked at Lindsay’s file and compared the names of the birth parents in the records of each child he was stunned to learn that Lindsay’s birth father and Eric’s birth mother were.............brother and sister!   Brother and sister!  That meant that Lindsay and Eric were, in actuality, first cousins and no one was aware of this until the paper work was being filed away after the fact.  We couldn’t believe it! 

The case worker said that he wasn’t sure how we would feel about that, so he wanted to explain it to us in person.  He asked us if we were alright with this turn of events.  I can tell you now, as we told him then, we are absolutely and positively thrilled about it! 

To us it has always been clear that it was meant for Lindsay and Eric to be our children.  I have a fairly open view of God.  By that I mean that I don’t believe that God has a hard and fast plan for each of our lives, for if God had each of our lives planned out in total then what good would it do to pray?  However in this case it has always been clear to me that God planned for us to have Lindsay and Eric, together, in our family.  God blessed us with the two greatest gifts imaginable!

Lindsay and Eric have brought much joy and fulfillment to our lives over the years. Both were excellent students and athletes growing up and both have become successful in their careers.  After earning a Business degree Lindsay went to law school and is now an attorney and Eric has a degree in Mechanical Engineering.  Not only have they been successful in their careers but also in life. They have become good people.  We could not be prouder of who they are and what they have become and we could not be more thankful for these two wonderful gifts that God chose to give to us over thirty years ago.

I used to love to put both kids on my lap and read to them. 
It was the best time of my life!