That’s Life: Fortunate son
When I moved to Denver in 1983, I had a parttime gig in radio nailed down, but I needed another part-time job, so I went to a retail store where I was summarily dismissed by Human Resources. They weren’t hiring.
“Where are you from?” she asked absently as I turned to leave.
“North Dakota,” I said.
“Come back. We’ve got a job for you.”
I don’t know if people from the Dakotas still have the reputation of being good workers and I have no intention of finding out. I’m pooped. But that experience cemented the idea that maybe we are a little bit special out here on the prairies. If so, it’s easy to draw a line from our immigrant heritage to now. I know my parents instilled a work ethic in me. Or maybe it was guilt. No matter, it was just as effective.
It’s more than that that makes us unique, I think. So many of us were raised in small towns, and the thing about small towns is they have the elbow room to nurture big personalities.
I often describe my experience as a Tom Sawyer childhood, idyllic, a small river town overflowing with adventures and mischief. But what made Frederick, SD, special for me were the characters, the retired old men who often parked on the benches on Main Street to tell stories and bask in the sun.
There were only a couple of “town kids” my age when we moved to Frederick from Edgeley, ND, in 1968, but they lived on the edge of town and were usually occupied with farmrelated activities. So my friends were, as my mom affectionately referred to them, “the old farts.”
I think the farts decided to adopt me when I started a GRIT paper route in grade school. I had 32 subscribers but I ordered another 20 copies each week to hawk on the street. I realize now that life is about sales in one form or another and sales is about overcoming objections.
“I can’t read.” “There are lots of pictures.”
My favorite challenge was Werner Groop, a bib-overall-wearing leprechaun. He’d make you work for your 15¢. One day, I was pitching the paper to a couple of farmers outside the Cenex station when Werner interrupted. “Aren’t you going to sell me one?”
“I just sold you one at the elevator.”
“That must have been my twin brother.”
Then it began, a knock-down, drag-out argument over whether or not I was going to sell him (another) paper. He insisted he had a twin. I insisted he did not, but finally I broke down, took his 15¢ as he strode away triumphantly. He did have a brother, Eino, but Eino was as droll as Werner was feisty.
We were fortunate enough to have two cafes—the Hilltop Cafe and the City Cafe. The farts would gather at the City Cafe for coffee mostly to tease Signe and Patsy who didn’t have a sense of humor, which made it that much more fun. One day Eino ordered oyster stew for dinner. He fished around in the broth with his spoon for a while before finding an oyster. “Hey, Signe,” he said. “Does this one have a brother?” I don’t remember how Eino died. It could have been murder.
There were also two bars—the Legion and the Pond(a)rosa. I know. It was spelled with an “A” and I still don’t know why. Maybe to stay out of legal trouble with Hoss and Little Joe. The Legion served hard liquor, “The Pond” served 3.2 beer and attracted North Dakota teens on weekends. If you were 18, you could have a beer in Frederick. I learned to play pool there in fourth grade. For 50¢ they’d let you stuff bar rags in the pockets and play as long as you like. Frederick daycare.
Dogs were allowed, too. Dale Doty, who hauled the town’s garbage in a 1940’s-something truck, stopped in daily for a tap Hamm’s—always with a sprinkle of salt—with his sidekick, Skippy, a big black mutt, perched on the stool next to him. Dale also put in a big garden with a small Allis-Chalmers tractor on which he’d modified the seat to accommodate an old couch cushion so Skippy could ride along.
One summer, students from the Bible college in Ellendale, ND, picketed the Pondarosa. I always count the churches and bars in a small town to see who’s winning— God or Anheuser Busch. Many years after the bar protest, the Pondarosa fell into disrepair and was torn down. The Methodists and Lutherans are winning.
I had dinner with Mom yesterday. I usually come in on the south entrance, over the river, and past the park. There are shiny new elevators and voids on Main Street where so many of my memories were formed. The memories, though, are still there.