Small Town News

Waaay back in time, shortly after the wheel was invented, I went to college in the town of Northfield, Minnesota. It was a town of about 10,000 back then with not one, but two colleges. The sign on the road that leads into town says, "Northfield, Colleges, Cows, and Contentment." It was a sleepy little town only known for the day that Jesse James and his gang, combined with the Younger brothers, rode in to rob the bank. They hadn't counted on a tough bunch of farmers to shoot at them and all the robbers were wounded. The Younger gang were all caught and/or killed eventually and only Frank James and Jesse James escaped and survived. The banker and one of the Swedish farmers were killed. That was 1876.

That was the biggest news that Northfield ever had and every year around September 7th the town celebrates the Defeat of Jesse James Days. About  one hundred years later I was listening to the radio, another newfangled invention, and heard a voice that would become familiar to many people on the continent. It was Garrison Keillor on the Prairie Home Companion back when you could go to the World Theater in St. Paul, wait in line for ten minutes, and for a buck you could get in and see the show.

One of the segments of that show was Garrison reading the law enforcement report from the Northfield News. One of the most common reasons the police were called was because keys were locked in a car. The reason that this was such an eyebrow raiser was that not many people locked their cars back then and when they did it was usually by mistake, hence the keys were in the vehicle.

In a small town many folks recognize each other by the cars or trucks they drive and since it is a small town every one knows everyone else's business. Most people leave their keys in the car in case someone needs to borrow it. If you leave your purse or wallet on the front seat and someone takes it the merchants at the shops will recognize who the object belongs to. This is a great deterrent and keeps the crime rate low.

Here in Cook County we have a permanent population of just over 5000. In the town of Grand Marais, the social and cultural hub of the county, we have about 1150 souls if everyone stays home and doesn't seek adventure in the larger cities of Silver Bay or Two Harbors which are just down the shore about 50 and 90 miles respectively. If they head the other direction to Thunder Bay, Ontario, they need to bring a passport in order to get back into the U.S. Lately, I have heard some people are headed that way and don't bother with a passport, but I digress.

I wanted to give you all some examples of our Law Enforcement Report which appears weekly in our local fish wrapper newspaper and on our local radio station website. Examples are in italics followed by possible explanation.

Motorist assist.

Maybe a guy needs help with his carburetor.
 
911 hang up. Turned out to be a misdial. No emergency 

They meant to dial a 1-900 number.
 
Pick up sentence-to-serve inmate and return to jail.

If your prisoners are going to work they will need a ride.
 
School release. 

I thought school was released every day about the same time.
 
Traffic stop, warning given.

Don't do that again!
 
Century Link is doing some troubleshooting on the hospital phone lines.

This is a police matter?
 
Inmate visitation. 

They get lonely behind bars.


Vehicle stopped on roadside. 

Better than stopping in the middle of the road.
 
Party reported snow on the Ski Hill Rd, cannot get to Eagle Ridge.

Someone please come and shovel the road in front of me.
 
Foot patrol.

Police car out of gas.
 
Out with person walking on the side of the road. 

The person seemed to need some company.
 
Saw activity at store, was an employee.

Well, in all fairness, it was 3:30 in the morning.
 
Reporting the sled dog crossing does not give enough warning. 

I need more time to plan my sled dog watching.

80-year-old needs medical help.

By the time I'm 80 I'll need medical help, too.


Party turned self in on Cook County warrant.

I didn't want you to have to go to the trouble of picking me up at home.
 
Found stray cat. 

Maybe it wanted to be stray.

92-year-old needs medical help.

Must be the 80-year-old's older brother.
 
Would like deputy to call back. 

It gets lonely here in the winter.

That is just a small example of what our police department gets called to check on during a typical day or two. There is sometimes something more serious, so it is good that they are trained and prepared. They also don't put everything in these public reports. We did have an actual crime last week where someone broke into one of the laundromats and stole quite a bit of money. As you would expect, it was almost all in quarters.

My old jacket Part 2

Heidi filled me in on what we were doing and how I should act. Apparently, I was her American boyfriend and travel companion for the near future and she was my German girlfriend. I was okay with that. Actually, I was very okay with having this obviously intelligent, attractive woman with just a slight accent as my companion for a few days. I knew that acting like her boyfriend would be easy as long as I didn’t let my imagination run away with me and start to believe she really was my girlfriend. After all, we had just met and getting to know her would be something we could do on the twelve hour flight. Did I mention that we were flying coach?  I suppose that was because we wouldn’t attract any attention that way. Remember, though, back then coach wasn’t nearly as cramped as it is now and the food was better. The stewardi (is that the plural of stewardess?) were all lovely and were, of course, multi lingual. Heidi spoke to them in German and they all spoke to me in English. I was able to start picking out a few words, eventually, since English has a lot of Germanic influence. 

Heidi and I spoke of our life experiences, childhoods, music, and other mutual interests in between naps and meals. She sure was cute when she nodded off and I could feel myself getting a little protective of this lovely person.  I had to try and remember that this was just a job. Sometimes that was difficult when she was awake and I looked into those eyes. They were a deep shade of blue with little green flecks.

As we started our descent to Berlin it seemed as though the plane was slowing down more than usual. Heidi noticed the look of concern and told me about the corridors and restrictions of altitude and speed when flying over East German territory and into Berlin. She mentioned the fact that since I was a pilot it would be less stressful if I knew what was going on. It was one of the reasons I was chosen for this job as people not familiar with these ideas of controlled airspace would be more nervous. They wanted someone calm and mellow while in the air leading to the same behavior on the ground. I reminded myself that these employers of mine were pretty smart people to have thought this little charade through so well. 

We landed at Berlin Tegel and took about a fifteen minute cab ride to the Savoy Hotel. It was a classic hotel built around 1930 and used to have famous people stay there like Greta Garbo, Henry Miller, Maria Callas, Thomas Mann, and now me and Heidi. We were shown to our room which turned out to be a suite. After I got situated in the room my  ”girlfriend” Heidi pulled a key out of her pocket and unlocked the door to the adjoining suite and locked it behind her after she entered. Cool spy stuff, I thought. I took out the maps and places to visit books in the room to see where I was in relation to everything else. We were only about a five minute walk to the Berlin Zoo which would keep me busy for a day or two. It would give me something to do while Heidi was next door doing whatever it was she had to do. While I was out on my own I had the feeling of being watched, but never worried much about it as there was a strong police presence in the parts of Berlin that I saw. I knew that they would be on my side if anything happened.

  

We had dinners together, but once in a while afterward she would have to go out and take care of business. I worried about her, of course, but she always came back safely.  Sometimes we would wander around Berlin and she would show me things that only locals know about. She would translate for me and sometimes be a tour guide when she wasn’t working, but we only stayed for three or four days at a time. Sometimes in public she would take my hand for a while and I had to remember that we were doing this for appearances, not because she really liked me that much. She was a professional after all. 

There were three more trips after that and I really enjoyed Heidi’s company. I was just along as a prop, however, and it was a terminal relationship and just a “seasonal” job. I did get to visit with the local police in Berlin on the last visit and they had been keeping an eye on me and Heidi, apparently to make sure we were always okay and not in any danger. I guess they and Interpol took care of their money laundering criminals. I was admiring their jackets as a very comfortable and practical (it covers my butt in the cold winter wind) piece of clothing and they offered me one! I thought it was a great souvenir and it does make a very good barn coat. It also brings back some nice memories.

About a week after my last trip to Berlin I got another piece of mail to be signed for. It was my paycheck for the “work” I did. It was drawn on Deutsche Bank for an amount that shocked me.  It was about a year’s salary for any of my normal jobs and I was able to pay off my credit cards and stashed the rest for later. They sent a note with the check thanking me for my service and said I should be discreet with the money.  I got a regular nine to five job about a month later and stayed with that until I left the Big City for good. Every once in a while something will trigger a memory and I will think back to that time when I was almost a clandestine operator. Whatever I did had been good enough at the time, but I never heard from any of those people again. It does make me want to take a good long vacation in Germany again someday. And I still have my jacket.

My old jacket

This is my barn jacket. Yes, it really is a German Police coat. It’s gore-tex with a zip out liner and about 10 pockets.  How did I get this? Well, it was quite some time ago and it is almost an interesting story.

I was between jobs back in the early 80’s, living with some guys that were college friends and having monthly parties with old friends. Such was single life back then. At one of these parties one of our old classmates showed up and we were catching up on the last few years of our lives when, after a few beers, he mentioned that the work he was doing for the State Department had an opening for a temporary job.  By the way, when we went to our 35^th reunion years later he had just retired after his 30 years of service. Some guys have all the luck. Anyway, he said it involved travel and was only a two month position, but had something to do with an assist to Interpol and the pay was much better than I was used to. 

I had a few irons in the fire, but really nothing solid and my savings were dwindling quickly, so he gave me his card to call and find out more. When the weekend was over I thought I should call and find out more. He set up an appointment with the German Consulate in downtown Minneapolis. I was having all kinds of James Bond thoughts going through my head what with Germany still being divided, Reagan having been inaugurated, the uprising in Gdansk, Poland, the year before, and the U.S. having boycotted the Moscow Olympics( Brezhnev was still in charge)  also in the previous year. I was nervous, but dressed up in a coat and tie as I had no idea what all this was really about.

It was unlike any “interview” I had ever had as the three people in the office asked me all kinds of questions about my life in general. Not much about any of my work experience. There was pastry and coffee and it was just like getting to meet some new friends. After about fifteen or twenty minutes I asked them about the job itself. It turns out that there was a money laundering scheme going on with a Twin Cities connection that they had infiltrated, but still needed time to properly set up the sting operation in Germany. The only reason they needed me was to accompany one of their infiltrators on a couple of quick trips to Berlin. Apparently, this infiltrator was at a lower level of the operation, but they said it was still important for appearances to be nondescript. Well, that was me, Mr. Average, nondescript, nobody knows who the hell he is and he looks harmless. They wanted me to accompany their man a few times so that I would relax and they could keep up appearances.

So it was all not really a big deal. No exploding pens, fast cars, or Playboy models, just a few trips to Germany and that was it. They said they would call me in a few days and I thanked them for their interest and got the nerve to ask them who they were. They had been introduced as Herr so-and-so and I had already forgotten their names (I’m bad that way), but they informed me that they were a diplomat, a German cop, and an Interpol cop. I thanked them and said I was still interested, had the time, and was excited to go to Germany as I had never been there. I had only recently gotten a private pilot license at Wings, Inc. at the St. Paul Downtown Airport (Holmen Field) and loved flying whether or not it was me at the controls.

A few days passed and I got a phone call that offered me the position. I asked if anyone else was doing this and they said I didn’t need to know that. Okay, then. So there was still an element of secrecy, but when I asked them what to tell my friends if they asked they said just to tell them I was a short –time contractor for the State Department and that it required some travel. It was true, but they said keep any details, of which I hardly knew anyway, to myself. For my own safety, they added. That made me a little nervous, but apparently this was not really a big deal and they said that was just standard operating procedure. So when do I start?

A couple of days later I had a knock on the door and had to sign for an envelope that looked fairly plain other than the “signature required” part. Inside it were my airline tickets and hotel information. I checked to see that the plane tickets were for a round trip, they were, and there were what appeared to be some Deutschmarks in denominations from 5 to 1000, but only two of them were 1000 bills. I think the value was around fifty cents U.S. for a Mark, but I don’t remember exactly what it was back then. They had also put a note in there that told me to keep my receipts and to try and keep my purchases to “necessities.” Of course my mind was all over the place as to what constitutes a necessity.  I “need” a new guitar and I “need” some new stereo equipment. I also “need” some new lenses for my camera.  Somehow I figured their idea of need and mine were somewhat different.  

    

It occurred to me that I had never asked, nor did they offer, to tell me exactly how much the job paid. I took a look at what was in my hands and thought for a moment about cashing in the tickets and converting the cash. It was about the equivalent of two months’ salary from my previous job, but this job was only going to be a couple of months. I decided to call the number they had given me for questions and contacts and ask. They wouldn’t be specific, but they said “adequate” since there were three agencies involved. At least that I knew of.  Two days later a money order for a thousand dollars came in the mail with a note to say this would help cover my day to day living expenses until my actual paycheck was written. Since my share of the rent and utilities was about $250 a month back then I figured that I was going to be okay even if the pay itself wasn’t much. The fact that I would get a few quick trips to Germany in the meantime was really what I was looking forward to.

Three days later I was at the Minneapolis Airport (MSP) finding my way to the right concourse and to meet “my man” as he was referred to and begin. My passport was in hand and I found my way to the Lufthansa counter to check in my suitcase. It was a smaller one since the trip was only for a few days and my carry on was just a soft-sided briefcase. I was dressed casually as I waited in the short line to check in. When my turn came and I put my bag on the scale the uniformed woman at the counter informed me that my travel companion was waiting for me over there, pointing to an empty row of seats with a woman sitting at the end. She was an attractive, casually dressed woman with a large purse. As I approached her and began to extend my hand she got out of her seat and gave me a big hug which pleasantly surprised me. “I am Heidi,” she whispered in my ear. “Of course you are,” I thought, “I'm J...”, “Ssshhh, I know all about you," she whispered. I decided right then that this might be the best job I ever had.

To be continued...

Just another day

There has been enough coverage of the tragedy in America, but the reaction from good people has given me a reason to hope that this can be squelched and we can still move forward in due time.

So purely for entertainment purposes I intend to tell you about my trip into work this morning.

First, some background. I have a two mile trip down our rural gravel road to the U.S. Highway 61 where my elevation changes from 1200 feet above sea level down to 600 feet above sea level right next to Lake Superior.

Our place is toward the left side of this picture and just about at the top of the hillside. What happens on the trip down are changes in atmospheric conditions caused by elevation and the proximity to the lake. The worst that can happen in summer is that your vehicle windows will fog up suddenly.

Winter is another matter altogether. We can have snow at the farm and rain at the lake. Or rain and freezing rain. Or just rain on a frozen road. We had the latter in the past 24 hours. We never used to have rain in the winter, but that was thirty years ago. Things are very different now (but that isn't true according to the idiocracy in charge) and we get rain in the winter along with the usual snow and sub zero temperatures.The road is plowed by the county as the school bus needs to take kids to school and needs to get through so that the kids don't turn out as stupid as the previous generation. We can only hope.

Usually the road is covered in hard-packed snow and he plows usually put down a little sand in the slippery spots. Today, however, is Saturday and the school kids and plow drivers sleep in. I was expected to be at work at eight this morning after a night of temperatures hovering around freezing and an occasional light drizzle.

I pull out onto the road in four wheel drive expecting it to be slippery. It was, but by the farm it wasn't so bad. There were even a few parts of road bed exposed giving me some traction. As I descended the hill I could tell by the glare on the road that conditions were deteriorating rapidly. Gravity was doing its part to speed me up from the 40 or 45 mph speed I had reached. I saw some gravelly spots in the road and carefully applied my brakes to slow down the 6500 pounds of steel and plastic surrounding me. Gravity kept wanting me to go faster. I slowed down enough to get it back into second gear and the transmission and gravity fought like demons to gain control of the situation. 

Now comes the fun part where my monologue kicks in. "Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!" I exclaimed while pinching my cheeks and increasing my death grip on the steering wheel. I am about to enter the ess curves where the road is protected from sun and wind by trees and therefore has the smoothness of glass with a fresh coat of polish.

I touched my brakes and immediately started sliding and just as immediately let off the brakes. I was close to the edge of the road which is good and bad. The edge has a little traction as it is not quite as smooth, but there is a ditch hidden under the snow. I am trying to remember at the speed of a Hal 2000 what it looks like in summer at that piece of road. Will I end up in the ditch or stay almost in control? I manage to get the speed under 10 mph and jamb it down into first gear. The wheels are still turning, but not as fast as I am actually going. The truck shimmies a little left and a little right. I have minimal steering control and don't dare touch the brakes or I will be in the ditch or the trees. At least at this speed I won't die. I slide a little sideways and try to straighten out again using the edge of the road. It catches traction at the last second and my heart is in my throat along with a taste of breakfast. At this point I am barely moving forward, but with only 50 yards to go until clear road I am pretty sure I will make it.

I take the truck out of four wheel drive and am on a wet, paved highway increasing my speed. After a mile or two I remember to start breathing again and check to see if my pants are still dry. All is well.

I call the sheriff's office when I get to work and talk to the dispatcher, who used to keep a horse here, and tell her that our road is impassable. The county boys are already hard at it and the road is well sanded by the time I come home. Nothing like a little adrenaline to get your day started.  

Tovarich

It means "friend" or "comrade" in Russian. I first remember hearing the term on an old TV show called "Hogan's Heroes" when the prisoners were trying to convince the Germans that the Russians were advancing quickly from the Eastern Front. Probably something we should learn as "Fearless Leader" moves into the White House. Hey, the Russians are his friends, especially the guy with the Napoleon complex, Vladimir Putin. They are both "very smart" according to themselves. These men are faced with the task of leading about 460 million people to a better life. Yes, they are, but that is not what seems to hold their attention. Here are a few bits of entertainment.

These men (I use the term loosely) are more impressed by themselves and think more of themselves than anyone else.

No matter how often Trump denies his relationship with Russia it still doesn't change anything.

I realize there is nothing new here and all we can do is wait for all the impeachable offenses to occur. The man's lack of class and junior high maturity level will not cease to be an embarrassment for the rest of us. Let's just hope he doesn't do too much damage before he is gone or gotten rid of.

The good news is that the Women's March on Washington needs three times the number of buses than the inauguration itself. There are dozens of groups locally and nationally that are organizing to remind the President elect that he did not win the majority of votes and that a lot of his ideas and attitudes are not okay and will be fought as long as he is in a position of power. We will also stand against his political allies in the house and senate as long as necessary.  

Ihop and the gang

Our "new" cat is called Patch by some members of the household, but Ihop by others of us. Some might want to call him Tripod. When we first spotted him in the yard he seemed to favor his front right leg. After feeding him for a few weeks and getting closer to him he finally gave in to curiosity and came over for a touch. Once the feral cat has come into physical contact it is yours. That is rule number four in the Feral Cat Rule Book by which they all adhere. It has happened with Callie and Mommalaid who were also feral. Those two, however, neglected to let us know that they were pregnant until after the "Touch" moment which leads me to think along the lines of cat conspiracy. There is a subheading in the rule book about that.

We applied dewormer and flea-go-away within a few days of the touch" moment before we were willing to bring him indoors to let him socialize with the rest of the family. He got reasonably comfortable in a cat carrier before we hauled him off to the vet to get him examined and neutered. The vet believed that he had likely been run over as his elbow was shattered and had embedded gravel as did one of his back legs. The front right leg had to come off, but it didn't seem to bother him too much. It's just that he moves with a hopping motion and hence his name.

He moves fast and is the youngest of the herd. He is also the most gregarious of the group wanting to be everyone's friend and playmate. He is also underfoot and suspects any sound of cans or jars being opened as a sign of food for him. In the above photo you might notice that the tip of his right ear is shorter than the other. Life in the wild is tough. But he's happy now And warm.

The rest of the gang:

Bella

 Orange Mammalaid

 Cotton

 Callie and Blue Kitty

 Tillie

 Orange Ruffie

 Beevis (the butthead)

 Lilly

Here they are all doing what they do best. Taking up space and sleeping 20 hours a day.

Pottery

In the autumn of 2016 I decided to take a course in pottery at the Art Colony.I had spent quite a lot of time at the wheel waaay back in college to the point where I was reaching competency. After 40+ years away from it, however I needed a refresher in order to be able to do anything at all. I went in with a little confidence, but quickly realized that there was a lot I didn't remember at all. At least clay still felt like clay, the wheel still went around, and the kiln is still as hot as lava.

The class was being taught by Joan, who is quite accomplished and a very good teacher and my classmates for our class titled "Pots for Presents" were all enthusiastic.

The idea of the class was to make gifts for the upcoming holiday season and see just what we might be capable of. It was scheduled for a couple of hours on Tuesday evenings for about 6 or 8 weeks and if you could come in any other time you were welcome to do so. In fact we were given 24 hour access to the studio. Unfortunately, most of our lives are too busy to be that dedicated which was also a bit frustrating. It was a process starting with remembering or relearning how to center the lump of clay. This progressed through the class from being a fifteen minute thing to less than two minutes enabling more throwing time.

We tried making simple pots to mugs to "square" casserole type dishes to jars with lids. We could go in slightly different directions while still learning and relearning some basics. It is amazing how much I had forgotten in four decades. Not unlike how much I can forget in four days or four hours.

The results were amazing. Not necessarily great, but pretty good considering. Here are some of the results.

Ellen with one of her favorites.

Priscilla with one of hers.

Joyce looking at Priscilla's work.

Joyce's black pots and my stuff, mostly.

Some of mine.

Me with a blue plate and my other stuff. Hey, it's my blog!

The class with Joan taking the photo. Standing next to me is Suzy who took all the other pictures because someone didn't remember to bring his camera. That was one of those remembering things I referred to earlier. Sometimes my thinking thingy doesn't do me any favors.

Suzy's very cool casserole dish.



Just after we took this it was potluck time and we enjoyed a repast using our own dishes. Joyce outdid herself with the food she brought, but in typical North Shore potluck tradition we ate very well.