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History IQ Brings Us Back to Civics 101
Isn’t it a shame we can’t remember forever all the things we once knew well? I had an embarrassing reminder of that weakness when my wife reeled off the Lincoln Journal Star’s U. S history test that appeared on July Fourth. I had to answer. I didn’t exactly flunk, but I was embarrassed that I could not come up with all the correct responses. Here I was with a college minor in history and many reference books on shelves in my den. I need to review them more often. Time was when I could respond fairly rapidly to queries about key dates in American history. Similarly, I usually could name some Founding Fathers whose roles escape me now. How many of us can name all the cabinet members of the Bush administration? How about the justices and chief justice of the U. S. Supreme Court and the judges and chief justice of the Nebraska Supreme Court? Come on, fess up, it’s a challenge! Many years ago I read the Declaration of Independence. Make that many, many years ago. So I reread it in the newspaper. Guess what? Well, I was surprised, just sitting here on the front porch, how few of the complaints I remembered, which Thomas Jefferson listed at length in that historic document. He really took Great Britain’s King George III to task. Then a real jolt came. It’s one I’ll bet is shared by many Natives. It came from these words: “He has excited domestic insurrections amongst us, and has endeavoured to bring on the inhabitants of our frontiers, the merciless Indian Savages, whose known rule of warfare, is an undistinguished destruction of all ages, sexes and conditions.” How about that! Recently Deng Yuwen, vice professor of Beijing’s Study Times, visited Lincoln and met many people. On the Internet I found he is among many Chinese seeking greater freedom. He and I, through an interpreter, discussed the First Amendment. I did my best to explain the importance of each of the five freedoms it guarantees and the accompanying challenges it raises in these 45 words: “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances.” It’s not surprising that a Chinese editor is interested in our First Amendment. Gary Kemper, a former Journal colleague, UNL graduate and honored journalist, who is a Crete native, is helping set up photo coverage of the Beijing Olympics. Over lunch a few weeks ago he shared with me some of the problems he has encountered. China is not accustomed to the easy movement of information. Now Kemper is headed for Beijing, taking along his 15-year-old son. All of which brings us back to the importance of being able to learn quickly of world events and to speak our minds in a free society. I feel quite confident that young people in our schools are being taught much of what most of us older citizens learned at an early age. There is one very big lesson I learned in college. It is not merely how much information you can store in your brain and quickly retrieve. It is more important to know where to find what you need to know or want to know. As for our very bright and personally likeable Chinese guest, I thought I should give him a memento. I decided against a copy of Made in China, an article I wrote, which was posted on the Seniors Foundation web site months ago. Not appropriate. I had intended to stop by the From Nebraska shop, but was pressed for time when I was to meet him and went instead to the Capitol gift shop. There I found a nice little toothpick holder with our Nebraska Capitol pictured on it. I turned it over and saw it was Made in China! I started to return it to the shelf and then decided what better way to link our countries than something depicting our beautiful Capitol, a famed architectural jewel of our country, but made in his. Our Chinese guest opened the box containing the gift. and quickly noted the country of origin. His interpreter and I joined him in laughter. It was a good day.
Serendipity Comes to Landlocked Sea Voyager
It is not a usual activity for me, but one night in 2006 I was surfing the Internet and came upon a web site dealing with ships. So I thought I would take a look to see what I might find. I typed in the word Berengaria, the name of a huge and famed ocean liner. Up popped a wonderful picture of this vessel that plied the Atlantic from Southampton, England to New York City. The web site had a message board so I entered these words on July 27, 2006: “My parents, of English birth, visited their English kin in 1922. At age six I was a passenger in 1923 on the Berengaria, which sailed from Southampton to New York. Cherbourg could not handle a vessel the size of the Berengaria, so people boarding from France were brought in smaller boats to come aboard. We had a great voyage home to America and I viewed the Statue of Liberty from the deck. Gilbert M. Savery, 3621 So. 35th Street, Lincoln, NE 68506. Phone: (402) 489-7556.” On May 20, 2007 the following e-mail arrived: “Dear Mr.Savery - I read with great interest of your early voyage on the Berengaria. I write for a magazine called Voyage, journal of Titanic International Society. We’d love it if you could write out a detailed account of both voyages so our readers can experience the golden age of travel through your story. I hope this finds you well. Sincerely, Mike Poirier.” Who could resist an invitation of that kind, even if it meant recalling events of more that 80 years ago? An unexpected pleasure indeed! I had two postcards picturing the Berengaria and also a handsome brochure detailing the attributes of this huge vessel – one of the largest plying the seas in the 1920s. She was 919 feet long, 98 feet wide and of 52,000-ton displacement. German built, she first bore the name Imperator. The vessel came into the hands of the British after World War II and brought thousands of troops home from European battlefields. Later she was refurbished by the Cunard line and was named Berengaria after one of the most romantic figures in English history, the wife of Richard the Lion Hearted. I wrote of the ambiance of the ship, the sea biscuits we were served, the lifeboat drills that were required and the ship’s fine dining rooms. And I offered a few comparisons with the Montclare, a Canadian Pacific liner that carried us from Montreal to Liverpool in 1922. I recalled the beauty of the Irish coast and workers we saw in the fields -- as well as grasslands with cattle -- as we steamed toward Liverpool. My parents had a well-illustrated book depicting the 1912 sinking of the Titanic. So I was much aware of the dangers posed by icebergs. The Titanic, of 46,000-ton displacement, was larger than the Montclare, but smaller than the Berengaria. When we were shown how to put on life preservers and were assigned lifeboats, fear struck me. Foghorns, too, seemed to signal potential disaster. Such were the feelings of a child born and reared in landlocked Nebraska. The Voyage magazine editor used pictures I provided and added many more, making a six-page spread in the Fall 2007 issue of the quarterly magazine. Thousands of early settlers in this prairie state came from “The Old Country” in much smaller vessels than those I sailed on as a child. My Dad sailed from England to Canada on a 14,000-ton vessel, which experienced huge North Atlantic waves washing over its decks. And many war veterans, especially of World War II, have stories to tell of their days in the Army, Navy, Marines, Air Corps or Air Force coming home to America in rough seas and having to share crowded quarters. Magnificent cruise ships are popular these days and a rough count tells me that at least a dozen members of our extended family have enjoyed island hopping, luxurious quarters, great food and entertainment. When most travelers go abroad these days, it’s by airliner and usually assures quick arrival – hours instead of days. That is in sharp with the days when ocean liners plied the seas between continents, often referred to as “The Golden Age of Travel.”
Longin’ to Be ‘Back in the Saddle Again’
It’s been some 30 years since I’ve been astride a horse. That’s a darned shame because I love those critters! That love started in my hometown when the country kids brought their Shetlands or other ponies to town on Saturdays. We’d play cowboys and Indians and mimic what we viewed on the silver screen. Those were the days of Tom Mix and Tony, a reference to western movie stars and steeds lost, I am sure, on those who are nowhere near my chronological age. Yep, those were the days when we youngsters were just about as comfortable riding bareback as in a western saddle. Ponies varied in size (sorry, I don’t know all about the ‘hands’ nomenclature) and there were other breeds, which I cannot name. One great attraction was an abandoned house with the windows broken out. From those windows, we could jump, just like the western stars, onto a waiting pony as we made our escapes from the bad guys. Those also were the days when we all wore straw hats and bib overalls, but few had cowboy boots and I had only Keds sneakers. One of my friends let me mount his sorrel pony, which was larger than a Shetland. While waiting to go off for a bareback ride, I pulled on her reins and she started to rear back on her hind legs and I was slipping toward her rear. “Tap her on the head, tap her on the head!” my friend hollered. I did and down she went before I slid too far. I didn’t know she was trained to rear when the reins were pulled. I regret never owning a pony or a horse, but being well acquainted with barnyard chores while spending a few days with farm friends, I can’t say I miss using a pitchfork or shovel for cleanup of stalls and laying down fresh straw. And I recall having the privilege at about age 10 of driving a team and wagonload of corn from “Doc” Hanshew’s place a mile north of town to the Shelby elevator and back. That was on the then graveled U.S. 81, which was lightly traveled by cars in those days. It was a big deal for me, but common for some farm kids. My venues for riding were quite disparate. Sometimes they were streets and alleys, other times pastures. One particularly memorable one was near Maywood, Nebraska where my parents had farming-ranching friends. They had a beautiful Morgan mare they saddled for me, not yet a teen, and sent me off to bring the cows in from a large pasture. The mare was more familiar with the terrain than I and she surprised me by smoothly jumping a small ravine. I hung onto the pummel and we sailed along together, despite my lack of horsemanship. A few years earlier I had ridden on the downs near Hungerford, England with my grandfather. I rode a pony named Gaiety and he was on a hunter, which he trained along with jumpers. And it was English saddles there -- certainly not the western ones I was accustomed to and later would use even more often. England’s scenery was beautiful – grasslands in areas where daffodils bloomed, wild holly, stiles across the hedgerows and stocks left over from the ancient days of very public humiliation of lawbreakers. Pioneers Park was developed about the time we moved to Lincoln. When riding trails were developed in the park, I sometimes rode there with my girlfriend and with Dale Fahrnbruch, who worked with me at the Journal and became a judge on the Nebraska Supreme Court. My last ride of 30 some years ago was at the YMCA camp in Rocky Mountain National Park, when I accompanied my stepchildren on a trail ride. It went well. Now I have to confess great envy of those men and women friends and acquaintances that have horses and equestrian skills. People like Larry Rose and Dr. Dwight Cherry. My envy falls just short of being covetous, thus sparing me violation of one of the Ten Commandments I am envious, too, of people who look great in western wear – boots, jeans and fancy small-button colorful shirts and those Stetsons! I think I’d look pretty silly dressed that way. Oh well. Times were when I could handle quite a bit of horse, yet I’m not sure I’m up to that any longer. I think I could still slip my foot into a stirrup and swing my right leg over the saddle – just like the old days. Perhaps I could sneak over to one of Nebraska’s great state parks this summer and go on a trail ride. Maybe I could ask my buddy, Malley Keelan, to reach beyond his considerable repertoire and sing, “Back in the saddle again…” Some observer, however, might say, “I think for that guy ‘Headin’ for the last roundup’ might be more appropriate.”
The Indomitable Betty Stevens Visits D.C.
Readers of the Lincoln Journal Star are acquainted with the writing of Betty Stevens – reporter, columnist, and author of a numberof books, several of which were published by the newspaper.Theseinclude one on Nebraska weather and a copiously illustratedhistoryof the Nebraska State Fair.
Betty, wound up her newspaper career in Durango, Colorado, whipped multiple health problems and now resides in a retirement community in Florida. There are waterways there, of course, but she hasn’t dropped anchor. What follows below is her account (shared with you by permission) of a new adventure e-mailed to her daughters and to friends. Dear Ones: “Life is either a grand adventure or it is nothing.” -- Helen Keller I am very proud of my adventure. Not to put a bow in my hair (as residents here are prone to say) but I don’t believe anyone could have kept up with me. I drove out of here at 3:30 a.m. on Tuesday. Made it to the Kennedy Center Tuesday night. I was indescribably tired when a Japanese woman cornered me and spent two hours explaining she was in love with a Navy officer who had told her that day to go back to Japan and find a husband. “I luff him. What I do?” And I, the experienced grief counselor, said, “When you get to the airport tomorrow, call him and tell him you are on your way, but you really don’t want to go and then however he answers, you will know what to do.” Wednesday I probably walked seven or eight miles to the WWII Memorial (gut wrenching) and all the way up the mall to the Native American Museum. I spent a half day there. A whole day might do it justice. It pleased me to know how much I know about Natives from having written so much about them. I have you, Gil, to thank for that. Lunch at the National Museum of Art. Figured out what it is about D.C. that so energizes me. It is the PERMANANCE of things. The Japanese woman found me again. “I no go!” She giggled. “I not call him yet. Tomorrow.” Things got real exciting coming back. The plane was ready at Reagan International but there was no available gate. Finally a gate. We loaded but then it took a whole hour to de-ice. I thereby lost the plane-change time I needed in Mobile. When we landed there, I had six minutes to get to the gate at least one-third of a mile away where my flight to Pensacola was. Just when I gave up and knew I couldn’t make it, a wheelchair appeared. I hopped in and asked the pusher if she could please hurry. You may have noticed that airport workers have only one speed and it ain’t fast. When I got to the gate, it had already closed. I pounded on the door (Not the first time in a long and colorful life that I have done that!) The security guy down at the plane door finally arrived and said, “You can’t come in here.” “Oh, yes I can. What do you think a boarding pass is for?” A larger security guy comes up and puts his arm around my waist and lifted me off my feet. “You cannot go in there!” “Oh, yes I can. Put me down!” While he is holding onto me, security guy number one hollers from the plane door “Come on and hurry.” Sure, I’m the one who has to hurry. I crash into a front seat and we are off. Not much happens until the pilot announces, “We are 10 minutes from our gate at Pensacola.” Two agonizing screams from farther back in the plane. The stewardess rushed back and when she reappears in the front of the cabin, she smilingly says, “We have two passengers who thought they were on their way to Minneapolis.” I wonder if Wilbur and Orville had any idea what they were doing! It is supposed to be cold here tomorrow! I can hardly wait. Luff, Mom/Betty Hey, Front Porch readers, that’s the indomitable Betty Stevens reporting. She’s had two major abdominal surgeries, congestive heart failure and open-heart surgery among other things. My guess is she would like to hear from you. Give it a try at sevensbetty@embarqmail.com Memory-Makers Preserve Christmas TraditionsChristmas shopping…cards…trees…window and house decorations…cooking…plum puddings…wrapping packages…carol sings…church services…hope for snow…hope for not too much snow…memories of Yuletides past…expectations for the future…Baby Jesus…Santa Claus…thoughtful acts…cheery greetings…burning logs…candies…tinsel… Who makes this very special season and who keeps traditions going? Mothers. And those they teach. Christmas is a holiday of sights and sounds, of feelings and smells and deep emotions. Mothers have always made it so – with help from grandmas, granddads, uncles and aunts. And they do today. See those decorations! Evergreen, holly and mistletoe (a favorite), red ribbons, bright candles of all shapes, gold-tinted, green, red, silver-streaked. All sights of Christmas. Many more. Hear those sounds! Tinkling bells as the heat from candles turns an angel carrousel. Batter being beaten in the kitchen. The crackling crispness of holiday wrappings yielding secrets. A clear soprano voice caroling ancient tunes. The snap of resined logs in the fireplace. Many more. Feel this! Textured paper. The lingering handclasp of an old friend. Sugar-coated cookies. Pine needles. Hot bulbs on the tree (ouch). Featherweight baubles. Soft cotton. Cold, slick icicles. And the best feel of all – two pairs of hands placing big packages under the tree in the wee hours. Many more. Smell this! Beef roasting, sage dressing in yummy bird. Christmas cookies shaped like stars, trees, and camels. Plum pudding. Boiling homemade fudge. Hot rolls. Scent of pine. Other goodies. Many more. Taste this! Succulent foods, meats, vegetables, salads, dessert and drinks. Fattening goodies. Nuts, chocolates, hard candies, cheeses. Too many more. … If your Christmas includes all these pleasant things, you’re lucky. Women work hard to keep traditions going. Daughters of all ages learn the art and pass it on. It’s a happy holiday time, too, in the homes of many Jewish families. There, the traditions are kept alive by women noted for devotion to family life – Jewish mothers. Now it is Hanukkah, the Festival of Lights. Holidays – Christian or Jewish – depend for their success on the feminine touch. Bless the memory makers. The Christmas spirit is not automatically renewed when December shows up on the calendar. It has to be nurtured. I wouldn’t know who said it first, but a penciled notation left for me says: “Memories are everyone’s second chance at happiness.” The note was written by a superb memory-maker -- beautiful… thoughtful…unselfish…gentle…loving…and the mother of four children. One wouldn’t dare stop making memories. So…
Happy Holidays! and Merry, Merry Christmas! __________ This column first appeared in the Lincoln Journal just before Christmas in 1970. My mother and my first wife, Altha Datel Savery, who died in 1967, inspired this column. It assertions regarding the role of women at Yuletide have been confirmed by more than three decades of Christmases with my wife, Averil I. Savery. – Gil Savery
Lincoln’s ‘Magical’ Block
The Moving Finger writes; and having writ, Moves on: nor all your Piety or WitShall lure it back to cancel half a LineNor all your Tears wash out a Word of it. -- Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam
That scholarly Persian astronomer and poet of the 12th Century must have had me in mind when he wrote the lines quoted above. He also should have written that no words could be added when deadlines pass. There’s a story about omissions that I have to share with you. It is written on a snowy, cold day in a warm, cozy, cluttered den early in December 2007. . Months ago it was my pleasure to prepare to submit articles to Mary Jane Nielsen for her newest book, “Life in LINCOLN as we remember it.” What a marvelous opportunity, I thought, to write about what I referred to as Lincoln’s Magical ‘Incubator’ Block. Nielsen attracted 149 other contributors to create a book that surely is a “must buy” during the holiday season and well beyond. A few weeks ago I was visiting with Dean Will Norton Jr. in his office at UNL’s College of Journalism and Mass Communications. Along with a few other items, I handed him a printout of what I had submitted to Nielsen. I had colored in red the names of those newspaper people I had known or worked with during my own 44 years on the block Norton’s eyes ran down the list. Then he observed, “You don’t list Jim Raglin.” True, and I have been in a state of semi-mourning ever since. And it didn’t help any when I went to a party for Kathleen Rutledge, my colleague for eight years, who had just resigned as editor of the Lincoln Journal Star. At that party still more names popped up of individuals whose careers I had not followed. I can’t list all of them here, but I will tell you of some I knew and inadvertently omitted from Nielsen’s book. Among them, indeed, was my longtime friend, Jim Raglin, who started in the sports department, and later became Assistant Managing Editor of the Journal. When he left the newspaper he teamed up with a sterling Capitol reporter, Frank Rall, to form Rall & Raglin, a public relations firm. Frank and Jim became successful lobbyists as well while applying their skills in contacts with members of the Nebraska Unicameral. . Raglin later became the Director of Public Affairs for the University of Nebraska System when Dr. Ron Roskens was president. That stint in academia was followed by several years as Executive Director of the Nebraska Press Association, a role he appeared to relish and played superbly. Tom Fogarty, another Capitol reporter for the Journal is now with USA TODAY and holds a key position. His byline has often appeared on major stories. Michelle Carr Hassler, Assistant to Dean Norton of the College of Journalism and Mass Communications, is a former Journal reporter. Holly Spence, a longtime Journal colleague, has had a great career in public relations – with a heavy emphasis on travel and the arts. A Chicagoan for years, she now lives in Tucson, Arizona. Glenn Kreuscher, a skilled agricultural reporter, for the Journal became director of Nebraska’s Department of Agriculture under Gov. J. J. Exon. . Many reporters and other newsroom staffers – too numerous to list here -- left Lincoln to work for the Omaha World-Herald and other newspapers. Some, such as Harold Andersen, made that move weeks or a few years before the Star and the Journal jointly occupied the current building on P Street. Without extensive research, it is doubtful that a complete list of Lincoln’s newspaper alumni could be compiled. Only a few persons could recall many of the people who worked on the old newspaper block. Foremost among them would be L. Dale Griffing, my chronological peer, and other younger journalists such as Kathleen Rutledge. I wish I had run my manuscript past Griff and Kathy. Nothing in publishing is more valuable than perceptive second or third sets of eyes. I’m sorry I didn’t apply my awareness of that truism. “Life in Lincoln as we remember it” abounds in recollections of 150 contributing writers. You might even want to tuck this column – albeit still incomplete -- into your book to help a bit in fleshing out the story of Lincoln’s Magical ‘Incubator’ Block.
A Personal Chat Here on the Porch It’s twilight and a zephyr cools the air as the rich aroma from a nearby lilac bush enhances the natural ambience of the evening. So join me for a few moments on this old porch swing, with its chains securely anchored to a beam that also supports the roof. You may remember one just like it at your folks’ place. Between just the two of us, let’s recall friendships including family and close acquaintances. If you don’t mind, I’ll go first. There’s this one guy I have known for years. We grew up in the same towns and had mutual friends I’m thinking of a man born in the early years of the Great Depression, which was accompanied by drought and generally hard times for everyone. His dad told me that at the time this son was born he was supposed to get $1,800 a year in salary, plus a house. And that was right here in Lincoln. He said he got the house all right, but never all the dollars. Yep, those were hard times; the kind that authors write books about and want everyone to read. The time was so hard that one book cover boasts of recording “The Untold Story of Those Who Survived.” Gee whiz! About the time World War II broke out, but America was not yet involved, this guy moved with his parents from Lincoln to York. There he went to high school, met and courted an attractive young lady who was to become his wife. It was there, too, that he drove a delivery truck for May Floral Company, a vehicle imaginatively carrying on its side panels the words: April Showers Brings May Flowers. How about that! I had never before known of a truck named April Showers. Have you? Didn’t think so. I don’t mean to monopolize our chat, but things just keep coming to mind. Want some more popcorn? By the way, this guy also worked part time for a York mortuary driving vehicles and such. In those days, funeral homes also provided ambulance service and this guy really has stories to tell about accidents and ambulance runs. I could never have handled what he experienced. As I recall, he was in a Navy unit that trained in Lincoln, but went to other bases around the country. He has some stories about that, but he’ll have to tell you. He’s a good storyteller. He and his wife have three kids – two girls and a boy. All nice people that I enjoy being around. They moved to Crete where he had another job. He had a chance to buy the Crete Floral Company. He grabbed it. His earlier experience in York gave him a leg up on that work. Besides that, he and his wife became highly skilled designers and worked as a team to build a profitable business. His avocation was restoring classic cars, so he had a three-stall garage built, which accommodated his best car and afforded workspace. As I recall, one of those cars was a LaSalle with chromed superchargers and marvelous upholstery. And it looked especially classy with its white-sidewall tires. The other was a Hupmobile for which he fortunately found a bolt of original upholstery fabric. Hey, great job on both! I’ve got some pictures – well, somewhere. I’ve been around his home here in Lincoln. In the lower level, almost taking second place to Cornhusker memorabilia, are awards galore. This guy really served his community – and more. One award dated April 8, 1974 says he completed an Emergency Medical Technician & Ambulance Training Course. The Nebraska State Health Dept., Nebraska Highway Safety and U.S. Dept of Transportation signed it. Others are: 1982 Ak-Sar-Ben Award for Volunteer Fire Dept., 1982 – Award of Merit by Knights of Ak-Sar-Ben for outstanding firemanship. Crete had an in-town derailment of a freight train carrying anhydrous ammonia and he and his buddy, Clarence “Kipe” Busboom, shared a mask as they rescued some people and found others dead. They took turns in and out of the fire truck’s cab. The fire department was short of the right equipment for such an occurrence. He later gave speeches on that disaster, which occurred in February 1969. Both men paid a physical price for their heroism. I have also seen this: 1987 & 1989 – An award for excellent service for instructors at Texas A&M for Texas Engineering Extension Service, Texas A&M University System. He taught there one week in July for five years. In addition to all that, he was chief during part of the 20 years of his active duty with the Crete Volunteer Fire Department. With all that experience he became a salesman of fire trucks, related equipment and ambulances, a career that took him to many sites around the state and country. Those two Smeal-built aerial ladders that helped save Embassy Suites when it had a high-level fire during its construction are ones he sold the City of Lincoln. That company is based in Snyder, Nebraska. They make good stuff. Now retired, his backyard lawn as viewed from a covered deck is a thing of beauty. It includes a gazebo and lily pool, both with appropriately chosen plantings and lighted as though reflecting his and his wife’s years of work as florists. There’s much more that could be said, but shucks, I’ve been rambling on longer than intended. I’ve really enjoyed the fresh air, popcorn and this front-porch swing. I talk too much. Now it’s your turn. I just wanted to tell you a little about my brother, Norm Savery, of whom I am very proud. Great guy!
Pets Trump Humans You probably have heard that entertainers, particularly in the old days of vaudeville, used to plead, “Don’t book me to follow an animal act!” Animals are noted for their scene-stealing appeal. We are just going through a related refresher course, having been gifted a puppy, which belatedly and permanently is named Friskie. During her first few days with us, she shared the household spotlight with her half sister whose family was away a few days for a wedding. My wife and I are no strangers to the pet ownership. She has her stories and I have mine. One of mine involves people-pet priorities. When I was on the Lincoln-Lancaster Board of Health I learned, scarcely to my surprise, that if there was a major health issue on the agenda such as restaurant inspection or hazardous waste, few citizens were interested enough to show up. But if an issue relating to cats or dogs was listed a full house was virtually assured. . By careful count and indisputable accuracy, I have owned or co-owned five dogs. Two were shepherds from farm friends, a neighbor gave me a mongrel named Ezra, my late friend Judge Dale Fahrnbruch gave me a spaniel, and my final one was a white collie named Flicka. She is the one whose life story I must share with you. An ad appeared in the Lincoln newspapers. A farm family, living in the area about where the Lincoln campus of Southeast Community is now located, offered a free puppy if assurances were given it would have a good home. We qualified, took her home and named her Flicka. . The home she was to share was a newly acquired two-bedroom at 34th and South Streets. It also had a living room, dining room, den and kitchen with breakfast nook. The price was $3,800. I was feeling overwhelmed by debt, having arranged a mortgage loan after making a down payment of a few hundred bucks. That was about 1942. I sold the house a few years later for $9,000 Anyway, Flicka joined us in our debt-ridden abode. All went well for a time. She would lie in front of the fireplace (yes, there was one) and was the picture of domesticity. When my wife was pregnant with our first child, she and Flicka walked in Antelope Park. Alas, that may have been the genesis of her undoing. We soon learned she was a wanderer of unpredictable behavior. She was licensed and had a tag on her collar bearing her name and our phone number. On successive occasions and over time, here is what transpired -- and I am not making this up: First, we got a call from Memorial Stadium that she was frolicking with the Cornhuskers as they practiced. Second, a call came from a business on Cornhusker Highway. Third, an attorney living on Sheridan Boulevard called saying they had a nice collie in their living room and asking if I would like to pick her up. I did! Fourth, an angry voice on the telephone asked if I owned a dog named Flicka. I admitted ownership. Well, the caller said, I raise chickens and she has killed 20 of them. That home, too, was on the eastern end of Sheridan Boulevard, a tad rural at that address. Having already said the dog was mine; I went to the scene of the alleged mass-fowl slaughter. A light snow did for Flicka what DNA would do today. The evidence was clear from her tracks that she had jumped a four-foot wire fence and killed those chickens. Good thing prices were low at that time. I wrote a check for $20 and took my canine malefactor home, explaining to her as best I could that a multiple crime of such magnitude went far beyond merely being a “bad dog,” I began to think of myself as having remarkable retrieving abilities in my genes as I brought her home again and again and again. After all, my maternal grandfather had bred black Labradors in England with considerable success, having sold some to the King’s Kennels. Between these times of bad behavior, Flicka frolicked in the park, was a wonderful companion at home where we tried to keep her on a leash because we could not afford fencing. The fifth call regarding Flicka was about her becoming a traffic victim, suffering a non-fatal injury. A kind motorist had taken her to a veterinarian who set her right rear leg and applied a walking cast, an admirable performance overall. She recovered from that costly car encounter and was well behaved for a time, but eventually ran off to parts unknown. Given her numerous violations of trust and costly misadventures, her disappearance almost made me want to say, “Good dog, Flicka!” Reentering the canine world in the 21st Century, I can say things have gone reasonably well thus far as we have dog-sat one while training a six-months-old puppy. I walked her, all five pounds, white and fluffy, to our neighbor Ted Blume’s place. He was sweeping off his driveway and sidewalk. I asked if he would like to have her for a retriever during the upland game bird season. I think Ted, who heads conservation officers for the Nebraska Game and Parks Commission, appeared slightly interested. He responded to me by telling me Nebraska’s open-season dates. I mentioned earlier that we were dog-sitting our puppy’s sister. Two phone calls came from her owners during their absence. There was no query about our health and wellbeing, but the question was: “How are the dogs?”
Front Center & Backstage “Nebraska,” as Old Abe might say, “is now engaged in a great debate testing whether the State Fair or any fair so conceived and so dedicated can long endure at its present site.” While that issue is the stuff of current headlines, it’s intriguing to take a look at what has claimed center stage and what has been backstage since it opened at its present site about 1901. Thousands of Nebraskans can share memories of the fair, either as spectators, exhibitors or employees – add to that all the 4-H members and Future Farmers of America. Thanks to the Lincoln Journal Star and Betty Stevens’ superb reporting, the fair’s 125-year history -- up to 1994 -- is wonderfully recorded in a book titled, “Bright Lights & Blue Ribbons.” Many of its highlights are well known or can quickly be recalled by perusal of this pictorial history. Some things are long forgotten, but are still subject to recall or, in some instances, first revealed right here on this page! Dating from 1914, auto racing was staged on the state fair track. In succeeding years that genesis of racing saw Offenhausers whipping up the dust before grandstands full of enthusiasts. At least one crash years later claimed a life. More recent decades have seen more sophisticated racecars whirling around an improved track. Harness racing featured marvelous horses hitched to sulkies driven by brightly attired drivers. Those races were just as thrilling to watch as the present-day horse racing that draws those who like to see the ponies run and also want to place a few bucks on the line for their favorites. The fair’s extensive farm machinery exhibits have “gone south” or, more appropriately, “gone west” to Grand Island’s Husker Harvest Days. The popular displays of agricultural machines have given way to other exhibits and to stellar entertainment in the Devaney Sports Center. The east parking lot, to this very day, can be a sticky, muddy mess. I recall decades ago when my girlfriend and I went to the fair on a cloudy day. A storm broke out accompanied by torrential rain, thunder and lightning. We returned to her Model A, affectionately known as Annie, and we tried to drive away, but soon were mired in mud. I put chains on while the storm continued. Way off someplace a lightning bolt struck, sending a mild, yet noticeable jolt across the rain-soaked parking lot. The historic grounds have also been the scene of tragedies, the most notable being one on the midway. Stevens wrote: “Five people were killed and 46 injured when tragedy rocked the 1965 State Fair. The Sky Ride, 1,100-foot-long string of overhead gondolas came down. It was a scene from hell as rescue workers attempted to keep the crowds away from the injured on the ground and from workers trying to free passengers still hanging 30 feet in the air.” The midway, when things went well, had entertainment to offer fairgoers of all ages. As teenagers, my friend Kent Spohn and I were especially attracted to a snake charmer who challenged viewers to join him on the outdoor stage prior to his big show. Kent and I bravely stepped up to handle a snake whose girth was about three inches. It was perhaps six or seven feet long. There we displayed our bravery in front of scores of onlookers. I have no idea now what breed it was, but we were assured it would not bite. Thanks to Thomas E Labedz, Collections Manager, Division of Zoology and Division of Botany, University of Nebraska State Museum, here’s an account of a vastly more interesting snake story, recounted on a museum display poster: “On a hot September day of 1912, in a side show … this huge Python, which a snake charmer had just wound about her body, began to constrict. The audience soon realized that this was not a part of the act and became panic stricken. ‘Herbert Holmes, just returned from English wars in India, had learned there the art of handling snakes. He understood the snake charmer’s peril and begged permission to enter the cage, but was refused. Instead the show guards prodded the Python with wooden poles. The woman screamed in agony. Realizing their ineffectiveness the guards allowed Holmes to enter. He grasped the snake behind the head and slowly choked it to death. The snake charmer was released just in time to save her life, though she suffered many broken bones. The side show owner presented the Python to Mr. Holmes, who in turn, gave it to the Museum.” For many years the preserved snake was shown at Morrill Hall. Accompanying the display note quoted above were stories of the incident published by the Lincoln Star and the Daily Nebraskan. I viewed the exhibit many times. The display is still held by the museum. It has deteriorated and can no longer be shown, Labedz explains. When large circuses were brought to the fair, they had full complements of animals. Included one year were elephants, one of which became terminally ill. Dean Pohlenz, a Journal reporter who later joined the Office of Civil Defense in Washington, was assigned to cover the elephant’s health crisis. Alas, they pachyderm expired and is buried somewhere on the fairgrounds. Joe W. Seacrest, co-publisher of the Journal, sent Pohlenz a “congratulatory” note with a touch of humor saying few reporters ever have the opportunity to cover the death of an elephant. State Fair activities have always drawn print journalists and with the advent of radio and television the coverage has been enhanced. Stevens wrote: “Dozens -- maybe hundreds – of reporters have covered the State Fair over the years. Jim Raglin, reporting for the Lincoln Journal and Tom Allan of the Omaha World-Herald were great friends, serious rivals and State Fair legends.”(In an accompanying photo the two were pictured facing each other as they lunched.) Stevens adds: “Talking it over in 1952, they would have laughed and ignored the 1877 action of the State Agriculture Board (which asserted): ‘Editors and reporters, those who are strangers, will be required to present a written introduction from the proprietor of one of the city’s papers’.” One year Allan climbed a ladder to the rooftop of a building to get a panoramic view of the fairgrounds. Raglin sneaked up and took the ladder down. How Allan returned to earth is not recorded. These two skilled reporters, who loved practical jokes, did serious work. Both became Life Members of the Nebraska Press Association. Raglin later was its managing director for several years. Both men were inducted into the Nebraska Journalism Hall of Fame. One has to hope that today’s reporters in print and broadcast – using whatever new gadget-tools are available -- are having as much fun building memories as did those legendary newsmen. Eases Tensions
Humor is key to maintaining sanity in all professions and occupations. Religion is no exception. Sometimes the humor is internal and self-deprecating. Other times it can sting like a bee. Often it lessons tensions common to most careers. We’re all aware of the humor targeting lawyers and golfers, etc. Rabies, priests and protestant clergy have abundant repertoires of interfaith jokes. I have no idea whether such light-hearted exchanges are common to the Buddhist, Islamic, Hindu or other faiths. Hope so. Herewith are samples of humor involving religion, offered in the perhaps vain hope they will not offend too many readers. Vigorous evangelism of the past yielded its share of humor, such as the story of the most foul-mouthed man in the county, a pioneer resident, who had “got religion.” One day he was working a new field with a one-horse, single-share plow. Holding firmly to the dual handles he steered the plow along at a good pace. Suddenly the plowshare hit a large rock and he was thrown forward clear over the horse to a smashing landing. He let out a long string of cuss words. Suddenly remembering his newly found religion, he added, “As I used to say!” In the old days of flaming revival meetings, saintly older members of the congregation might approach attendees they believed might be saved. One lady approached a stranger who had turned up for the service when an “altar call” was being made. “Do you know Jesus Christ?” she asked. “No,” he responded, “but I have heard my dad mention his name.” A variation involves an itinerant evangelist working a rural area. He approached an old farmer and struck up a conversation leading to religion. Then he asked, “Do you know Jesus Christ?” Stroking his beard, the farmer responded, “Can’t say that I do, but we just moved to these parts.” A rural pastor visited the magnificent farm of one of his parishioners. The neatly kept and the well-groomed croplands, corrals, barns and storage shed were the envy of neighbors. “God has certainly given you a wonderful farm Joe, I hope you appreciate that.” Pondering that observation for a moment, Joe replied, “Yes, reverend, but you should have seen it when only God had it.” During the Great Depression almost everyone was strapped for cash. My father was asked to officiate a wedding for a neighboring man who owned a pickup truck. The ceremony took place in the parsonage living room. Afterward, the bridegroom said to the pastor, “Reverend, I don’t have to any money to pay you.” No matter, my dad replied. “But,” the bridegroom quickly responded, “I see you do a lot of gardening. Could you use a load of manure?” “Absolutely,” dad replied. A few days later a pickup load of manure was delivered to our garden area. We had one of the finest gardens in the neighborhood that summer -- right there at 1811 M Street. Funerals are no fun, but there is a story, probably apocryphal, of a circus member dying. As was common, circus personnel included roustabouts, clowns, and lion tamers, beautiful ladies who rode white horses, and even a ventriloquist who knew how to throw his voice. In earlier times caskets were manually lowered into graves by ropes or straps. The troupe’s ventriloquist could not resist the opportunity to use his voice-throwing skills. When the graveside service concluded, the deceased’s fellow troupers began to lower the casket from which the words came, “Let me down easy, boys.” One of my favorite cartoons, possibly from the New Yorker, shows a couple of guys having coffee in a restaurant. One observes, “There must be God to put up with all these religions.” Night show host Jay Leno offered a monologue jab late in 2006 in reference to the widely publicized misdeeds of a Colorado clergymen and similar incidents. He said a move was under way by some religious leaders to create a code of ethics for clergy. His comment went something like this: “Don’t they have one? Isn’t it called the Ten Commandments?”
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