Norman Rockwell Christmas
There was a moment in time, somewhere in the sixties, when I felt a rush of my senses and a true knowledge that I was experiencing a special moment. I was. And that moment has never left my mind or really, any of my senses. I will try to describe the moment but certainly won’t do it justice. If Norman Rockwell could hear me tell it, he’d know exactly how to draw that moment.
I was in 8th or 9th grade. I was walking on the north side of 4th Street, S.E. just across from the Post Office, heading to the east. I was by myself–I’d been Christmas shopping downtown and I think I had one sack. It was late afternoon and the sky was dark, not only because the sun had gone down but also because of the snow clouds overhead. The temperature was just below thirty degrees and the snow was coming down gently in medium-sized flakes. As I walked, the snow made that “crunching” sound that’s not brittle, not slushy, but…well, comfortable. All of a sudden, the air filled with the sound of Christmas music, coming no doubt from the Methodist church just a block away. I stopped in my tracks, looked around and even now see/hear/smell/feel the same things in the recesses of my mind. The Post Office with people running in and out, the snow flakes coming down gently–no swirling! Christmas music. The smell of fresh, cold air. That special temperature that makes your nose cold but isn’t being cruel to your hands. I remember thinking, “This is the joy and peace of waiting for Christmas.” I’d go back to the same place every year through high school but never found just those exact things again. In fact, I’ve not found them anywhere.
We always gathered for holiday dinners at Grandma Halvorsen’s house. This was probably the least favorite part for us kids because we had to sing carols, get along with each other and clean the kitchen. But actually, we always had a good time. In the picture are (from left to right, Lynn, Aunt Alberta, Grandma Jones, Me, Grandma H, cousin Carol, Mom, Grandpa H.) I am guessing that this was in 1961 or even 1962. That was probably my Dad taking the picture.
Holiday Dinner
Going To Work With My Dad
Probably the coolest thing ever was going to work with my dad. I loved going to all of the places at the “plant.” The plant was Armour & Company. A meat packing plant. When I was little, they slaughtered pigs, beef, and sheep. When I was fairly young, they stopped the sheep business and concentrated on hogs and cows. When I was in college, they stopped killing beef. Later, they just stopped. But, more on that later.
Here is a photo of the plant as it existed in August 2007. Obviously closed for quite a while.
- Old Armour & Co
Back in those days, the plant was a central part of the economics and social life of Huron. And its “footprint” was huge, probably one mile from east to west and quarter to a half mile from north to south. Back in the day, buyers from Armours would go out to the farms and look at the livestock and literally buy it there. I remember when my dad had short wave radios installed in all of the cattle buyers’ cars so that they could have the latest prices. The folks in town (the plant) would hear the report on the AM radio station from Chicago markets and later Omaha and then relay to the buyers out in the country where the AM radio stations wouldn’t reach. The buyers concluded their deal but as part of that, they agreed to bring their livestock into the feedlots.
The animals would be brought into the plant which had huge stockyards or feedlots where they would keep the animals for a number of days to fatten them up before slaughter. The stockyards were always a busy place– that’s where the buyers’ office was which also had a small cafeteria because the farmers would bring their animals in, unload and then have a breakfast or lunch with the buyers before they hit the road. There were hundreds, perhaps thousands of animals at any given time in the stockyards. Cattle, pigs, sheep.
The plant also had a team of goats! Three I think–they were the Judas goats. The killing floor of the plant was the top, sixth floor. To get there, the animals were herded up a very long, enclosed runway. I think it was at least a quarter of a mile long because it couldn’t be too steep. The cattle and pigs could literally be herded but the sheep were essentially unleadable, they were strictly followers and pretty much too stupid to be led. Hence, the Judas goat. The animal driver would get into the sheep pen with a goat and then start up the runway. Being followers, the sheep would follow the goat as a flock and another herder would follow the newly formed flock to ensure they stayed in a group. Of course, it didn’t end well for them.
My dad didn’t take me out onto the floors while they were killing until I was much older. However, I did get to see the entire plant during the weekends when it was very quiet. Dad would spend quite a bit of time on the weekends in the office doing stuff. He had a private office as the assistant manager a job he had was when I was young. He started in the plant as a stock boy in 1927, pretty much the year he finished high school. He worked there until mandatory retirement at 65 in 1976. He had worked most jobs in the plant and was respected by almost all employees for where he started and where he ended. And, you couldn’t B.S. him about things in the plant. The office “complex” was a single big room with two smaller rooms at either end. The smaller offices were for the manager and assistant manager. Later, they did away with the position of assistant and had a comptroller. Most of the desks had adding machines–and I do mean machines. During that time there were no computers but adding machines. And those machines were very mechanical. They had many keys, about 7 or so rows and one column for each digit. They looked sort of like the following image.
- Mechanical Adding Machine
When you pulled the “Sum” or “Total” lever or crank, metal bars with the numbers would pop up and align according to the result so that the result was printed on the tape. I was always trying to see how fast I could go and inevitably would get the machine jammed. My dad would very patiently come over and free up the jam by gently pulling on the metal bars until the whole things just sort of released.
More on the meat packing plant and, of course, my dad in a later post.
Revelation – I Am Able
I wasn’t yet seven because I still didn’t have a bike, but I was beginning to think like I should have some control over my life but didn’t know how to go about it. Until one fateful day when a girl, who lived down the street, gave me the power to do something on my own without any advice whatsoever. I don’t remember her name, Barnes, I think. She lived in a big nice house a block down the street. She was several years older and I believed her family was wealthy. One day, for some reason, she gave me a fifty cent piece. Now back in the mid-1950s, that was real money. I held that shiny piece of metal in my hand and wondered what my parents would have me do with it. I must have said that out loud to the Barnes girl because I think she said something like, do whatever you’d like.
Now that was a revelation of a concept! So I took my fifty cent piece to Mike’s grocery and looked and looked at the candy. I ended up buying a huge Snicker bar for a nickel. I’m sure it tasted great but the best part was that I did it absolutely, positively all by myself. Didn’t ask anyone, wasn’t sure anyone cared, and I am not sure I even said anything to anyone. But wow, all of a sudden, I was a real person.
Long Pants
I always hated the grass. If you look closely at the photo below, you will see that I am making a face and I firmly believe that it’s because someone had put me down right in the middle of the lawn! I was about one here so you know that I was starting a long love/hate relationship with grass. I still have grass.
Not too many years later, I was climbing a tree in our back yard and I was wearing shorts. Now, I assume I was wearing shorts because that’s what my mom gave me to wear because I don’t remember any clothes decisions prior to this point. Anyway, I’m climbing a tree and my legs get all scratched up on the bark and branches. I was literally bleeding profusely (or so it seemed to me) and so I made a determination then and there that I would not wear shorts anymore. And I didn’t. In my teen years, I thought my legs were so scrawny that I was embarassed to wear anything but jeans. Didn’t matter how hot it was. I think started wearing them again sometimes in my thirties. But I still have scrawny legs.
Not Liking The Grass
Running Away From Home
One day, maybe when I was in first or second grade, I decided to runaway from home. What an absolutely, positively exciting thing! I clearly remember the fire running through my veins and the excitement that I could not contain. I went into the house and announced to my mom and my little sister (who could care less) that I was running away and that they should not bother to chase me down–I would not come back!
My mother looked at me and there was a long, long pause. And then she said, “You should have a lunch.” I was elated! Striking out on my own and with food! What more could you want? And I knew that I could “borrow” water from anyone’s hose since they didn’t lock their sprinklers up at night. We made the lunch together, I remember standing on a chair with her and spreading the peanut butter out on the bread. I am pretty sure we put it in a lunch box from dad’s work and then–well, I was ready.
I gave my mom a kiss and ran out the front door. I got to the sidewalk and know that I looked left and pondered and then I looked right and wondered…”Where, O Where is the adventure?” I chose to go the left because in my very small world, there were only houses to the right but to the left…an exciting sports field with pine trees to climb, liquor bottles to collect, bad guys, and long fields of green grass! I literally ran to the hole in the fence that we used for access and circled the field twice, hiding, of course, from the maintenance workers since they must have been the “bad guys” in my adventure. Eventually, I remember climbing one of the pine trees, finding a wide branch, and eating my lunch while viewing my very own world.
I often wonder how my mom stayed hidden from view.
My Dad as a Kid
It’s an interesting thing. I look at the pictures of my dad as a kid, me as a kid, and now look at my son and we all look pretty much the same. Without the pipe, of course. I wonder what he thought as a kid. He never talked about it, at least, I don’t remember him talking about it. Do you suppose he would have blogged if they had such a thing? I really don’t think so.
That time, those thoughts, all of that is gone. As if they had never existed. What could be left of them? If I looked at a picture of him as a kid, would I recognize me? Will I see what my son will be? As far as I know, there are no pictures of my dad from the time he was a toddler to the time he was married to my mom. My grandmother used to have hundreds of photos, but they are somehow gone.
Dad
Two Years Old in Medicine Hat
My Canadian Dad
My dad was born in Canada. In Saskatchewan. They lived in Medicine Hat but I think he was actually born in Lethbridge. This is a photo of my Uncle Frank Kelsey and my dad and his two siblings, Alberta and Harold.
Dad, Harold, Great Uncle Frank, Alberta
My Parents
Les & Lois were married in April 1937 in Huron, SD, right in the middle of the depression. They met at Armour & Co where my dad was a store clerk and mom worked in the office as a secretary. Dad had been married before to a woman who was a Christian Scientist. She contracted pneumonia but wouldn’t go to the doctor because of her religion. She died. I’m not sure how long, not very, perhaps a year or so.
Dad died in 1993 and so they were married a total of 56 years. This is their wedding day photo.
Wedding Photo
Moving – To A Basement !
We moved. It was a bit of a shock, actually. T’was during the summer between 3rd and 4th grade. For some reason, my parents sold our house and we had no place to go. The man across the street from us was a real estate agent and I’m guessing that he had a chance to sell our house and his and he somehow talked my folks into selling their house with no house to move to when we moved out!
What we moved into is a little hard to explain. Back in those days, some folks built “basements” and then put a roof on it. A flat, tar paper roof. The thought is that if that’s all you could afford, that’s what you did and then you could build the actual house on top of the basement at a later date. This was on Ohio & 12th. Well, that’s where we moved, into a basement, a rental basement. EXCEPT that it wasn’t the whole basement but just HALF THE BASEMENT!! Yes, there were actually two apartments in the basement. The real estate agent’s family was in one, we were in the other. There were three rooms + a bath. A kitechen/living/dining room combination and two bedrooms. In each of the bedrooms there was enough room for a bed. Period.
My sister and I had been in a bunk bed for years. So that wasn’t much of a difference but that was all that there was in that room. Of course, since it was a basement, there wasn’t much light. I don’t have many memories of that place but the ones I have are very neutral. I admit that I did like the act of changing. And I did like the fact that we were actually two blocks closer to school.
Years later, they built a house on top of that basement. But when I drive by that corner, I still see the flat tar roof.
Illinois Ave – The Basement
My favorite room in the house was the basement. It was a small basement but we had sooooo much cool stuff down there. The best place was the coal room. There was a special opening on the driveway that had a chute in it that led into coal room. Somehow, someway, someone would drop coal down that chute into the room and then we’d use the coal to heat the house all winter. The basement smelled like coal–a distinctive smell, sort of like fuel oil but different, but sharper.
The furnace sat just a few feet from the coal bin. I remembered dad shoveling coal into the furnace and the pleasant red heat that glowed from within. But…he wanted no shoveling and who could blame him! One day I found my dad in the basement tearing the furnace apart. He put a new furnace in the basement by himself!! I can’t imagine what it took. But he did it. And then he put shelves up along each wall of the coal room. But that room always smelled of coal.
Dad had an outboard motor for our boat. Well…we didn’t have a boat then, but we got one later. We did have a motor. It was a 3.5 horse power Evinrude. He stored it in the basement in a wooden crate that stood upright. Each spring, dad would take the motor out of the crate and the basement and put it into a wooden barrel. The barrel was huge, big enough that he’d fill it with water then put the outboard in and crank it up. We’d always do it in the backyard and it made a tremendous racket! I loved it.
We also had a power tool bench. Back in those days, you’d have a table with big electric motor underneath with a fanbelt to an axle on the top of the table. The belt would turn the axle and there would be more belts off the axle to run the table saw, sander, grinder, etc. It was a great apparatus that made a wonderful whirring noise. What power!
When we had tornado warnings, we’d go to the basement. I’d have my beebee gun because with that, I could survive anything.
