August 21st…“IN MINNESOTA DAYS, WERE ANY OF YOUR FAMILY EVER TAKEN TO THE HOSPITAL BY AMBULANCE? WHO WAS IT AND WHAT HAPPENED?”
POEM – “Our Poor Pounded Papa!” by N. Elliott Noorlun
Our father loved his horses, There is no doubting that.
He grew up in their shadows, While wearing farmer’s hat.
Even the giant draft horse, Never gave him any dread,
He’d climb up on their back for nap, And rest his little head.
Dad spoke of how that giant mare, Would walk around to graze,
With farmer boy asleep secure, On a summer’s lazy haze.
Then a horse show came into our town, In July of ’59.
They asked if Dad could help them out, And dear Dad said, “That’s fine!”,
So Father was assigned Gate Keeper, Of that large arena fair,
As beautiful horses, Of every kind, Would strut their stuff in there.
But then there came a rider, Who’d drank way too much beer.
He was swaying drunk, Upon his steed, And acting very queer.
Dad’s back was turned, To open the gate, And without so much as a sound,
The drunk made his horse, Run over our Dad, Hooves hammered him to the ground!
Knocked out cold, Our dad lay there, An ambulance was called.
How could the drunk, Have DONE such a thing?, The audience was appalled!!
Sister Rosie ran and got me, I was playing with friends nearby,
“Dad’s been hurt!”, “Come on let’s go!”, A tear was in her eye.
The ambulance flew, Down country roads, Till hospital came in view,
I prayed that God, And doctors there, Could make our dad like new.
Back in those days, Kids weren’t allowed, To visit a hospital room.
Sadly, I sat outside in the car, And feared of doom n gloom.
The next time that, We came to see, How healing for Dad would go,
He waved to us from his window, Down to our car below.
I’m told that the drunk, Who ran Dad down, Upon his horse that day,
Came to our home, To say, “I’m sorry!”, For acting in terrible way.
Our father gave forgiveness, And also shook his hand,
Now that’s the way, We all should love, And to me, that’s mighty grand!!!
Norwegian Farmer's Son 