March 17th…“DESCRIBE A PEACEFUL MOMENT ON YOUR FARM IN MINNESOTA DAYS.”

It was a 1963 pleasant epiphany to me as I heard the staccato, puttering exhaust of Dad’s milking parlor system send out gentle reverberations into the Minnesota summer’s evening.  Cows in their stanchions, within the barn, were peacefully masticating their supper of green corn silage from our tall, cement storage silo that stood as a sentinel against the richly blue evening sky.   Their bovine beast feast was augmented by some scoops of grain and they even received a “dessert” of a tasty vitamin-type meal powder as it was poured and topped on each portion pile in front of their stanchions along the manger wall.  Our Holsteins seemed to relish their “dessert” just like us humans love chocolate syrup drizzled over rich, vanilla ice cream.

As was common across the fertile farmlands of our area, a brisk summer wind coursed through the barn and sought a way of escape to the other side of this bovine refuge.  Dutch-styled “half doors” populated the various entries to our cow palace and, on these pleasant evenings, I enjoyed swinging open the upper door on the east side of our barn to gaze out over the farm fields and enjoy the innocent meditation of a little farm boy.  From the western horizon behind me, golden rays of evening sun blanketed the corn and soybean fields before my eyes with a rich spectra of amber light that imbued the foliage with luxurious worth as the happy winds made those crops come alive with dancing undulations.

Enfolded into this mixture of pastoral peacefulness was a song that was playing from Dad’s old barn radio.  That dust-encrusted implement of music, located in the center of our barn, was broadcasting every time we were milking the cows.  True, it was a form of entertainment for us farmers, but Dad also maintained that the music tended to relax the cows, too, allowing them to “let down” more milk that we could sell at our local Kiester Creamery Co-op.   On this particular evening, there was a lilting tune that emanated from the radio perched above our Holstein’s heads.

This special song was from Japan and sung in Japanese by the singer Kyu Sakamoto.   The song was called, “Sukiyaki” (which is actually a Japanese meal of sliced meat fried rapidly with vegetables).  An American radio announcer, who first heard the song, couldn’t pronounce the real name, so he tagged it with the only word he could think of in Japanese.  As history shares, this song became a Top Ten Hit that year, and its popularity swept the nation.

I rested my elbows over the ridge of that Dutch door and became lost in thought as I gazed over those fields.  Fragrant gusts of wind funneled through that venturi barn door entry, then past me and into the barn.  My blonde hair, tousled by that wind, coupled with the magic of that song, gave an overall peaceful bliss to a serene moment for this Norwegian Farmer’s Son.

March 16th…“IF YOU HAD ATTENDED COLLEGE, WHAT WOULD HAVE BEEN YOUR MAJOR?”

Life held so many fascinations for me in my growing up years.  Being a farmer, like my father, was one of my earliest desires.  Later on, in my teens, to be driving a giant semi tractor/trailer rig across America was my next yearning.   Those 18 wheels, loaded with supplies for stores, impressed me by the power that was exerted from those monster-sized engines and the luxury cab features that made a home on the road quite appealing for a young teenager yearning to be free on the open road.

With each successive year of growing up on our farm, though, I found myself absolutely in awe of the birth of new life around us by the many animals under our care.  Whether it was the first mews of tiny little kittens, all the way up to our cows giving birth to a beautiful calf; birth and its magic enthralled me.   When a new chapter of life started for our family in Battle Ground, Washington, I met a very kind obstetrical nurse who shared all her obstetrics/gynecology medical textbooks with me from her college days.  I poured over them and was captured with how God brought a woman, and the tiny life within her, to the culmination of birth.

One of my Battle Ground High School classmates, Artie Nauman, actually followed his heart and achieved the high honor of becoming an Obstetrician/Gynecologist in the Washington, D.C. area.  At one of our High School reunions, I was talking with him about his new and hard-earned medical profession.  He said, “In comparison to General Medicine, delivering babies is a blast!!!  Most of the time, about 95% of families go home healthy and happy with a darling baby in their arms!!”  Alas, though, for me, school and grades (especially those of math and the sciences) were never good enough to even think of even getting into college, say nothing about surviving and thriving in medical school for up to the 10 years that it took Artie to achieve his doctor’s degrees.

Since all indicators were leading me away from the medical field, I knew that if I HAD gone to college, my other joy of life would have been to major in MUSIC!   The dynamics of music have transported me through realms of joy throughout my life.  From foot tappin’ happy time songs to laments that bring tears to my eyes and heart as the conveyance of my soul becomes wrapped around the lilting melodies of a song that expressed my feelings at a particular moment.  To this very day, the intensity of some songs will well up within my being and bring a lump of emotion to my throat as notes upon a musical staff transform themselves into powerful salvos of communicating dynamite.

Thankfully, in my 31 years with the Battle Ground School District, it didn’t take a college degree to incorporate music into my daily life there.  Armed with my guitar, banjo, nose whistles, etc., I created my own “Curriculum Of Clean” as I taught the children with cleaning and safety related songs where I had rewritten the lyrics of tunes they maybe already knew.  In a fun way, one COULD say that my diploma was entitled “WHOEVER HAS THE MOST FUN, WINS!”  So smiles and sings this Norwegian Farmer’s Son. 😉

March 15th…“IF YOU WENT TO COLLEGE, TELL WHICH COLLEGE YOU CHOSE AND WHY?”

POEM – “The College Of Stinky U” by N. Elliott Noorlun

I’m sure you’ve heard of Harvard, Maybe Clemson and Purdue,

USC is another, you see, But I attended “Stinky U”.

For during all my schooling years, I wandered without aim,

The fault is mine, I shouldn’t whine, I fully bear the blame.

I should have followed counsel, Of our beloved Mr. Peru,

Who said, “You really should consider, Central Washington U.”

“Dr. Hertz is there and none compare, An awesome man of song”,

To be a choir teacher, That’s the school where you belong.”

But, whether fear or lack of dollars, I never made that choice,

And so there’d be no diploma, To teach the joy of voice.

So little ones, this grandpa asks, To seek your joy while young,

Then choose a goal, while little foal, And prepare your song to be sung.

And whether you make music, Or paint or build a car,

Set your goal out there, As the studies you bear,

And rejoice, for you’ll go far!! 😉

September 19th…“WERE YOU EVER IN A FIGHT DURING YOUR GRADE SCHOOL YEARS?”

POEM – “The Fight In White Went Outta Sight” by N. Elliott Noorlun

The fight in white went clear outta sight, That chilly winter’s day,

It happened during a big snowstorm, As they let us out to play.

Now to this day, I’m not so sure, What ignited us little runts,

But oh my goodness, ‘the fur did fly’,  As you heard our puffs n grunts.

Snowdrifts were high, As this little guy, Connected with classmate,

We two usually got along, Was it something that we ate?

Do you suppose, It was a girl, That got us two to tussle?

Though zero below, We said, “LET’S GO!”, And our fight began to hustle.

I’m a thinkin’ that a snowball, Landed with KERSPLAT,

And may have hurt this little squirt, As it shot off my warm hat.

But then again, Giant hills of snow, Gave us guys a thrill,

We’d push n shove, From up above, As we played “King Of The Hill”.

It could be that I pushed too hard, To launch him offa that peak,

And Randy sought, To right a wrong,  So vengeance he did seek.

Push became shove, Then a yank with a spank, Upside my widdo head,

This t’weren’t no fun, But we’d begun, Now’s to fill my foe with dread.

A crowd of kids, Really flipped their lids, To watch us midgets fight,

But then, by golly, Our little boy folly, Clean disappeared from sight.

For as we fought, We rolled into, These fluffy new snowbanks,

And for awhile, All we saw was white, As we’d punch n bite with yanks.

Classmates dug down, Into the snow, Then we saw the “light of day”,

They pulled us punks, Apart so we, Could hear the teacher say,

“Now THAT’S enough, You two relax, Shake hands and get along!”

We did, And once again were friends, To sing a sweeter song!” 😉

**********************************************************************

As an epilogue to this humorous incident of childhood, I’m glad to share that our classmate, Randall (Randy) John Simonson, grew into a handsome young man who loved his classmates and his town through his life-long tenure as a proud citizen of Kiester, Minnesota.  Randy often shared that there was no better place to live in the entire world than his dear hometown……..and I, for one, gladly agree.  Randy left us for Heaven’s Shores on October 1st of 2018 at the age of 64 years.  We praise the Lord for our fellow “Bulldog” and his life among us all.  ><>

March 14th…“DID YOU EVER MEET A GERMAN SOLDIER FROM WORLD WAR II?”

The honorable and much loved man, Hermann Robert Grocholl (1925 – 2002) was admired by thousands of Battle Ground School District students during his many decades as a faithful custodian.  This dear man was affectionately called “Hermann, The German” and it was a title given with love, that’s for sure.

Hermann once told me, in his German-flavored English…. “In Germany, dah veendows are dah meeror of yer house!!   Ifn’s yer veendows are dirty, so likely yer house izz dirty inside, too!!”  Such were the words of wisdom that came from a very short-statured and gentle man that was a GIANT in many fine ways.  Like cowboys of the Old West, Hermann Grocholl had his own type of ‘gun holster’, only for Hermann, his holster was an empty quart spray bottle cut down (with slits for his belt) so that a smaller pint spray bottle of glass cleaner could fit into the plastic holster and be with him at all times.  With his rags, squeegee and Windex, that German gentleman carried on ‘window-cleaning warfare’ and made those glass, school window panes just sparkle.  He had the mindset that he never wanted any visitor to the outside of his schools to think the INSIDE was dirty.  Clean windows, therefore, were his ‘crest of honor’ and his ‘seal’ that everything was ship shape inside, too.

It may have carried over from his days as a German Naval shipman during World War II, but I can never recall a time that I didn’t see Hermann wearing his yachtsman’s cap.    I’ll muse that, possibly, he wanted a connection to that time of his young life, but, it also may have originated from the fact that when that fun-spirited custodian wasn’t cleaning his school, you could bet that he and his dear wife were on nearby Northwest rivers or lakes with their kayak.

One day, as this gentle soul of a man and I were cleaning his school, I asked him, “Hermann, I just can’t imagine that you were part of Hitler’s Army during the war!”  His response was immediate and made a LOT of sense, “Vell, yew vus eeder in dee Army, or yew vas SHOT DEAD………For me???…I vas in dee Army!!”  

In the beginning of his military career, Hermann was assigned to the German Navy.  The ship he was assigned to was sunk near Norway, so rather than wait to be assigned to a new warship, my custodian friend was transferred into the German Army Artillery and sent to the coast of France.  These were the days just before the Allied Invasion of Normandy in the late spring of 1944.

My kind-hearted custodian friend relayed to me how, in France, “Dah Allies vood come over und bomb us daily.  Vee vood retreat und set up our artillery again, und day vood bomb us sohm more.  Finally, I yust kept on retreatin’!!!!” (he’d had enough of Hitler’s Army and ran Away With Out Leave….also known as A.W.O.L.)  To preserve his own life, he fled his regiment and tried to get to the Allied Lines to surrender.  Alas, he and some other German soldiers were captured by their fellow countrymen and imprisoned in a “Deserter’s Camp”.   He shared to me how that it was customary for deserters to be executed within a day or so of capture, so he and some buddy prisoners managed to escape that night and finally WERE able to reach the American Lines and offered themselves up for surrender.  His war years were finally over.

In 1952, Hermann’s family were able find sponsors (a Mr. Charles C. James family) in the Battle Ground, Washington area that allowed them to come to America and begin a new life here.  Hermann, gratefully, was able to secure a custodian job with the Battle Ground Schools and started his new career here in the freedom of his newly-adopted land of America.  I understand that part of his payment for services was to enjoy living in an apartment above the Battle Ground High School Home Economics Department.  (Author’s note:  The Grocholl’s apartment is to the upper left in the above photo of the Home Economics Building……that has since been torn down.  Photo credits for this wonderful historic photo go to Louise McKay Allworth Tucker and came from her book, “Battle Ground….In And Around”.)  After his retirement from the school district, this sweet-natured couple were able to find a small cottage on the east side of town to call home for their remaining years here on earth.

To relate another story of Hermann and myself, it had been almost 30 years since Hermann’s wartime experiences, yet the trauma of those times still lingered within him as I was about to find out on one occasion.  After school, one day, at Lewisville Intermediate, there were three of us standing in a very acoustically loud hallway.  Hermann had his back to me while talking to my working buddy.  Without any real reason, I made a loud CLAP of my hands right behind that good-natured German man.  Within half a blink, Hermann spun around and had his fists up, ready to fight me.  I was shocked, of course!  Here’s what he said, “Don’t chew DO DAT!!!!  I’m schtill shell shocked from dah Var!!”  And he meant it to!

Both Hermann Grocholl, and his dear wife, Maria, are gone now, but I counted it a joy to know him and the pleasures he gave to this Norwegian Farmer’s Son.

(Author’s Note:  The photo below shows another fine aspect of the Hermann Grocholl family’s upstairs apartment, on the left, in this building that was originally the Battle Ground School District’s Bus Barn and then was remodeled to the Home Economics Building in later years.  Photo credit for this fine photo goes to the honorable Harold Johnson who grew up in the Battle Ground area and became Superintendent of Schools here.)

March 13th…”TELL ABOUT THE FIRST TIME YOU SMOKED A CIGARETTE.”

There was a clank, then a yank as Jim Gross popped the clutch of that old Ford pickup truck as it careened around the corner by Al & Ernies Foodliner.   His little teenage brother, Robby Gross, sat in the middle and I sat far right as the evening breezes blew through the cab while we rolled south of Battle Ground, Washington on Grace Avenue.  Jim pulled a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket and offered one to his little brother and myself.

The evolution of tobacco usage, to that moment, came naturally for me, for our dear father smoked from my earliest childhood.  I thought his smoking was cool, stylish, manly, etc. and just couldn’t hardly wait till the day when I could “follow in daddy’s footsteps” in regards to the “wicked weed of tobakkee”.  There was hardly a moment out of any day when I wouldn’t see our father without a cigarette in his mouth, between his fingers or be in the process of rolling his own cigarettes with pouch tobacco and thin cigarette paper.

From what I’ve read and observed, society in my parent’s generation actually saw a non-smoker as the person who was NOT normal.  Everyone who was suave and sophisticated smoked, even movie stars advertised cigarettes.  Besides celebrities, even politicians were seen constantly smoking, etc., so when it came to my opportunity to smoke, I figured…….“O.K., let’s do this!”

As the pickup bumped along, Jim extended his arm with the pack of cigarettes in my direction.  “Well, (I thought to myself) I can’t let them think I’m UNcool!” so I pulled out my very first “stick of tobacco”.  This was gonna be a whole lot different than that cigarette-sized tree branch I pretended with back on the farm.  This was gonna be the real deal.  I placed that “cancer stick” between my virgin lips and, when the lighter was handed to me, I lit that tip on fire.  Smoke began to curl up from the glowing end of that protuberance and invaded my eyes, causing them to squint in self-protection.  I drew a puff of smoke into my mouth and blew that same smoke right back out again into the crosswind that flew through the truck cab.  Young Mr. Ignorant here thought I was now a “smoking titan”……WRONG!   Jim sarcastically looked over from the steering wheel and said, “HEYYY KID, YOU’RE NOT SMOKING!!”  Embarrassed, and a bit perturbed, I retorted, “I’m NOT????”  Jim scolded, “Heck NO, kid, you’ve gotta suck that smoke down into your lungs!!”

My smoking mentor then proceeded to divulge his huffing n puffing wisdom by saying, “Yeah, I could tell you weren’t REALLY smokin’ because the smoke came out of your mouth the same color as it went in!”  He further elaborated, “When ya suck the smoke down into your lungs, the lungs filter out the tar and nicotine and it comes back out whiter.”  Aghast and incredulous, I quizzically asked, “YOU ACTUALLY SUCK THIS STUFF DOWN INTO YOUR LUNGS???”  After Jim’s laughter died down, he responded, “Yup!!”.   Appalled at the reality of what smoking truly entailed, I said, “In that case, NO THANKS!” and crushed the life out of that “cancer stick” into the ashtray of the pickup.  That was to be my first AND LAST cigarette!

The episode in the pickup that day transported me back to my very young days on our farm there in southern Minnesota.  As I came downstairs for breakfast one morning, I saw our father sitting at the dinner table coughing profusely.  His cough was so violent, that it brought up large volumes of phlegm from his lungs.  Poor Dad would cough so hard, that at times he almost gagged from the heavy phlegm coming up from his lungs.   As a child, the only reference I had with coughing was when I suffered from a cold or the flu, so I asked my daddy, “Do you have a cold, Dad?”  As he recomposed himself and caught his wind again, he answered, “No, Son, this is what smoking does to me!  Please, don’t EVER smoke!”

Returning my thoughts to the present, and what I had just encountered with tobacco in that pickup truck, I took Dad’s advice and have never smoked.  I cherish these healthy lungs each day of my life and relish the joys of drawing in a full capacity of fresh clean air as I go about enjoying the life God has given me!   Our parents, living out their lives before our eyes, teach us by their sayings, but also convey teaching by both positive AND negative examples from their own lives.  Thank you, Dad, for indirectly blessing me with lungs of clean air for this Norwegian Farmer’s Son.

March 12th…“TELL OF A DIFFICULT ESSAY OR TERM PAPER ASSIGNMENT”

One of the definitions for the word essay is: “An attempt or effort to perform or accomplish something”.  That pretty much sums up my Kindergarten through High School experiences.  I ATTEMPTED school!  And yes, that attempt was “difficult” for me.  The only subjects I excelled in at school were ….RECESS…..LUNCH TIME….. and ohh yes….NOSE PICKING 101!! 😉

Combat jet pilots can tell you about a technique called, “Flying low under the radar”.  It means if they fly their jet close enough to the ground, they can be almost invisible to the “seeing eye” of radar.  That’s kinda how I went through my school years.  I stayed in the back of classes and was quiet.  No news was good news for this student who tried not to draw attention, if at all, for fear of failing to have the right answer for a teacher.

The only time I raised MY hand in class was to ask to use the restroom.  Now I’m not proud of that negative attribute (actually, it shames me now), but in the days of school life, I really had no set passion or goal in life to want to aim for after my early educational years.  Therefore, I rather drifted through school, like an old log in the river……..just bumping against the banks and floating unnoticed with other scrap wood.

If I could’ve gone back to approach life and schooling again, I would have aimed at targeting a worthy career in my early teen years.  Then, I would have sought counsel to choose subjects that would have sharpened me to be better at hitting the target of achieving a specific college diploma.  That document could have landed me in a profession that not only would have paid well, but would have given me a fulfilled heart by contributing to those I touch in the world around me.

My counsel to children and grandchildren is this….discover your passion in life!  Then, set your sight and goal on achieving the wisdom and knowledge to do all the essay’s and term papers necessary to allow you then to enfold yourself around that passion of yours to enjoy for the rest of your working life!!!   A wise lady once told me, “If you do what you LOVE, you’ll never have to WORK a day in your life!!!”  So agrees this Norwegian Farmer’s Son.

March 11th…“DID KIDS EVER TEASE YOU?  ABOUT WHAT?”

Since time immemorial, children (especially boys) have usually taken any opportunity available to “one up” someone else via teasing or put downs.  Sometimes, between very good friends, it’s an acceptable norm to show that they actually like you and are simply using the tease as another form of “play wrestling”, only with words.

Throughout my young years, I was mainly teased about my name.  A Grade School buddy of mine borrowed an idea from a television show that was popular in our day.

There was a police action show about a real lawman that lived in the early part of the last century.  His name was Elliot Ness.  His group of fellow lawmen were known as “The Untouchables”.  My classmate incessantly would chide me with, “Hey Elliot Ness, who ya gonna capture and put in jail today, huh?”

At the time of our Grade School days, a television commercial used a song to sell the chocolate flavored drink called, “Nestle’s Quik”.  That same little buddy of mine would sing the jingle to me on the playground, but instead of “Nestle’s”, he’d finish the little song by singing, “Elliott makes the very best CHOCOLATE!” 😉  Yep, I know, it didn’t make much sense then and it still doesn’t, but it was cute just the same.

Through the tenure of my 31 years as custodian with the Battle Ground School District (Battle Ground, Washington), I was sweetly teased by the students of Glenwood Heights Elementary School.  With each passing decade, there was sure to be an “Elliott” in the cartoon or movie cultures of the time.

The most popular of teasing, regarding my name, was when the little ones at Glenwood Hts. Elementary School would call me “Elliott The Invisible Dragon” to go along with the widely enjoyed cartoon of that time.  When “E.T., The Extra-Terrestrial” came into theaters, I then became the little boy “Elliott” in that movie.  Can’t even begin to number the times little kids would crook their finger and say, “E.T. phone home!!”  The tease of those times were all done in love from the kids to me.  I was just tickled to be part of that chapter of their lives and the joys they expressed from what they’d just been entertained by.   It was fun to be a part of whatever was making magic in their world in those golden days.

Of course, when it comes to teasing, you can call me anything you want……..as long as you don’t call me…….LATE FOR DINNER!! 😉  So says this silly Norwegian Farmer’s Son.

March 10th…“WHAT WAS YOUR FAVORITE MOVIE AS A CHILD AND WHY?”

These small hands of mine covered my little boy eyes in fright, yet, I couldn’t help but spread my fingers open, just a crack, to peek through and see the latest scene from the 1939 classic film called, “The Wizard Of Oz”.  I was tantalized, transfixed, terrified and tickled by all the components that combined to orchestrate this, or any story, into a sort of magic that captures and transports you into another realm of a fantasy life experience other than your own.

From the fearsome, powerful tornado that whisked Dorothy and Toto (her dog) away to the Land Of Oz, to the petite Munchkins that were so cute as they spoke or sung in their high voices and dressed so colorfully in their extravagant costumes.  From start to finish, this film was easily my very favorite as a little boy….and even today, is up there in the Top Ten of my adult movie listing.

In my own little life and that of our son, in later years, I experienced and saw that children tend to take their world around them very literally.  So, when it came to watching this amazing movie for the first time or two, I was overwhelmed by the magnitude of all that transpired in Dorothy Gale’s (Judy Garland’s) life in Kansas and then in Oz.

Take the tornado scene, for instance.  Having been raised in the “tornado alley” of Minnesota, I heard plenty of horror stories from my parents about the horrendous power wielded by a wild tornado wind.  I even saw a photo once of a dead cow after a tornado had passed through a local farm.  There was a 4″x 4″ wooden beam shot through the cow, just like a giant arrow, by tornado winds.  I stared in amazement at that shocking photograph of that poor cow!  Therefore, when I saw the tornado in the film (even though it was only a muslin sock spinning around on the miniature set), I was convinced that it really DID lift up Dorothy and her entire house and took them, literally, over the rainbow to to The Land Of Oz.

When an actress plays her part so perfectly, one forgets that she’s just acting and is entranced that she really IS who she portrays.  Such was the case with Miss Margaret Hamilton who played the part of The Wicked Witch Of The West.  Her every move and facial nuance struck a deep fear within me.  To my little boy’s conscience, she was the epitome of evil.  In reality though, as I found in later life, Miss Hamilton was a gentle, Christian soul who loved children very much (she was a certificated Kindergarten teacher in her early years) and even taught Sunday School at her church.

Still a fan, and having grown into my young adult years, I came across a book about my favorite movie that was so fun to read.  “The Making Of The Wizard Of Oz” by Aljean Harmetz is an excellent source of behind the scenes stories of who was in the film and stories of what happened during filming.  Take, for instance, “The Horse Of A Different Color” scene.  “JELLO” powder crystals were used to make the horse change color in each scene of that song.  The only tasty problem was, the horse kept wanting to lick off the “JELLO” powder!!!  😉

I’m sure every generation has their film of reference, their story of fantasy that imprints special moments upon their conscience.  “The Wizard Of Oz” was that moment for me.  The uncountable times I’ve seen it, over the years, does not lessen its magic; it only opens an opportunity to investigate the joys once again for this Norwegian Farmer’s Son.

March 9th…“WHAT WERE YOUR FAVORITE RADIO PROGRAMS?”

STOP WHAT YOU’RE DOING!!!!  I’d like you to theoretically set aside your myriad of digital gadgets and megawhitzlwookies and travel with me to a time that my grandparents knew.  There was a miracle about to happen in my grandparent’s generation that we enjoy to this very day.  For their generation, it was a time without something called a radio in the home, and on the farms, of American rural life……a time without even electricity to power up a radio even if they had one!!  I marvel to contemplate how quiet life must’ve been back then….it truly is a peaceful thought to conjure.   My maternal grandfather, Clarence Martin Sletten, entered this world in 1895, and upon his first days of life, it was also to be the same year that an Italian inventor brought radio to life for the first time.  Even the very word “radio” is interesting to muse upon.  Its genesis comes from the Latin word, “radius” (similar to the spokes of a wheel, or beams of light emanating in all directions).  Early pioneers of this medium added the word “phone” to radius, calling it a “radiophone” so that it colored the definition to mean “radiated sound”.

Of course, even though radio came to life in the same year of my grandfather’s generation, many country folk could not enjoy it until the late 1930’s when “The Rural Electrification Administration” finally ran power lines to farms across our great land.  To our generation of today, radio is taken for granted, yet, in its infancy, I’m sure early generations were spellbound with amazement!  Ponder this, a person in New York City is standing in front of a box-like piece of metal (large microphone) and when he speaks, his words are magically flown across the country to San Francisco, California where they are heard and enjoyed as those spoken words come out of a receiving radio speaker in that State.  That’s a journey of almost 3,000 miles in a blink of time.  I’m sure our elder generation were agog with questions about how this almost magical machine could perform such a feat.

Stepping back into our time machine, we fly forward to the year of 1967 as the first 13 years of life whizzed by on our farm there in southern Minnesota.  Back in our farm days, I mainly enjoyed the radio that Dad always had playing in our barn while milking our herd of Holstein cows.  Our father found that, not only did the radio entertain him, but it tended to make the cows relax and “let down” more milk for us to sell to the creamery nearby in Kiester.  Oh sure, I enjoyed the “top tunes” of the day, but did not have a regular favorite radio program to listen to.

After our family moved to the West Coast and once life had settled in our new surroundings of Battle Ground, Washington, I came across the radio ministry of Dr. John G. Mitchell.  Pastor Mitchell was a co-founder of Multnomah School of the Bible in Portland, Oregon.  I was captivated by the deep sincerity of this dear man who often implored his listeners with, “If you’ll only fall in love with the Savior!”  On top of his sincerity was the wonderful lilt of his Welsh/English accent as he spoke.  His program was one that I looked forward to daily and, if I had the opportunity to see him speak in a nearby church, you could bet that I was in that pew to not only hear my hero, but see him in person.  Seeing Dr. Mitchell’s personal study Bible once, I saw that he was living proof a saying that goes, “If a man’s Bible is falling apart, it’s a sure sign that that man is VERY WELL put together!”   If I could emulate that dear man of God at even a fraction of how he lived his life, I would be one happy man.

Every Saturday afternoon, at 3pm, I’d tune in to listen to my “smile medicine” in the form of a wonderful variety radio show called, “Prairie Home Companion” based out of Minneapolis/St. Paul, Minnesota.  It was a two hour journey into laughter via many happy parodies and even phony commercials for silly companies that didn’t exist; such as “Bertha’s Kitty Boutique” or “Powder Milk Biscuits” or “The Fearmonger’s Shop”.   There were hilarious skits, monologues about a mythical town called, “Lake Wobegon, Minnesota” and, of course, lots and lots of great music from all over the world.

With all the sadness that permeates the world around us, this weekly radio injection of joy each Saturday was “just what the doctor ordered” for this Norwegian Farmer’s Son!! 😉