Deleski remembered by childhood friend, author

These hilarious stories are slightly revised excerpts from the book, Regina’s Record, a dark, nonfiction story of an Alexandria veteran of World War II, Regina Van Amber (Class of 1940), who suffered from schizophrenia and was hospitalized in the earliest VA psychiatric hospital for women in the U.S. (1951 to 1983) until she died at age 61.
Written by her only child, Jim Van Amber (‘64), and based on 9,000 pages of often times horrifying government (VA) records, the book was first published in England and two years later in the U.S. The following brief stories (reprinted with permission) are amusing tales of Van Amber's youthful adventures with Jerry Deleski and others from that time.
The book is available in both hardcover and soft cover formats at Barnes & Noble.com or Amazon.com. Van Amber, a disabled Army veteran, has taught creative writing and computer-assisted research writing at Minnesota State University, Mankato where he lives with his wife, Mary. Incidentally, the Van Ambers reside in the same Mankato neighborhood as Mike and Tona (Fischer) Gillespie, Class of 1965 and 1966, respectively. Enjoy the stories. -- Trailboss

Alexandria, Minnesota
Summer 1957, Night
Jerry Deleski and I are running, scrambling from behind Peter Klinkner’s (Class of ‘62) house toward the street light on the corner of Fillmore and 13th Avenue, running to hurry and identify the small bottle that both of us have just drunk from.
A few minutes earlier, behind the plush, mahogany walled bar in Peter’s well-lighted basement, Jerry and I have noted the exotic bottles rowed up below a dark mirror. Vodka, gin, Southern Comfort, Jim Beam and several more. There were small bottles too and I compulsively shoved one of those from the front row into my pants, told Jerry we should sneak out and have a couple of drinks for our first real taste of real liquor. Peter was upstairs doing something. Peter’s parents were gone. The timing seemed perfect so we went upstairs, told Peter we were leaving, ran behind his house, ducked behind the row of bushes there, unscrewed the cap, and had our first drinks.
The dark liquid didn’t come out very fast but I drank with a kind of insatiable revulsion. It made me smack my lips, singe my tongue–tasted odd, strange.
"Gawd," I said.
Jerry took a drink, shook it into his mouth like I had.
"What’s this," he whispered loud, disturbed. "Keerist!"
We are under the street light now staring at the bottle’s label.
Elvis is the king of Rock ‘n’ Roll and a thousand radio stations are playing Jailhouse Rock as the number one hit. The Bridge on the River Kwai is at the Andria theater and 12 Angry Men is showing at the State. Jerry Deleski and I have just done something no one else on this earth has done on this night or perhaps any other night – something new under the sun. In better worlds maybe this almost never happens, but tonight we have squinted under the light, read the bottle’s label out loud, slow, in unison:
"Wor-cest-shire Sauce."


A single mission of high importance
Fall, 1961
Peter Klinkner, Jerry Deleski, Jerry De France (‘64), and myself are standing near Grace Deleski’s garden back of Jerry’s house on Broadway Street. It is dark, early fall, 1961, full moon, up. The Tokens are on the radio with their number one song. A-weema-weh A-weema-weh A-weema-weh A-weema-weh.
It is important we be here, the four of us, at this hour on this night on the good earth. We have a single mission of high importance that is unfolding in the traffic on Broadway a few yards away just ahead of us between the houses in front of where we are standing, waiting, looking eastward. Each of us, it is accurate to say, has a partially rotten tomato in our right hand. Not far away, coming south near the speed limit, is a red chevy convertible. We expect it to arrive within our view soon and then we will act. We expect the driver, Frank Hammer (Class of ‘58) (name changed), to experience the sudden and unexpected wrath of four highly motivated boy demons, young men who, as it should be on this one night, understand the need to get even. So we wait as part of the night when everything seems suddenly and strangely perfect, when the dark becomes a setting for justice and revenge, holy, a night to remember in some way later
as a moment in time when nothing goes wrong as it so often can. Yes, this could be something we will tell our children and our grandchildren and the story will be repeated and passed on without exaggeration ad infinitum until the story finds its rightful place in the History of Good Moments in the museum in New York City. Yes, tonight, we will act in unison–cheerful, brave, dedicated to the idea of revenge without mercy enough so Frank Hammer will never forget what has happened, enough so that he will, we all hope, absolutely without question, shit rubber nickels.
One week earlier, by the square cement window pit on the north side of the Coke plant where Peter, the two Jerry’s and I meet almost every week day and have since we’ve known each other are sitting sipping Cokes from the nickel machine inside the plant. It is early afternoon, warm. Frank Hammer is driving by with two girls. He’s famous in town for being a Golden Gopher, a lineman who played in this year's Rose Bowl. Hammer cruises Broadway, showing off. He cranks the radio, showing off. He strokes his crew cut, laughing and showing off. Now he’s by the Coke plant where we are and we see him for perhaps the fifth or sixth time in an hour and Peter finally shouts out as he passes: "Homo!"
The red convertible screeches to a stop and Frank Hammer, muscle man, neck man, power man in a tee shirt, in jeans and cowboy boots, comes walking fast up the grassy incline to where we are, shouting wild eyed: "Who said that? Who said that?"
"I did," Peter answered, standing.
"Crack!" Hammer slapped Peter. I can still see the hand print on Peter’s left cheek. "No one talks to me that way." Hammer shouted. "I could break your god damn neck."
We all felt small, insignificant, powerless as if someone had taken all the air from where we were. Peter ran home. The two Jerry’s and I sat quiet. Hammer and his two girls had gone. Peter was our leader, soon to be a senior, struck down over a single word.
Something will have to be done.
Peter had gone toward the end of Grace Deleski’s driveway, looked north, hurried back. "Right now he’s by the funeral home I think." We moved closer up the driveway between the two houses but still safe in the dark there. There’s a frame between two trees when the red convertible would be directly in front of us, in front of the driveway. The trick is to lead the car, fire, and run.
"It’s him!" Someone said.
We waited, waited, waited then threw almost in unison: "Thunk-thunk-thunk-----thonk!"
Screeches filled the night and the car angled quickly to the curb, stopping and Hammer was out and the shock of two other hulks with him, shock because we’d only seen Hammer by himself a few minutes earlier and now we have three raging muscle maniacs coming back into the night after us.
I couldn’t run. Peter and the two Jerry’s disappeared around behind Deleski’s barn shed while I stood trying to get my legs to move, to escape, but there was lead for moments too long.
Finally, I was able to get into motion ahead of Frank Hammer and his two lugs and I beat it after my friends behind the barn shed, running now toward Ornie Lommen’s back yard where I catch a glimpse of a clothesline hung low in the moonlight and I duck, running full force, and behind me three seconds later I hear this loud whining TWANG-Thud and I turn to see the three springing back from the clothes lines, sprung on their backs like they were shot from a sling. Suddenly, in Ornie Lommen’s lilac bushes I see Deleski bolt forward with Peter and Jerry close behind and I follow and now the four of us are running full speed south behind the houses there knowing we would have to move quickly for fear of Clifford Stratton’s black lab which is collared to a log chain, the meanest dog in the block chained to a railroad tie and waiting all his life for us to come into his territory, rush after us and bite until he couldn’t bite anymore. And we come running, jumping a waist high row of bushes while behind us come our enemies unaware of the dog now alert and chasing them.
"Jesus!" One of the them screamed while the dog gnarled and barked and growled and bit. But they kept coming and we kept running, moonlight enough to see our way over bicycles, wagons,
hammocks – coming up on a short fence and another clothesline where you had to jump and duck quickly so not to catch those low metal strands and horses in a steeple chase we cleared the short fence, ducked, and ran toward the back of another shed. None of us saw the laughable noise behind us, but it was obvious the three jumped and didn’t duck because again there was a whining SNAP and they were put to the ground in gasps almost in unison and it was so
stupid that the four us, Deleski, De France, Klinkner, and I began to laugh as we crossed 12th Avenue at an angle toward the Coke plant where we ran up the grassy incline and jumped into the square cement pit where we crouched down and started laughing again, trying to control it, holding our mouths snot running, squealing without hope of stopping until it became clear that Hammer and the other two had given up and the night was clear, where each of us separately, made our way home, happy.
"In the jungle, the mighty jungle, the lion sleeps tonight."

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Van Amber's book contains many other references to his hometown and classmates. We're grateful for his contribution here, particularly for reviving our fond recollections of Deleski. In a postscript to the Trailboss, Van Amber adds:

Victories, during the early stages of my own schizophrenia, were not easy to come by. But in 1966 there were still people in my life from my youth and Jerry Deleski was one of them. We both played for the Alexandria Clippers that summer. Jerry was in college and I’d heard he had a beautiful girlfriend. Already I had begun the descent into my mother’s same illness with a kaleidoscope of language and scene that was unstoppable and out of my own control. I had a screaming mind and there wasn’t anything I knew to stop it. The worst was yet to come and I would end up in a hospital for five months, but on this night, the last night I saw Jerry, my head was calm and we were in Fergus Falls and I got lucky and caught a hanging curve ball
on the fat part of my bat and the ball jumped over the left field fence in a hurry. Jerry was the next hitter and met me at the plate.
"Was that a curve ball," he asked, shaking my hand.
I said I thought it was.
I didn’t see him again after that until I saw his picture on a website for insurance in St. Paul this month–almost forty years later. It’s a good picture with his left hand on the side of his head sort of balancing out his pose. He looks happy with his salt and pepper hair and his smile. I know that smile. I’ve known that smile for a long time and it’s a good thing.

Our Jerry Deleski --
Photo lifted from Allstate Insurance web site by Greg Johnson

I Get By With a Little Help From Depends

Hi, Stan:
My sister-in-law sent me the following, which I then forwarded to some class of '65 gals. In return, Sandi (Pennar) Bonesteel sent me a note, saying it should go to the blog, so here you go...they're certainly songs of our "era"! -- Bev Roers Korkowski
Some of the artists of the '60s are revising their hits with new lyrics to accommodate aging baby boomers.
1. Herman's Hermits -- Mrs. Brown, You've Got a Lovely Walker
2. The Bee Gees -- How Can You Mend a Broken Hip
3. Bobby Darin -- Splish, Splash, I Was Havin' a Flash
4. Ringo Starr -- I Get By With a Little Help from Depends
5. Roberta Flack -- The First Time Ever I Forgot Your Face
6. Johnny Nash -- I Can't See Clearly Now
7. Paul Simon -- Fifty Ways to Lose Your Liver
8. Commodores -- Once, Twice, Three Times to the Bathroom
9. Marvin Gaye -- Heard it Through the Grape Nuts
10. Procol Harem -- A White Shade of Hair
11. Leo Sayer -- You Make Me Feel Like Napping
12. The Temptations -- Papa's Got a Kidney Stone
13. Abba -- Denture Queen
14. Tony Orlando -- Knock 3 Times on the Ceiling if you Hear Me Fall
15. Helen Reddy -- I am Woman, Hear me Snore
16. Willie Nelson -- On the Throne Again
17. Leslie Gore -- It's My Procedure and I'll Cry if I Want To

Who is the JHS graduate?

The Roundup Mystery Wineaux duet. Win a bottle of Ravenswood Zinfandel 2000 from the Napa Valley by identifying the member of the Jefferson High Class of 1966 in this recent photo. Send your guess to Trailboss@swpub.com. In the event of a tie, the Trailboss will drink the prize. (A Wineaux, the man's shirt says, is a wine lover who uses a glass.) If you click on the photo, it gets bigger.

What's new?

Ramblings from the Trailboss
The 40th Reunion of the Class of 1965 won't be the only big event in the Alexandria area the weekend of Aug. 6. A correspondent has advised that the weekend coincides with the celebration of the 100th Anniversary of the town of Forada. That's right, the little town that was named for Ada is having its centennial. Start your beards, class men. Many classmates remember that at its height, Forada had a bank, creamery, lumberyard, was a Soo Line train stop and more. Farmers took milk to the creamery there and cut ice on the lake for extra money in the 40's. Of course lots of 4-H and Farmers Union meetings were held in the Forada Town Hall. Now, do we need to start a signup sheet for a field trip to Forada? So much to do, so little time.

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Congratulations to the Echo-Press -- or as we used to know it, the Park Region Echo, not to be confused with the Lake Region Press. The Alexandria newspaper won the award for being the best non-daily newspaper in the state. Representatives of "The Heckler", as some of our smart ass classmates call the local sheet, were on hand in Bloomington Thursday to accept the trophy from the Minnesota Newspaper Association at its annual convention.

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Cathy Bakke Miller just dropped a note to say that the third Christianson (or Christensen) triplet from Washington Elementary that Strandberg couldn't remember was named Dean. (See "Clifford got slapped but Pennar didn't" in the January archives.) Let's see. Not Huey, Dewey and Louie, but Darrel, Donnie and Dean. So glad we got that straightened out for you, Paul. Now tell us about the three-year crush you had on Marta.

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Paul Nokes (one of Mrs. Strandberg's favorites) has been burning the oil, googling everybody on the class list. A stout fellow, he. Nokes started from the end of the alphabet and is working backwards up the class list. Trouble is, he gets two or three hits for each name, along with a set of addresses and phone numbers. That's the typical problem with a search engine, too much information. For example:

James Yager, (763) 972-6103, 10984 County Road 17 SE, Delano, MN 55328
James M Yager, (651) 735-9526, 6163 Poplar Dr, Saint Paul, MN 55125

Darrell Williams, (218) 439-3703, 11826 Maple Lodge Rd, Audubon, MN 56511
Darrell Williams, (507) 734-5182, 2392 150th St, Balaton, MN 56115

Donald Wilke, (320) 264-0061, 1135 110th Ave SE, Murdock, MN 56271
Donald Wilke, (320) 387-3218, 11469 155th Ave NE, Oak Park, MN 56357

Robert Watson, (507) 433-4475, 600 19th St NW, Austin, MN 55912
Robert Watson, (763) 689-2073, 3025 Pauls Lake Rd NE, Cambridge, MN 55008

These are just numbers and names off the Internet. We have no idea if any are classmates or not. Somebody needs to make some phone calls and verify. Any volunteer detectives? Paul's in Omaha, so that's a lot of long distance from there, plus he's doing enough just getting the potential numbers set up. Paul also needs help with married names. You could use an old copy of the ReOnion for that, Paul. Somebody could email the married names if you don't have a copy. Paul googled a Patricia Thompson who is an attorney in Brainerd. Is that our Patty Thompson?

If you want to help Paul, he'll email you a list of names and numbers to check out. If you located someone, pass on the 40th reunion information, get some life info from them and report your findings to the Trailboss for a rewrite. (Obert? Are you reading this? Anybody else?) trailboss@swpub.com Let's talk. (Let's see, detectives. Darrell went to country school with me. I think he still lives near Alexandria. So neither of those listings would be correct. I think Wilke is a pastor. And Watson was at the Smith Sevey golf tournament this summer, on a cane. See Watson's photo in archives. Whodunit?)

There hasn't been much updating lately on the Lost and Found. It's a new year and we've only got six months left to party time.

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Like the new color scheme on the blog? Still looking for a red and black cardinal scheme but none are available on this blogger service. Oh well.

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Finally got some serious snow here. Anybody got a snow story to tell? Remember the time Larry Johnson and assorted juveniles hopped Marilyn Olson's mom's car in front of the Lutheran Church on a snow-packed Douglas Street? So many guys were hanging onto the bumper that it came to a spinning stop. There was at least a two inch base on the streets that year, so sliding conditions were ideal.

As I recall, Mrs. Olson was not amused, Mr. Johnson.

Look. Behind you!

1974 -- Stan Rolfsrud with two buddies from the Chanhassen Fire Department. The guy in the white hat is Fire Chief Jack Kreger. The guy with the beard is the editor of the local sheet and 1965 graduate of Alexandria's Jefferson High School. The fire raging in the background that doesn't seem to concern anyone? Well, the easiest way to take down a building back then was to ask the volunteer fire department to have a training exercise. (Notice the package of weiners in the editor's left hand.)

The battle has been joined

They're off and running in the cutest grandkids derby. This entry is of Sandi Pennar Bonesteel' s grandsons Stevie and Jake.

The Year In Review, Courtesy of Tom Obert

The Trailboss solicited personal Christmas letters from Class of 65ers. Happily, we got a response from our Alexandria correspondent and lifetime DFLer Tom Obert. Bev Roers also sent us a poem about class reunions that is an old favorite (check it out in the January archives).

Tom writes:
This past year we said our final good-byes to far too many old friends; new friends; siblings, children and parents of friends: “Hop” Namur, Lila Dziuk, Frank Blanchard, Esther Seeger, Theresa Annen, Pat Cooper, Mayo Johnson, Ron Gorena, Les Engstrom

JAN 1 – 31 - We finally had a winter – with many 30 below zero days. O.J. Simpson emerges as a potential suspect in the Laci Peterson case.
FEB 14 - Why do we even have juvenile laws when every time a juvenile commits a crime prosecutors want to try them as adults?
FEB 27 – President Bush amends the original Axis of Evil list to include any and all suspects in the Laci Peterson case. “They’re just evil and they hate freedom,” the President is alleged to have said.
MAR 18 – APR 7 – We took a 6,000-mile driving trip through the “red” states. We were generally treated kindly, nevertheless.
APR 2 – Ruthie [Tom's wife] became secretary for the Douglas County DFL – are bigger things ahead?
APR 17 – We were delegates to the 7th District DFL convention in Detroit Lakes. We mostly came away with an envy for their recreation center. Laci Peterson case preempts the total disappearance of Australia on MSNBC.
APR 26 – We finally completed Ruthie’s laundry room with new cabinets. Unlike the current administration, she did a tremendous job vetting her cabinet positions.
APR 30 – The first lawn mow of the year – could summer be far behind? (Of course, the passage of time revealed an extreme lack of summer this year.)
MAY 10 – We launched the Moby Obie – could summer be far behind? (See April 30.) Laci Peterson case sets record with 4,286 consecutive hours of coverage on FOX News.
MAY 21 – 23 - We were delegates to the State DFL convention in Duluth. We have never been so cold in our lives!
MAY 26 – JUN 6 – Ruthie went to San Diego with her sister Rita to visit Rita’s daughter Beth – Tom stayed home to babysit the cat. Laci Peterson case appears on 236 satellite channels simultaneously.
JUN 11 – 13 – We competed in the last Bremer Cup golf tourney, our club’s version of the Ryder Cup. We’re hoping the club will continue the format for this year with another sponsor. Tom has no recollection as to how he performed.
JUN 24 – 28 – Aunt Pearl and Uncle Ted from Loveland, Colorado visited. We were mid-way on their train trip across Canada (they got off at Winnipeg and rented a car for their visit here). The required visitor’s lakes tour on the Moby Obie required down parkas and hot toddies.
JUL 2 – 9 – Grandson Tommy and his Indiana grandparents, Fran and Ed, visited. Events included the July 4th boat parade (again in full winter regalia), Joey Dee and the Starlighters at the winery, golf and fishing.
JUL 17 – Elian Gonzalez returned to Cuba, two months after once again landing safely on Florida shores, when he discovered he could not afford the cost of health insurance here.
JUL 31 – Tom played in the golf club championship – he has no recollection as to how he did. Laci Peterson jury requests a sabbatical because they’re just plain sick and tired of hearing about this case.
AUG 3 - 72 cable news channels pull reporters from Iraq and Afghanistan to cover the Laci Peterson case.
AUG 7 – 8 – Old D.C. golf buddies, Jim (and Ruth Anne) Brown and Danny (and Sandy) Funkhouser, paid their first visit to Lake Wobegon. We decide there should be an annual re-union here of the old fivesome.
AUG 20 –22 – We manned the DFL booth at the Douglas County fair – we had such high hopes….
AUG 30 – Elian Gonzalez was rumored to be considering a return to the United States until he learned he was a suspect in the Laci Peterson case.
SEP 10 – 12 – The wine festival set new attendance records. Orrin “Toonsie” Foslien stars with a stirring rendition of Ruthie’s favorite song: Gladys Isn’t Gratis Anymore!
SEP 12 – 18 – In a mad dash after car troubles, Ruthie’s sister Rita and her friends Karen and Darlene arrived from Indiana in time for the last day of the wine festival.
SEP 25 - Completion of Alexandria’s major 3rd Avenue project reintroduced locals to the use and function of the middle finger. For now imposed on our community is the double left turn lane, the bane of mankind and overpopulated suburbs everywhere, and for people unfamiliar there is a tendency to drift from the inside lane to the outside lane while making the turn.
OCT 2 – 9 – Rita and Ruthie’s Mom, Janella, came up from Indiana and Rita’s daughter Beth, from San Diego, and a friend of hers from the Cities paid a visit. I seem to recall they didn’t have good weather.
OCT 7 – We took out Moby Obie for the year – we were glad Rita was here to help clean the lift canopy. The cold summer was gradually giving way to a warm fall.
OCT 15 – First snow – not much. Didn’t snow again until the 1st week in December. I seem to remember sending out a missive claiming the weather in November was much better than it had been in August (when the guys had to mow the golf course in their snowmobile suits).
NOV 2 – There was some sort of election……..
NOV 3 – Somehow in spite of events of the preceding day, millions of American homosexuals got up, made coffee, went to work, came home, ate dinner, watched TV, and went to bed.
NOV 5 – Old buddy Tom Kiehne from Austin, Texas came up to visit his folks on the end of a business trip to the Cities. Coverage of the Laci Peterson case, rather than the election results, is determined to be the major cause of mass emigration to Canada.
NOV 6 – We attended Basketball Dan’s annual turkeyfest – to the best of all attendee’s now limited memories, a consensus was reached that this one set an attendance record.
NOV 18 – Tom attended his first meeting as a board member at the golf club. His complaints that the election was rigged – 4 candidates for 4 openings – fell on deaf ears.
NOV 23 – Our big screen TV Christmas present to each other arrived – ho, ho, ho!! We set our V-Chip to exclude any reference to the Laci Peterson case.
DEC 1 – Gag gift of the year: Ruthie bid on and won a 3-month health club membership for Tom. Even funnier, he’s using it (well, so far). He does, however, have to pay user fees on the treadmills (kinda like the extra road taxes 18-wheelers have to pay).

(Okay. Fire back. We want your Christmas letter too. Send it to Trailboss@swpub.com)

"Best In Show" -- Lorlee Bartos photo wins in Texas

This photo, created by our classmate Lorlee Bartos, won "Best in Show" at the Texas State Fair last summer. It was printed on tee shirts and sold. Lorlee also won a first place for another photo you can find elsewhere on this blog.
Despite threats and encouragement, Lorlee never did write an official bio for the web site. (In that way, she's just like most of the rest of you.) Her latest excuse is that Tom Obert's Christmas letter was so well done no one else will submit anything. Like Obert, Bartos is a lifetime DFLer, so she particularly enjoyed his contribution. "I watched George Bush in Texas when he was a third rate governor," she opines, "and believe me, there hasn't been any improvement. I lament the divisiveness he and Karl Rove have visited on our country" Her solution to world problems? "Let's bomb them with butter, education and good will."
In other news, Lorlee has entered the totally new kitchen she designed in a Better Homes and Gardens competition. Guess we'll have to wait to find out what that's all about.
Lorlee was somewhat glum about the annual Frog report (you know kiss a thousand before you find the prince) which this year reported that we were probably too old to keep searching the swamps -- since the number of human frogs just like their amphibian counterparts seem to be dwindling.

Nokes glad he visited his teacher before she died

Paul Nokes was looking for a company press release on the web. He put his name in a search engine, and voila, up pops the '65Roundup. He went to work, wrote a bio, and here it is. Nice going, Paul! Wish everyone was so resourceful. We've got a lot of work to do this year if we're going to find everybody on the class list. The list is below. The way this works, Paul, is that your classmates are supposed to be working industriously to help the Trailboss (that's me) turn lightface names into bold. I'll be turning yours bold as soon as I get a chance. And you get a Star* by your name because you contributed something about yourself. So far it has been slow. We're hoping things catch fire in the New Year. Got some stuff today from Lorlee Bartos, Tom Obert and a promise from a member of the Class of '64 that he will write something fun soon about Jerry Deleski, but that's about it right now. Does your pal John Kloehn have email on the farm? If so, give him a post and get him on this site. Class president Paul Strandberg has always had a soft spot in his heart for the Kloehn Twins. He explained to me once that "Kloehn Twins" is a sort of clever pun. Anyway, thanks for the note. Keep checking in and contacting classmates, deputy. -- The Trailboss

Paul Nokes writes:
Hi Stan.... I did not expect to find this site tonight as I was poking around on the net. We stopped getting the paper about a year ago and were wondering what was planned for the 40th reunion. We were last at Garfield in late October to see Mom.... we were on our way back from a visit to the Peace Gardens in North Dakota. We last saw most of our classmates at the 30th reunion.
Paul's short bio:
I went into the USAF right after graduation as did some of our classmates. I retired from the Air Force in 1990 while in Texas and moved back to Omaha 1992 and have been at Children's Hospital since then. I am presently the Manager of IT Operations.
I have been married for 36 years to Jeanne Gann (whom I met in Omaha in 1967) and we have two boys, now 24 and 30. I enjoy working for the kids at the hospital and have no intention of retiring any time soon.
I still spend time with classic cars and have three '68-69 AMXs and a '74 Bricklin that I have restored and show at area events. I also still keep in touch with farming by donating time to several local area farmers here. I greatly admire those classmates of ours that are still in the farming business. In fact, I always make time to stop and visit with John Kloehn when I come home and always enjoy his company. For those that are Viet Nam vets they will know what I mean.
Garfield will be having its 100th birthday celebration the second week in August and we will be coming up for that. We will keep checking the web site now that we know about it. Hope to see you all this summer.
(There, wasn't that easy to do, classmates? Well done, Paul. -- Trailboss)

Paul Strandberg writes:
I don't know if it's the fault of my mother, who was Paul Nokes' teacher in Garfield (he was a favorite), but if the last time Paul saw his classmates was at the 30th reunion, there are only two conclusions:
1. Nobody told me about the reunion, or
2. My mother didn't do a good job of teaching him arithmetic since I, even in my declining years, remember the last reunion being the 25th.

Neither option is encouraging.

Paul Nokes responds:
I saw the post from Paul S and he is correct.... it was the 25th. About all I could remember is that we drove up from San Antonio and we lived there from 1985 until 1992. Anyway, on one of our trips to Minnesota I took time to drive over to the Nelson area and found his mom's place and stopped and paid her a visit. I had not seen her in 25 plus years and was she ever surprised to see us. It is a shame that we do not take more time to visit the people that made such a positive impression on us during our early years. My mom has always said that if we wait until we retire, the folks we want to see have long since passed and we will never recover the lost time.

Texas State Fair Winner

"Closer Than They Appear" --Lorlee Bartos won a first place for this photograph at the Texas State Fair last summer. She also won "Best in Show." See details on Lorlee elsewhere on the blog.

Bev Roers Korkowski found this poem while cleaning out some drawers last week. Thanks Bev. Enjoy.

Reunions
Every ten years, as summertime nears,
An announcement arrives in the mail..
“A reunion is planned, it’ll be really grand,
Make plans to attend without fail”.

I’ll never forget the first time we met,
We tried so hard to impress.
We drove fancy cars, smoked big cigars,
And wore our most elegant dress.

It was quite an affair, the whole class was there,
It was held at a fancy hotel.
We wined and we dined and we acted refined,
And everyone thought that was swell.

The men all conversed about who had been first
To achieve great fortune and fame.
Meanwhile, their spouses described their fine houses
And how beautiful their children had become.

The homecoming queen, who once had been lean,
Now weighed in at one-ninety-six.
The jocks that were there had lost all their hair,
And the cheerleaders could do no more kicks.

No one had heard about the class nerd
Who’d guided a spacecraft to the moon;
Or poor little Jane, who’d always been plain,
She married a shipping tycoon.

The boy we decreed “most apt to succeed”
Was serving ten years in the pen,
While the one voted “least” now was a priest,
Shows you can be wrong now and then.

They awarded a prize to one of the guys
Who seemed to have aged the least.
Another was given to the grad that had driven
The farthest to attend the feast.

They took a class picture, a curious mixture
Of beehives, crew cuts and wide ties.
Tall, short or skinny, the style was the mini,
You never saw so many thighs.

At our next get-together, no one cared whether
They impressed their classmates or not.
The mood was informal, a whole lot more normal,
By this time we’d all gone to pot.

It was held out-of-doors, at the lake shores;
We ate hamburgers, coleslaw and beans.
Then most of us lay around in the shade
In our comfortable t-shirts and jeans.

By the fortieth year, it was abundantly clear
We were definitely over the hill.
Those who weren’t dead had to crawl out of bed
And be home in time for their pill.

And now I can’t wait, they’ve just set the date;
Our fiftieth is coming, I’m told.
It should be a ball, they’ve rented a hall
At the Shady Rest Home for the Old.

Repairs have been made on my hearing aid,
My pacemaker’s been turned up on high.
My wheelchair is oiled, my teeth have been boiled,
And I’ve bought a new wig and glass eye.

I’m feeling quite hearty, I’m ready to party;
I’ll dance ‘til the dawn’s early light.
It’ll be lots of fun, I just hope there’s one
Other person who gets there that night!!

Jim Clifford got slapped, but not Sandi Pennar

Trailboss Stan,
As the slug class president, I am exceedingly grateful for the blog. It's really fun when something comes up.

I do have a new question to pose to the 65'ers. In first or second grade at Washington, I recall that there was a set of triplets in our class. I can't for the life of me remember their names or even be sure they existed since I think they disappeared even before I got transferred to Lincoln. All I can think of are Hughie, Dewey and Louie, and I'm pretty sure that wasn't their names. I'd be interested to find out if anyone else remembers them.
Paul Strandberg

Here's your answer, Paul

Jim Clifford (see his bio in the 65Roundup archives) spotted Paul's question, above, and sent us this note. Then Sandi Pennar Bonesteel added her comment, below. The name of one of the teachers has been changed to Ethel, just in case. Pennar mistakenly thought she had the same teacher. Thanks for an interesting exchange, classmates.

Clifford writes:
The triplets were the Christiansen (sp?) brothers, Darrel, Donnie and ??? (Starts with a D, possibly Duane). I remember them as kind if impish little kids who smiled a lot. My memory of them is stuck in about second grade with Mrs. Sather (great teacher) and 3rd grade with Ms. Stoltz (sp?) who was also very nice.
How was I to know, given the kind treatment I'd received from these two, that the beast who awaited me was none other than "Ethel!" Ethel, as some might recall, was a large woman with grey hair and a genuine mole on her face, complete with protruding hair. Ethel was not a college graduate type teacher, but went the short "teacher's college" route. I think it was her overwhelming personality defects that were her primary deficiencies.
I forgo any criticism of the unnamed college, because you can't make chicken salad out of chicken ----! One of the things I recall about Ethel was that she slapped me several times. Only later was I to learn, from Sister Mary M., that there is slapping, and then there is nun slapping. In trying to quantify the difference, my mind goes toward calibers of weapons, say, a .22 and a 50 caliber machine gun round.

Ethel also would occasionally ask all the Catholic kids to stand, and say "one of your prayers." We always did, and attempted the Lord's Prayer, only to have her say, "not that one, the one about the Virgin Mary." So we said a Hail Mary, much to her apparent amusement. I'd love to find out if anyone else remembers this. I swear, this one is not drug induced, or caused by any form of dementia! I know Jim McPhee remembers this. I seem to recall Chris McCabe being in that class, as well as Terry Prine (Wonder where he is). I think Gillespie was still in "country school", and only joined us at St. Mary's -- but I could be wrong about that.

New subject
My ex-wife, Lavonne Andress, nee, Feda, lives in Edina, and still flys for Northwest. Her husband is also a flight attendant. She has two kids, not with me. We were divorced in December 1975, during my last month in my last year of law school. One never knows when the glue will fail! I spoke with her the day before her birthday last year and wished her well. She sounded very happy, and I am pleased that she is. I do not know how to get ahold of her, except she is in the Minneapolis phone book.

Sandi Pennar Bonesteel thinks she had Ethel
(The Trailboss changed the name of Jim Clifford's before posting it. Sandi Pennar Bonesteel read the post and figured she knew Ethel. It sounded like a Fifth Grade teacher she had at Washington. Apparently there were a few hated teachers there, because Jim and Sandi are talking about two different teachers. Read the rant:)

Pennar writes:
I too, had been treated well by previous teachers, and I also had Mrs. Sather for 2nd and Mrs. Stoltz for 3rd--then for 4th was Mrs. Madsen. I had always enjoyed school and absolutely ADORED my teachers...until "Ethel"!
I now found myself hating school, as she was stern and mean spirited, where the other teachers had always been warm and kind. She could never be pleased, no matter how hard one tried. I was completely thrown off guard, never knowing what to expect.
At that age I was shy, well-behaved, and what you would call a low maintenance student, almost invisible. I respected my teachers and did what I was told to do, and had yet to see the inside of the dreaded Principal's Office. I think she found some fault in every student, and even a little mouse like me wasn't safe in her classroom.

Never got slapped around like Clifford
I was (and still am) left-handed, and she was determined to break me of "that habit". Prior to this, I never knew I had a problem! In fact, my teachers had always complimented me on my penmanship. I did, however hold the pencil in the typical lefties 'backhanded" postion, and had a slight left slant to my cursive writing, and chunky loopy letters. However neat and legible, it just wouldn't do! She tried to change it by having me keep my left hand in my lap and insisted on that I write with the right. She would hover over me as I struggled. (I don't recall slapping---maybe that was reserved for the hardcore students like Clifford!)
By this age, it is a bit difficult to "rewire" your brain! This is not an easy task, to be able to master the correct grip on the pencil, let alone achieve anything remotely close to legibility. I hated my sloppy writing which looked like something a preschooler would do! I just couldn't win. Add this frustration to trying to maintain and stay on course with the daily lessons. It would have taken me months to get it right and she had no patience. I felt doomed and was not coping well (I had a multitude of "schoolitis" complaints---stomach ache, headache---anything to stay home)
Luckily, my dad picked up on it and came to my rescue. Back then, teachers weren't questioned, and your parents usually sided with the teacher, and it wasYOU who was in trouble. It didn't do much good to complain, so I had kept this to myself, accepting it as the way it was. But this was such a big change in me, that my dad knew something was up. He spoke to either her or the Principal, and she got off my back, and didn't find anything else to pick at for the rest of the term.
However, she had partially succeeded, as I now don't hold the pen in the leftie manner, and my handwriting doesn't have the leftie slant, but I am still left-handed! Whenever someone compliments me on my handwriting, ("beautiful--for a leftie") I think of her. I guess she deserves some credit.

We asked for cute grandchildren photos and we sure got one today! This is Tyler, Sara Smith Sevey's pride and joy. Send your photos to the Trailboss@swpub.com

Christmas letters wanted

Did you send a Christmas letter to your friends this year? We'd like you to send us a copy to put on this web site. Type it up and email it to Trailboss@swpub.com or mail it to Stan Rolfsrud, 2355 Abbey Point, Shakopee MN 55379. We'll trim it down if needed. Even if you've already put something on this site, send us the Christmas letter update anyway. We've got a lot of readers out there who are interested. Not enough writers. Don't be shy, please. We're all 57 years old now and we should be over that by now. Ha.
Stan

Kaleen Anderson Hilsenhoff, retired in Waconia

Kaleen Anderson Hilsenhoff heard about the reunion from both Gloria Femrite Lundblad and Kathy Josephs Faust. She went to the web site and then noticed that neither of their names were in boldface.
Kaleen, that's because we haven't got any stories about them... yet. Kaleen kindly volunteered their addresses -- Gloria lives in Alex and Kathy lives in Burnsville -- and now we hope she'll get some more information from them so we can add some interest to this web site. The 65Roundup is getting a little boring, we need some new stuff to post.

Meanwhile, after 21+ years for Xcel Energy at the Monticello Nuclear Generating Plant, Kaleen has retired! Most of her work years were spent in Operations Engineering. Right now she is just using vacation until her official retirement date of March 1, 2005. Congratulations!

Sold her house
Recently Kaleen sold her house in Monticello and rented an apartment in a 55-and-over building in Waconia, Minnesota. This is conveniently close to her mom, brother (Jay Anderson, class of '67), & sister (Lyn Anderson Prins, class of '70) who live in the Watertown, Minnesota area.
Kaleen was widowed in Feb. 1994. Her three sons, Brian, Bruce and Brad Newton (along with their wives) have given her five "biological" grandchildren, and 5 "bonus" step-grandchildren. They live in Baldwin, Wisconsin; Brick, New Jersey; and Maple Grove, Minnesota.
"I cannot believe my youngest grandchild is 8 1/2 years old!" Kaleen laughs. "I am anxious to get back to the 65Roundup home page so I can read more about classmates."
You heard it, 65ers, get your note off to Trailboss@swpub.com. Kaleen (and others) want to hear about you!