Category Archives: morrison county

To Grow Up Catholic

Posted on March 20, 2012 | Comments Off

Prayer and attending church services were of utmost importance in our family. Sunday Mass meant girls sitting on one side and boys on the other side. First and second grade sat in the first pew, third and fourth grade sat in the second pew, and so on through eighth grade. After eighth grade, one could sit in the pew with your parents. My parents always had an assigned pew to sit in. They had to pay pew rent every year to sit in their pew. A disadvantage to sitting way up front was the priest could see you very easily. I remember being scolded for resting my head on the pew and looking up at the ceiling when I was in the first grade. Remember, most homilies at this time were at least 30 minutes long.

Receiving communion for the first time was a very special day. My mother always made us the center of attention when it was our special day. We always attended rosary and Benediction on Saturday evenings and sometimes on Wednesday. My dad didn’t always because he had farm work to do. I remember going to Holy Thursday and Good Friday services and then going to school. Easter and Christmas were very special times. After Midnight Mass it meant a big meal at 2:00 in the morning. No matter what age we were, on those special days, we got a few swallows of homemade wine.

At home we would pray the rosary daily on our knees in the dining room. As time went on we were able to sit and pray the rosary. That was welcomed by all.

Daily prayers were said kneeling in the morning and evening. Meal prayers were also never forgotten.

As my mother and dad went on in age, their rosary, meal prayers and daily prayers were of great importance. When my dad’s aneurysm burst, he had a rosary around his neck. My mother passed away after the “Angel of God” was said. Growing up Catholic has helped me to be the person I am today. Thank you, God, for being in my life.

-Mary W.

Date of Essay: October 24, 2011

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Posted in minnesota, morrison county, morrison county historical society, the charles a. weyerhaeuser memorial museum, what's it like in morrison county

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The Bridge to Everywhere: Little Falls, Minnesota, and beyond.

Posted on March 14, 2012 | Comments Off

I was born, raised, and lived as a Little Falls Westsider; then I left.  But I am BACK, and still a Westsider and a Minnesotan.

Those of us who grew up on the Bestside had many things available to us; stores, churches, rec centers, schools, parks, and all the many things that are found in a small town.  If we wanted to see a movie, go to the fair, or learn to play baseball on a REAL baseball field, we had to cross the river to THE OTHER SIDE.  To get there (east), we could get there by using the mother-approved way, or we could go the kid way, the fun way, the dangerous way; we could walk on the wild side!   Our choices were the Broadway bridge (boring) or the TRESTLE by the paper mill, which brought us across the river only a few blocks from the fairgrounds ballpark.

Now a railroad bridge added excitement to our lives, because we could die while attempting to cross it.  Signs warned us that it was railroad property–NO TRESPASSING!!  Either railroad workers or the papermill workers would yell at us or, if they were young enough, they would chase us to keep us off that bridge.

Now you have to understand that the trestle was not like the one that spans the river today; it was old, wooden, narrow, and high above the river.  It was a single track wide and it had a narrow catwalk on the south side, with a wooden railing to keep us from plunging to certain death in the river below.  If we were on our bikes, that meant walking the bike across because if we tried to ride across on the catwalk and fell, to the north we would land on the tracks and break bones; if we fell to the south, we would undoubtedly fall over the railing, into the river and drown.

Actually, crossing was no big deal, unless we were about halfway across when a train came along quickly and quietly, leaving us with 2 choices: run toward the train and hopefully be off the bridge before the train killed you, or try to get off the bridge before the train caught up with you and killed you.  We discovered that when you are 10 years old, it doesn’t take long for your life to flash before your eyes.

There was a third desperate choice that some of us had to resort to–the water barrel.  Every 100 feet or so (distance, height, and danger, are variable elements to a kid, so my details may be off a bit) there was a platform jutting out from the catwalk that held a barrel, in that barrel was water to be used to put out any small fires that may have started on the bridge.  The barrel was also big enough to hold a kid who jumped in it and the held his bike out over the river until the train passed by, not killing him.  We lived–usually, and most eastsiders went on to lead their boring, humdrum kid lives, while we  Bestsiders faced  death on an almost daily basis, either by train or angry mothers.

That which does not kill us makes us stronger–and occasionally, smarter.  I have not crossed an active trestle in at least 55 years.  God, how I miss the terror!

-S.W.

Date of Essay: February 21, 2012

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Posted in minnesota, morrison county, morrison county historical society, the charles a. weyerhaeuser memorial museum, what's it like in morrison county

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To Be a Shoe-Shine Boy in Little Falls & Camp Ripley

Posted on January 25, 2012 | Comments Off

My first real paying job was shining the shoes of National Guardsmen in Little Falls and Camp Ripley. I was about 10 years old and the process was pretty simple: Build a shoe-shine box, buy a brush and some polish, get a few rags, and go downtown to compete against other kids for the nickels, dimes, and quarters from the soldiers.

The only problem shining in town was too many kids – as a result, too little money.

The next step was going into Camp, where the customers were congregated. Since it was about 8 miles, that meant that one of the moms would drive us to Camp, and another would pick us up. Sometimes we walked through the gate; sometimes we climbed the fence, but there were riches to be made.

I shined shoes, combat boots, and jump boots. If you could do a spit shine, you were in demand. There were times (1950-51) where, as a 10 or 11-year-old, I made as much money in a long day as my dad did in 2 weeks. After one of those “big money” days Dad offered to trade jobs, but he couldn’t do a spit shine.

- S. W.

Date of Essay: October 24, 2011

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To Be a Car Hop

Posted on January 24, 2012 | Comments Off

Okay! I was a car hop at Sammy’s Drive-In in the ‘50s. We had “good” customers and some that weren’t so good, but “had” to treat them all the same. Well this was a Friday night and I was the only car hop on duty, even though Marilyn said she was working. I don’t think so! I was very busy when a car with 2 guys came in, and, I knowing the guys, and I DID NOT have time for them, so I didn’t go out to their car right away. They were leaning on the horn so I finally went out and got their order. I delivered the order, and the driver gave me a $20. Sammy would put the change under a mug and yell, “Change up!” but I didn’t have time to get it back to the car and put up with “them!” So they started to lean on their horn again. “Bring our change out.” And I said, “Get it yourselves!” they did. Then it was, “We’re done,” and I said, “Take it up yourself!” They did.

Then as I was waiting on another car, I looked up and went “Ah!” because there was this “Big Ape” like guy coming toward me!!! He came over, picked me up (I was under 100 pounds all through high school), spanked me, put me down and walked away! With that, I kept working. And he had to pick up his mom from work at Victor Clothing Company at 9:00. She already had heard about it.

I got even. I married that guy!

And when I went to formally meet his mom, that was the first thing she said to me … “I’d never go with someone who spanked me.” I didn’t tell her I was getting even!

Sammy’s Drive-In was just south of Little Falls by Twomey’s, where the Benson Radiator Shop is now. Sammy Winger from St. Louis Park owned it. And he always had a big cigar in his mouth. He’d smoke it until it “died” then chew the rest of it.

-D. W.

Date of Essay: October 24, 2011

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To Rake Leaves

Posted on January 5, 2012 | Comments Off

Living at home entails participation; no, it requires one to help with chores around the house.  Raking leaves was one task I was looking forward to, as I had not done it for four years.  As the fall leaves started changing colors, a certain wistfulness hit me as I recalled the timeless activity of raking the leaves into a pile and jumping into them as a child.

Thankfully, our suburban yard is not large, although most of the leaves had blown across the road from the majestic oak trees.  This particular Saturday morning, with the October sun shining brightly, I look forward to working outside and breathing the crisp fall air.  I head outside to find my parents and suddenly the ridiculous roar of lawn machines meets me.  This leads me to think the whole neighborhood is doing their leaves, but I soon find out it is only the neighbors to the north.  They have two riding lawn mowers and are using a leaf blower to collect their leaves.  I walk to our shed to grab the old-fashioned tool, a rake.  My rake, unlike my parents’, has a metal and plastic end.  While raking, I find the metal rake works better than the completely plastic ends, or perhaps it is my commitment to gather every single leaf littering my yard.  The rake I am using may have worked the best, but was bested in terms of a cool factor by another.  The plastic rake my dad is using has a handle long enough to fit Paul Bunyan.  My family and I joke that we could stand in one spot and rake the whole yard and, if we stretched our arms out, the neighbor’s yard too.

To further divide the gap between the technological neighbors and ourselves, once our leaves are raked in piles, my parents and I pull out the old-fashioned tarp to move the leaves.  Our dog enjoys a ride as we pull the leaves across the yard to the trailer.  At least our system of raking leaves does not use fuel or pollute the atmosphere with noise.  It was quite peaceful when the neighbor’s machines were off and I could joke with my family and appreciate the crunch of the leaves.

R.B.

Date of Essay: October 24, 2011

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