Star Gazing (14)
My earliest memories of Tink Larson Field go back to preschool, driving past in our old Rambler, my mom and sister gesturing toward the field and saying, “That’s where you’re going to go to kindergarten!”
They were, of course, referring to the brick building a couple blocks in the background, Hartley Elementary, but I saw only the baseball field and wooden bleacher structure and wondered why in the world anyone would go to school there. I never did, at least not until later years. I went to South Side for kindergarten and at some point realized Community Field is where you play baseball and Hartley is a school. At some much later point I realized both are places of higher learning.
The first game I attended at Community Field was in the late 1960s, when I convinced an adult friend to take me. I became a regular at the park after that, climbing the ladder to put numbers on the outfield scoreboard for a buck a game or shagging foul balls for 50 cents, if you didn't get there early enough.
We also trespassed at the ballpark on a regular basis, day and night, though we never did any damage. If you went to the top of the bleachers in either corner, you could grab the wire, climb on top and play in the press box. It was always a little scary climbing that wire, but that was half the fun.
Practices for our seventh-grade football team were held in the outfield grass. I played baseball games on the field, learned from Larson, and covered countless games for the newspaper.
An American Legion game from the late 1980s comes to mind. Brad Tramp hit a home run that went foul. Monte Dufault, standing on deck, said, “That’s what I’m going to do. Only fair.” Tramp hit a home run on the next pitch. Dufault followed with a home run. The clip of that article later helped me land a job at Sun Newspapers in the Cities.
It was about that time I approached Waseca Mayor Avery “Doc” Hall about changing the name of the ballpark from Community Field to Tink Larson Field. Doc agreed it was a grand idea. We started a petition. It didn’t fly.
They eventually did rename the field in honor of the man who spent decades manicuring it, traveling to the old Met Stadium for bleacher seats and other reclaimable items, and generally turning the place into one of the best ballparks in the state. He and his wife, Sharon, basically raised their kids there, and did a good job of it.
At one time, Larson coached the high school, Legion and VFW baseball teams and ran the park and recreation program. He was also a heck of a ballplayer, hitting home runs and throwing out baserunners as a catcher into his 60s for the Waseca town team.
Wednesday night, along with others, Larson watched with disbelief as the bleachers at his beloved field all but burned to the ground.
The fire, it is said, started in the middle of the bleachers. The state fire marshal was there Thursday investigating. Larson, reached at his home Thursday evening, said he’s hoping for a report Friday, though he knows it won’t really matter.
“It’s gone,” said Larson. “It won’t ever be the same, that’s for sure.”
The bleachers will be rebuilt, of course, but they never can or will be replaced. Laws won’t allow it anymore. Modern bleachers must be constructed of steel, concrete or some other non-flammable substance, not wood.
Like the old hotel on Waseca’s Main St., which burned decades ago, the historic Tink Larson Field bleacher structure is now exactly that — history.
O.K., I admit it. I'm a pure failure at this "scaling back" idea.
Since announcing my intensions publicly in the Star Eagle a few weeks ago, many things have changed. That's not including some comments made in last week's Star Gazing, as have been mentioned around the office, but hopefully we'll clarify a few of those as this column progresses.
First, though, the first issue. I am not very successful at scaling back my working hours by shaving 20 hours per week off my previous schedule, as hoped and planned for. I get a D, if that - or, if Mr. D was feeling generous - maybe even a D+. But he's an English teacher. What good would that do? Let's just say that I'm a complete and utter failure at this scaling back stuff and leave it at that. But it does not mean I don't hold hope for improvement.
If anything, I have taken on even more since returning to the Star Eagle full time a couple weeks ago. For this, I apologize to my sweetie in Albert Lea and anyone else who may have been negatively affected. But, given current circumstances, I didn't think there was much choice. I still don't. I have to do what's best for the business and if that means I have to be here more than 40 hours a week, so be it. I can't "scale back" yet. Part of that, I'm certain, is because of habit. I have a history of putting in a lot of hours, thinking this may somehow equate to happiness, and seem to have an inbred talent for going to extremes. Or so it has been said. I'm always looking for the happy medium, attempting to walk that fine line, trying to keep everybody happy, trying to avoid conflict at all costs. And where does it get me? It gets me in trouble. Trying to keep everyone happy is a recipe for disaster.
Unfortunately, it's a recipe I have played with far too often at the Star Eagle. I have a feeling my mom probably tried to cook it up a few times herself. That's probably where I get it from.
Speaking of cooking, another area in which I have dropped the ball: meals. I have not, as mentioned last week, prepared three nutritious meals per day in my household. I apologize to anyone who may have been misled by this statement.
Let's see. I'm a failure at scaling back the hours and not very successful at cooking. Check. Check.
The other thing mentioned last week was that ESPN was on our television 24 hours a day at home. It's simply not true. That has been trimmed to less than an hour a day, including Eli's morning and night time. He has many other favorite shows.
So, to be perfectly honest here, there's no way I have shaved 20 hours per week from my previous work schedule, there's no way I have time to cook three nutritious meals per day and, no, ESPN is not on our TV 24 hours a day. I'm too busy working.
The reason these items were included in last week's column is because it was written two weeks earlier.
One thing that was true in last week's column? The cleanliness of our house. I'm proud of the way it's looking at this time and intend to keep it that way.
As mentioned earlier, there is hope for improvement in the scaling back idea. There has to be. Many years ago, as a much younger man, I played doubles tennis with a partner named Lester Hanson from Waseca. As he told me after a double fault one day, "That's O.K." I answered, "It has to be."
There just has to be hope on scaling back my hours. There has to be.
So, you may be asking yourself - or maybe not - how is it going after week one of the grand experiment? You know, the one where I try to slice 20 hours a week or so from my work schedule and still maintain my sanity. Well, I can tell you how it's going from this perspective. I'm going crazy.
It's not that I haven't found enough to do to fill my schedule. The hours I usually work at the Star Eagle have been taken up by all kinds of household tasks: cleaning, emptying the cats' litter box, dishes (a lot of dishes), garbage, making coffee, and laundry (a lot of it) have filled my time quite nicely, thank you. I'm sure Eli, my 17-year-old, appreciates the meals I have been preparing for him as well, and I believe I'm doing myself a favor by cooking three square meals a day.
But, I'm still getting a little case of the cabin fever. Why, just the other day, I found myself looking forward to a trip to the dentist - so much so that I even took a trip to the barber, just to prepare, only to find out Leo is out of the office until at least March. Who can blame him? If I could be out of the house and to a warmer climate until then, I don't think I'd be battling cabin fever or looking for something to do.
I really admire anyone who can crank out a column on a weekly basis, people like Mark Domeier, Al Batt, Dick Herfindahl and the like. As I've been told numerous times throughout the years, I wish I could write like they do. In fact, if I had a dollar for every time I've heard that, well, I'd have a lot of dollars by now.
But the truth is, it's hard to write a column every week. Even with all my spare time, this one does not come easily. If the words of a boss I once had, writing a column is easy - as easy as it is to cut open a vein.
Actually, it's not that difficult, as long as you have the inspiration and the ideas. Coming up with ideas can be tough, however.
One thing I have tried awfully hard to do is to stay out of Reed Waller's way. He appears to have embraced his new role at the newspaper, and I can say with all honesty, it made me smile the other day when he referred to Troy Thompson as, "My new sportswriter," rather than "Your new sportswriter," or even "Our new sportswriter." Troy comes to the Star Eagle with a game or two under his belt, having worked for the Rochester newspaper, and though I'm sure the Swami (Dale Kugath) will be missed by many, including myself, we're hoping Troy will step up and fill the ticket nicely. We haven't asked him yet if he's willing to write a column or two, but I wouldn't bet against it.
But back to the house. It has been years since it's been this clean, and keeping it clean is high on my agenda of things to do not only in the near future but the far distant future as well. I plan to keep it spic and span, with maybe a little help from Spic and Span, and maybe even Mr. Clean.
And then there's ESPN. Is there anyone else out there who leaves it on their TV screen 24 hours a day?
It reminds me of a refrigerator magnet I once had, displaying a '50s model clad in '50s-stye lingerie, with the saying, "No matter how she tried, Violet just couldn't compete with ESPN."
And that reminds me of a baby born in Albert Lea several years ago who was lucky enough to be named "Espn," by his parents. I think you pronounce it "Espen," though I'm not certain and not sure I want to be. It's a good thing I didn't think of it when my kids were born.
One thing is for sure. I don't know how much longer I can hold back before returning to the Star Eagle on a full-time basis. After all, there's only so much kitty litter to go around. And this house can only be so clean.
There was a time when weather like this did not bother me one bit. In fact, I relished the thought of going outside and playing in the snow. Nowadays, too much of that playing involves a shovel. And that's where my back has something to say about it.
I can honestly state that it's been years since my back bothered me. Well, that changed recently when I picked up a shovel, only to be greeted by lower back pangs the next day. Maybe I'm getting old. Maybe not. Maybe Eli, my 17-year-old, doesn't care as much about money as he used to, but I'd bet that's not the case. I'm thinking that for the right rate of pay, he'll be back out there shoveling snow again.
It's kind of the same in the summer, only it's easier to mow the lawn in 70-degree temperatures than it is to shovel the snow when it's 20-below zero. I know the temperatures don't help. After all, how many of us - who aren't wrestlers, at least - want to go out and run around town or do anything in below-zero weather? You have to admire those wrestlers. I see them running in the mornings and wonder what motivates them. Then I picture one of them on a podium with a gold medal around his neck and it's all too clear what motivates them. I wish them all the best of luck, on the roads and on the mat and, hopefully, on the podium. Hard work should be rewarded.
So what are we rewarded with by shoveling or clearing snow with our snow blowers? Well, for starters, a clean driveway and sidewalk, one necessary for travel and the other necessary to avoid a ticket and watching and then paying for somebody to do it anyway. It works the same way in the summer. It's mow or pay somebody else to do it for you, a lesson learned by more than one of my neighbors on Division Street through the years.
Back in the day, we were never paid. We mowed for our breakfast, shoveled for lunch and didn't complain or we'd get nothing and be thankful for it. And we walked uphill to school, carrying buckets of water in each hand, uphill in both directions - or at least that's the way some of our ancestors describe it - going 33 miles each way. Actually, we did walk a lot. Or skated. Seriously. I remember when they didn't plow much in town and the streets would become so caked with ice and snow that my brother could actually skate many blocks to Trowbridge Park. I also remember the night some friends gave him a ride home. We were really worried - or at least I was - because it looked like he was badly hurt. I don't remember what actually happened to him, though, so it couldn't have been too bad. You know what? He could really be a wimp at times.
But that's beside the point and will remain another story for another time. Perhaps. Perhaps not. Back to the snow shoveling story.
Like I said, it's been years since my back last bothered me, and I'm here to tell you that an aching back is nothing to joke about. If I have to describe it to you, there's no way you can understand. If you, like me, has ever had a sore back, there's no need to explain. You know about it.
But shoveling is, unfortunately, something we have to deal with here in the North country. Either that or move to Texas or Bullhead City, Arizona for the winter, and I'm just not quite ready for that yet.
Maybe in a few years. Maybe in a couple years. Maybe next year. Then again, maybe not.
For now, at least, I'll hang around here and make the best of it.
Here's hoping you're making the best of your winter.
By JIM LUTGENS
Editor/Publisher
It was with a heavy heart that a letter was penned to New Richland City Clerk Wayne Billing this morning.
Serving on the City Council was something I was greatly looking forward to. I appreciated everyone's vote last November, but now it's time to step aside - before I even get started.
About a month ago, something happened that no one - almost no one - could have anticipated. I got the flu. No big deal, normally, except I take medication on a daily basis, and the schedule got mixed up and it's taken me this long to get back on track. It is back on track now, with the addition of blood pressure medication, and I plan to ease back into the usual work, church and school routine.
Unfortunately, that routine won't include City Council meetings.
I admit it. I grew up a spoiled high school basketball fan. Little did I know this would affect me greatly as I headed up my caraeer path to adulthood.
It was around 1970 when I first attended a game at Waseca's old Central High School, and I remember seeing the Bluejays play postseason games in Northfield and watching them on TV in the state tournament. I saw Gene Glynn lead them to consecutive state tourney appearance and - despite being all of 5 feet, 9 inches - become Minnesota's first Mr. Basketball.
It made everyone in and around Waseca proud, myself included, but I didn't exactly sit around and ponder how good Gene Glynn was — I just knew Geno was one heck of a high school player, the best I'd ever seen — and, as it would turn out, the best I ever would see for decades. Therein lies the issue.
As sports editor at Waseca, I covered some great players — most notably Monte Dufault — and for three years in the Twin Cities northern suburbs I covered some of the best teams and players in the state, including a girl from Fridley named Nicole Johnson who led her team to state and earned a scholarship to Duke. During 15-plus years at Albert Lea, there were many more great players, several 1,000-point scorers and some Division I recruits, but nobody I saw could hold a candle to Geno. Albert Lea's Ben Woodside came close, going on to a great college career at North Dakota State and later playing in Europe, but on the high school level, in my eyes there was never a high school player who could dominate a game like Gene Glynn.
Until now. Carlie Wagner has set a new standard.
Some people have compared Carlie to the Miller twins, Kelly and Coco, from Rochester Mayo, who played in college at Georgia and later in the WNBA. Albert Lea hosted the twins five times while I was at Albert Lea, and I can honestly say this: no, Carlie doesn't compare to the Miller twins. She's a lot better.
Like Waseca in the 1970s, the communities of New Richland, Hartland, Ellendale and Geneva are swelling with pride these days, celebrating the end of a remarkable run that saw Carlie and the Panther girls' basketball team finish third in the state tournament and, this year, win a second straight state championship. Along the way Carlie broke and rebroke several state tournament records, earned state and national recognition, but most importantly remained the same sweet girl we've been fortunate to know since before she was THE Carlie Wagner.
It was fun and interesting to watch Carlie in the state tournament this year. She still wore her game face, but it wasn't the mean-look game face we saw last year; it was more a look of confidence, and her play reflected it. She seemed to be on cruise control much of the time, dictating the pace of the game against the best the state had to offer, seemingly scoring at will or finding an open teammate when the Panthers needed it most.
Next up for our "Golden Girl" is the high school all-star games and announcement of Miss Basketball, which, according to Panthers coach John Schultz, will go to Carlie unless the old Twin Cities favoritism prevails. I like the Golden Girl's chances.
Then it's on to the Minnesota Gophers and their new head coach, but after that, who knows? My crystal ball foresees more championships and most assuredly more dominating play. The WNBA shows up clearly. Maybe there's an Olympic team or two there too.
We can all be thankful to say we knew her way back when.
As I sit in my easy chair watching the Vikings wrap up the season with the final game at the Metrodome, many memories come to mind of the stadium they’re ready to deflate and deconstruct. There’s Game 7 of the 1991 World Series, Super Bowl XXVI between Buffalo and Washington, the 1985 All-Star Game, playoff games, season openers, countless Vikings and Twins games, NCAA basketball, Prep Bowls, a concert with Bob Dylan, Tom Petty, and the Grateful Dead. And those are just the things I was there for. Good memories from a simpler time.
Now, there’s no way I could have afforded to buy tickets for all of the above. The vast majority were attended via press passes.
As I watch the Vikings and Lions battle and think about the Dome, there’s a reflection on the TV screen from across the street. It’s the chimney from the Finseth home, chugging a continuous cloud of white as the temperature outside hovers around 1 degree with about a 20-below wind chill. For some reason, it’s comforting, nostalgic even. It reminds me of being a kid of about 3 or 4 on 5th Ave. SE in Waseca, watching the first snowfall in October and not seeing anything but white — huge piles of white — for what seemed like an eternity.
Spring arrived, as it always does, and many, many seasons have passed, but for some reason the billowing chimney smoke takes me back to the early 1960s and the first winter I can recall, and it’s a good feeling. Looking back — especially at the big picture — almost always is comforting. The past is a safe place. We know how things turn out. The present? The future? Not always so easy.
A week ago, I sat in this same spot to write a Christmas column, complete with memories of joyous Christmases past. I couldn’t do it. I didn’t have it bad as a kid, but I also didn’t have Leave it to Beaver life. My parents divorced when I was in elementary school, remarried and were separated when Dad died in 1970, a month after my 10th birthday. I remember that Christmas. Mom wanted to make it great, I’m sure, but she worked at Herter’s, and women were not paid as much as men for the same work back then. She was broke. A few days before Christmas, she walked in the door, bags filled with new clothes for my brother and I. “Scarf up, guys,” she said. I later learned she went to the office of a high-ranking Herter’s official and cried. He wrote her a check. It was a nice Christmas.
This Christmas was a good one at our house, bringing to an end a tumultuous year, and you won’t hear any complaints here. A lady stopped in the office a couple weeks ago to renew a subscription and was lamenting a rough 2013. I said I could tell her a few things that would probably make her feel better about her year — then I realized. There are millions, billions of people out there who could talk to me and make my year seem like a cakewalk. That’s the way it is for most of us.
As this column wraps up, the Vikings have defeated the Lions, and the Metrodome will soon be a memory. I’ll miss the Dome. I still miss Met Stadium and Met Center. Like those facilities, the Dome saw much jubilation and heartbreak. But, unless your name is Wrigley or Fenway, there’s a circle of life for stadiums — just as there is for people.
As in life, all we can do is savor the good times, relish the memories, count our blessings and continue to look ahead with hope. It’s what Minnesota people do.
Several years ago, during my eBay heyday, I bought several boys’ basketball state tournament programs from the mid-1950s. Tucked among them was a University of Minnesota men’s basketball program from the same era that, as luck would have it, turned out to be the most interesting item of the lot.
There, pictured among the mighty Gophers on the team page, was a gangly freshman from Waseca. Of course I knew him, but had no idea he was once a member of the U’s varsity basketball team. It was cool.
I tried to drop the program at his house in Waseca a number of times, but that’s when we still had our old soccer mom van, and it probably made me look like someone seeking donations when I stepped out of it and rang his doorbell with program in hand. He never answered the door.
An obituary that showed up last Tuesday and appears in this week’s Star Eagle brought it all back, and made me a little sad for not connecting with Dr. Wesley Rethwill before he passed. He was a pillar of the community, the epitome of a family man, respectful of everyone and, in turn, someone who commanded great respect.
Dr. Rethwill was my dentist. I grew up in the same neighborhood as his family. We went to the same church. I graduated with his daughter Carrie and covered his son Wesley Jr. in track and field. So many stories come to mind.
Let’s start with Halloween. A must-stop in the neighborhood was the Rethwill home. The good doctor and his wife were always excited to see who showed up. They made visitors remove their masks. They were genuinely happy to everyone and took time to chat. And they always gave away a toothbrush and accessories.
It was the summer after third grade when I really got to know Dr. Rethwill. A swing-set incident led to my top front tooth being split down the middle. I remember standing on the front steps of our house when Dr. Rethwill, making an emergency house call a half-block away, declared, “We’ve got to pull it.” I remember taking a shot of Novocain in the roof of my mouth but not much after that. I was proud when he told my mom I did not “bat an eye.” Dr. Rethwill was a good dentist and a kind man.
One time, a few years earlier, Carrie left a backyard baseball game early one evening, saying she and her brother were putting on a play for their parents. I looked at Rick Thomez and we rolled our eyes and probably laughed about it after she left. Now, looking back, it’s like, how cool was that? We should all have such parents. It’s a safe bet Dr. Rethwill had good parenting himself, because he — along with his wife, Carol — sure did a stellar job raising Carrie and Wes. They were (and surely still are) extremely smart, nice, respectful people who in turn receive great respect.
One last story comes to mind. Dr. Rethwill used to spend countless hours working with Wesley Jr. at the track, undoubtedly his biggest fan. Wes, though, had a tremendous rival on his own team, a runner by the name of Todd Moxley, a real stallion who qualified for the Class AA state cross country meet as a freshman. Wes Jr. was always chasing Mox. Wes Sr. always did his best to help.
The big moment came when both were seniors and Waseca was hosting the conference track meet. With Wesley Sr. cheering every step, Wes Jr. not only caught, but beat Moxley to win the 1600.
It was surely a highlight in a highlight-reel kind of life for Dr. Rethwill, the ultimate family man who left this world too soon.
Writing a column last week got me to thinking. I really need to write more columns. I don’t want the Star Eagle to be like the pizza chain that communicates with its customers only when apologizing for shortcomings and promising to do better.
In a way, though, that’s what it’s like running a newspaper.
Garrison Keillor once said, “A good newspaper is never nearly good enough, but a bad newspaper is a joy forever.”
It’s true.
When I worked at a daily for 15 years — a multi-award-winning daily — we used to get a copy of every newspaper published by the company. Some were small-town weeklies from down south and our reporters reaped great joy in perusing the pages.
What did they find?
Items that never should have made their way into print, things that made you laugh and only guess what was really going on. Our reporters — among the best I’ve ever worked with — clipped some of the items and taped them to their desks.
One day, when everyone was gathered around enjoying a chuckle or two with newspaper in hand, the publisher walked by.
“Those things are for editorial ideas, not your personal entertainment,” he said cheerfully.
I guess. But they worked a lot better for entertainment, at least for our staff. Something must have been said to somebody, though, because those papers improved after that.
That’s what we have tried to do since June of 2005 with the Star and since March of 2007 with the Star Eagle, improve with each issue. Have we done it? No way! Who could?
We get enough positive feedback to know we’re not in the “bad” category. Does this mean we never make mistakes and manage to please everybody? Again, who does?
As a family-owned newspaper, the Star Eagle is in a very small minority that’s ever shrinking — a media outlet not owned by a large corporation. I saw something the other day that showed a very large percentage of media owned by like six corporations. That’s a little scary. I like the fact we’re part of the minority.
As I see it, the Star Eagle never has and never will be “owned” by anybody. New Richland has had a newspaper since 1886 and I’m just doing my best to take care of this one during my stint as publisher.
The newspaper belongs to you, the reader, and that’s something we’ll never forget. We’re always open to suggestions, comments, constructive criticism and, yes, we very much appreciate positive feedback.
We’re going to try our best to remain a “good” newspaper, knowing all too well we’ll never be nearly good enough.
It was one of those e-mails where you know you’re in trouble before you open it. You can tell from the tag line. It said, Attention: Jim Lutgens.
I knew it wasn’t good and it definitely got my attention.
It was from Star Eagle columnist and local agronomist Mark Bernard, who was upset — and rightfully so — about his reported comments in last week’s article about weather/crop conditions.
The problem is Mark was interviewed two weeks earlier via e-mail and a lot changed between that time and the time the article was printed.
Mark pointed out, “Two weeks ago there was still viable seed in wet areas which, if they had dried out and the weather cooperated, would probably look much different than what we’re seeing now. Today we have a full-blown disaster on our hands with some fields unable to be planted to corn, cover crop decisions to be made on those acres, some fields that were planted to corn with huge holes in the stands and soybeans that were largely unplanted. We are also woefully short on forage for livestock due to an alfalfa winterkill situation, something that wasn’t mentioned in the article but I addressed in my answers to questions. This has not changed. This entire scenario has the potential to be worse than the disasters of 1991 or 1993 in this area.”
As a result of the delay in publication, Mark was fearful he came off as sounding as if he hadn’t looked at a field recently and had an almost cavalier attitude about the current situation. Nothing could be further from the truth.
Mark is one of the best in the business, with more than 32 years of experience, and we sincerely apologize to him.
Responsibility for this stops here. After reading the article, after observing fields in the area, I should have called Mark or sent the article to him to ensure the information was current. I take responsibility for the fiasco, with the promise to be more diligent in the future.
I was ready to face the music when I went down to the Mall for Men last Thursday to talk with Mark. I needn’t have worried. He was out in the fields. When we did meet Friday morning, we calmly discussed what happened, how we could correct it, and how we can prevent it from happening in the future. Thank you Mark, for not only being a top-notch columnist, but a top-notch individual as well.
More...
There was a time when this column appeared in the newspaper on a weekly basis. It was from 2005-2007, before the Star and Eagle combined. Since that time we’ve had more and better columnists. There wasn’t really a need for me to crank one out every week, so I didn’t. Now, again, we find ourselves with a space to fill and, for now at least, I’ll do my best to fill it with something worthwhile (or at least worth reading).
I’ve always been a rather private person, so sharing my thoughts in a public forum every week hasn’t always come easy. But, just like life being one day at a time, I guess it’s one column at a time, so here goes.
Can I be honest? The last couple weeks have not been easy, and as I write this Monday night, I can’t see it getting extremely easier anytime soon. There are too many memories for one thing. It was two years ago on Wednesday that my mom died after two long weeks in the hospital in Rochester. And that of course means my daughter, Jessica, turns 19 the next day, August 23. We’re both still recovering and Jessica has had other issues as well this summer.
All of this led me somewhere I hadn’t been in a long time: church on Sunday. Pastor Espe was the guest pastor at our humble First Congregational Church in New Richland, and he delivered a long and poignant sermon. You ever go to church and it seems like the minister is speaking directly to you? That’s the way it was. Come to think of it, that’s happened a lot in church, though I’m sure at least once or twice the minister really was zeroing in on me.
It’s too bad it sometimes takes unfortunate events to draw us closer to God. I want to leave the preaching to the experts, but I honestly believe that’s the way it works. When we concentrate too much on mundane or everyday things that have little or nothing to do with the big picture, it’s a recipe for misfortune.
Like this column, there was a time when I, accompanied by three children starting at age 6, 5 and 1, were weekly regulars at Sunday school and church. When the last of the three was confirmed last year, we slacked off. I don’t plan to let it continue. Things go better when you go to church. I believe that.
A lot of people have been asking about the Band Calendars and athletic schedule posters. As usual, given the tight deadlines we have with getting the schedules, they came in right under the wire, arriving Monday, just in time for Meet the Panthers Night on Tuesday. They’ll be available at the New Richland and Ellendale schools. Get ‘em while they last.
We received an anonymous Letter to the Editor last week on one of the town’s hot topics. We’d be glad to print it, but it wasn’t signed. We welcome Letters to the Editor, but in order to be printed they require a name and address at the bottom.
The Vikings didn’t look bad in their preseason home opener against Buffalo, but it is only the preseason. Just ask Dale Kugath (or read his column this week). But if you ask me, I think Kugie has had his heart broken one too many times by the purple. Speaking of Kugie, it looks like he’s lined up to be the Star Eagle’s sportswriter this fall. The 2012 Fall Sports Preview publishes next week, and it includes Kugie’s Panther previews.
Lastly, there’s an ad on the classified pages this week seeking contributing writers/photographers at the Star Eagle. You don’t need experience, but writing ability and photography skills are a must. It’s an opportunity to get paid while you have fun, or get paid to attend events you would go to anyway. It really is enjoyable work or I would not have done it for the last 31 years. And we’re easy to get along with. I promise.
I understand the whole parenting time warp thing and how it seemingly increases exponentially when it comes to single parenting, but this week it’s really hitting home.
My baby girl graduates from high school.
It seems like yesterday she was falling asleep on my chest after I’d returned from a late sports shift at the Tribune. It was yesterday she was in preschool, which is when our family split and I became a single parent of three and time became irrelevant to me.
With Nate, who graduated last year, it was different. Nate was adopted and his biological father was in town, and he had chose to live his senior year at his mom’s.
Jessica is my first-born. I held her first. I saw her through chicken pox, stitches in the head, surgery and other mishaps. But for the most part she has brought me great joy.
You could tell early on Jess was smart as a whip. I remember walking her in the stroller on the streets of Clarks Grove on Father’s Day 1994. She was 10 months old and had people staring as she excitedly babbled, “Daddy! Daddy!”
In kindergarten and beyond, Jessica tested in the 99th percentile. She was in the Spelling Bee four years in a row, finally winning it in 8th grade. She carried a 4.0 GPA into her junior year.
Something happened at that point. I’m not sure I’ll ever figure it all out, but somehow we arrived here and despite all the struggles, Jessica is set to graduate with honors. And I’m more than good with that.
The busy 18-year-old stopped in briefly on Tuesday for — you guessed it — money, and I asked her to write me a list of some of the highlights from when she was growing up. She spent about five minutes, came up with about 15 items, looked up and said, “Need more?”
Being a good parent has always been a big deal for me. I remember asking Jessica a number of times through the years to rate her childhood on a scale of 1 to 10. She always said 10. In retrospect, I know I tried too hard sometimes.
Her highlights included Christmases and birthdays, going to summer camp, seeing Bruce Springsteen at age 12, going to Chicago to see Steely Dan at 14, and vacations to Split Rock Lighthouse in Duluth and the Paul Bunyan Center in Brainerd.
Getting the cats was also a big deal. I remember well the evening we came home with them from my cousin’s farm, after much haggling between Dad and all three kids.
“We’ll come back and check on them next week,” I said.
“No we won’t!” said Jessica.
I knew she was right and caved.
“It’s the first time we outvoted Dad!” said Jess. My Aunt Esther (my dad’s twin sister) got a big kick out of that.
Looking back, I’m not sure I’d want to embark on that single-parenting odyssey again. But I wouldn’t have had it any other way.
Who knows what the future holds for Jess. In 10 years she could be sitting at my desk, though that’s definitely not her plan.
I just thank the good Lord she’s my daughter.
Dennis Green replaced the retiring Jerry Burns as head coach of the Minnesota Vikings in 1992, and during his decade-long tenure with the purple reached the playoffs eight times, including two trips to the NFC title game. In 2001, the Vikings finished with a losing record for the first time under Green. The Vikings bought out his contract on January 4, 2002.
After spending two seasons as an analyst for ESPN, Green was hired as head coach by the Arizona Cardinals in January 2004. The Cardinals improved dramatically under Green and, in his third season, the coach delivered the press conference that continues to be talked about. It came after a Monday Night Football game in which the Cardinals blew a 20-point lead to the Super Bowl-bound Chicago Bears. The generally soft-spoken Green blew a gasket, bellering the following:
“The Bears are what we thought they were. They're what we thought they were. We played them in preseason — who the (heck) takes a third game of the preseason like it's (BS)? (BS)! We played them in the third game — everybody played three quarters — the Bears are who we thought they were! That's why we took the (darn) field. Now if you want to crown them, then crown their (butt)! But they are who we thought they were! And we let 'em off the hook!”
Green later apologized for the tirade, which is still used heavily in NFL media coverage today, often comically, to describe the obvious flaws of an opponent and the failure to capitalize on that knowledge. It was mocked in a Coors TV advertisement, and during the Cardinals’ 2008 NFC championship game, a sign in the crowd proclaimed, “We are who we thought we were.”
So, what about Dennis Green? Is he who we thought he is? I can offer a little first-hand insight. I met him in 1992 at an Associated Press Sports Editors meeting in Alexandria.
For weeks, the Minnesota sports headlines talked about “the new sheriff in town,” and how he was cleaning house with the Vikings’ roster and setting the tone for how he wanted things ran. Green said the sheriff’s badge was not a true fit.
“My kids, they hear this stuff about new sheriff in town, and they laugh,” said Green, laughing himself. He was truly a nice guy.
It was clear Green knew what he was doing with the Vikings and, no matter how it ended, you have to consider his career in Minnesota a success. He may have been a teddy bear at home, but he ran a tight ship on the field (at least until the end).
So, was Denny Green who we thought he was? If you thought he was a good guy and good coach, then yes.
The Vikings’ most memorable season under Green was, of course, 1998, when they went 15-1 and blew it in the NFC championship game against Atlanta.
The 1998 team and the 2009 crew with Favre (and despite Childress) were the two of the best Viking squads in franchise history.
Nothing against current Vikings coach Leslie Frazier, but the Dennis Green era looks pretty good right now.
Another Christmas is nearly upon us, which means another year is almost in the books. It really does go faster every year, doesn’t it?
Merry Christmas! And the word “Christmas” can’t be emphasized enough. With all the “holiday” this and that going on this time of year — referring to what we all know full well is Christmas time — it makes one wonder if we’re losing the true meaning of the word “holiday.” Think about it.
Christmas is a time to give, forgive, be thankful and remember.
Thanks to the impetus from our not-so-secret Santa, Jody, the gift of giving is definitely in the air at the Star Eagle.
And of course we’re thankful. I’m mostly appreciative of the Star Eagle readers, advertisers and all the people who put forth the effort to produce the newspaper each week. They won’t be mentioned by name because their names can be found in the box at the bottom of this page. To each and every one of you, thank you. You’re wonderful.
My mom, Millie Martenson, who left us in August of 2010, is still remembered just about every day in our household, and she’ll be missed again this Christmas. My dad, Lester, who left us much, much earlier, is also recalled and spoken of fondly.
In October, for my 51st birthday (could have sworn it was 52, but I was wrong), my youngest son Eli gave me a new leather Minnesota Twins wallet. It’s nice.
The next month, I was walking out of One Stop after fueling the family rig and noticed a beat up penny on the ground. I always pick up pennies. I had already picked up two earlier that day and dropped them in the jar atop the refrigerator. I slipped this one in my pocket and drove off.
Later that night, when I got home and emptied my pockets, for some reason I looked more closely at the penny found at One Stop. It was tough to read, but upon careful examination it was clear. The year on the penny was 1970. Then I glanced at the calendar. It was November 12. It was 41 years to the day that my dad died. A chill went up my spine. Then I smiled. I think it’s a sign my dad and my mom are still in some way watching over us, and it’s a good feeling. The penny added 1 cent to my net worth, but I feel much richer for some reason. It now resides in my wallet.
Merry Christmas, and God bless us, everyone.