Finishing Strong

Old Pennock My grade school, a post office, a grocery/department store, a creamery, an implement shop and a shoe repair shop lined the main street of Pennock. It had a population of less than 500. (Some say I was counting the chickens. The 2008 census was below 500.) It was comfortable and safe and the people were white, Lutheran and predictable. The women wore cotton dresses and aprons and knew how to bake delicious pies, cakes and cookies. The men worked in the town at the stores, the implement shop, the creamery, the garage or filling station. Everyone ate lots of meat; families rented a frozen food locker in town and every part of the animal that had been butchered would be eaten. The pig’s head had already been made into head cheese and the feet had been pickled, and then there was blood sausage, which I never would try. Everyone had peas and carrots for dinner, except in the summer when you could get fresh corn on the cob. You didn’t have to buy corn,you just stopped at a farmer’s field and helped yourself if you didn’t have sweet corn in your own garden. If you went to church on Sunday it was at the Mamrelund Lutheran church, the only church in town. Blacks were “colored people” or “niggers”— we didn’t know any better and I had never seen one. We played games, and determined who was "it" with “eenie, meanie, mini, moe, catch a nigger by the toe, and if he hollers, let him go, O -U -T, spells out goes he/she." We knew there was one Catholic in town and she had to go into Willmar to go to church. Jews? In Sunday School we were told Jesus was a Jew and we didn’t know what that was. But from the pictures in our Sunday School books Jesus looked a lot like my uncles, except for the long hair and robe. Although Willmar High School was the biggest high school in the area, I never saw a black there. Someone said Jews ran a little fresh fruit and vegetable store in downtown Willmar. I went into it one day—out of curiosity. They had dark hair, like mine and my mother's, and were pleasant, and the apple I bought was delicious. You didn't hate anyone because they looked different from you. We all looked pretty much alike--blond, blue-eyed, fair-skinned, a few brunettes. I had one friend who was a redhead. Most activities took place at the church. The kids went to Sunday School and played games in the basement and there were ice cream socials in the summer that everyone loved. Besides getting ice cream, we'd play games and dance around in circles, holding hands. It was one of the few opportunities to hold the hand of a boy that you thought was cute. Once in awhile we had some real live entertainment at the old town hall south of Highway 12. I recall seeing a Charlie Chaplin movie and Our Gang comedies, a hypnotist, and there was always someone selling a wonderful elixir in a bottle that cured everything from the common cold to lumbago. We could hear the grinding noise and see sparks fly from the blacksmith shop down the street behind our house. The barber shop had a public bath where you could take a bath for 25 cents. There weren't many teens to hang out with but when we did it was to have Coke at the only café in town. The bank downtown issued driver's licenses. When I was 15, I just walked in and told them I wanted a license and got it. I didn't really know how to drive. I had backed the car out of the garage and driven around town with my cousin a couple times when dad wasn't around. I didn't realize that brakes should be used to slow you down and not just stop suddenly so we drove slowly, coasting around the corners, slamming on the brakes only when we wanted to stop. Once we swept up and around someone's lawn and hoped no one saw us. When my dad contracted encephalitis and was hospitalized in Willmar, seven miles away, my mother, who didn't drive, wondered how she would get to the hospital to visit him. "Well, no problem, Mother, I know how to drive." She believed me. Let's just say, I got us there and back but she never asked me to drive her there again. Those darn corners kept giving me trouble. I'd take my foot off the gas pedal and try to slow down before spinning around the corner, barely missing the parked cars. I can still hear her shriek, "Dolores! Dolores! You almost hit that car!" Our house was small with only two bedrooms. Grandma Pederson lived with us before she died, and a few years later, Grandpa Olson spent his last few years with us. When they were with us, I gave up my bedroom to them and slept on a cot in the dining room. Grandma was bedridden, and spoke only Norwegian. When I went upstairs to visit her we just sat and held hands and smiled at each other. We had visited Mother’s parents in Spicer many times. As a youngster I remember asking for scissors so I could cut out the paper dolls in the Sunday paper. No, that was a sin, according to Grandma Pederson, but she allowed me to take the paper home so I could cut them out the next day. Grandpa Pederson always said grace before we could eat, and it lasted a long time. It was in Norwegian and I didn't understand any of it but I heard all our names mentioned at one time or another. At the Olson house my father had a short prayer in Swedish that he would recite if asked. I found out some years later that it translated to “In Jesus name, we ate and drank ‘til we nearly split.” One reason people left the Scandinavian countries was religious persecution. If that had been Grandpa and Grandma Olson's reason for leaving it would have been because they weren't religious—at least I never knew of them attending church on Sunday or talking about God. My Dad rarely went to church—only to see me perform in a play or sing. Mother went once in awhile and enjoyed the Ladies Aid Society. The church was like the "Y," it was where we went to Sunday School, but it also was a meeting place for all the community. After I was confirmed I taught Sunday School for awhile, but the Bible stories I told the kids just didn't seem plausible to me. The little kids liked them. But they were just that: stories, like fairy stories, I decided.