September / October 2012

L A C O L E F I L E LIV

E N I Z A G The MA

R E B M SEPTE

2 1 0 2 R E OCTOB

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Sat. and Sun. October 6-7, 2012 Admission is FREE! Local and regional private studios open with demonstrations at many locations.

Get your free maps/guides mid September at all Dodge Central Credit Union locations and at the Seippel Center.

160 Gateway Drive, Waupun (920) 324 - 9899 www.waupunchiro.com

Dodge Central Credit Union

111 Rowell Street Beaver Dam, WI 53916 Phone Fax (920) 356-1255 (920) 356-1270 2

VOLUME ONE - ISSUE FIVE

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FEATURE HISTORY AT OUR FEET

6 Feature Artist

TERRILL KNAACK Terrill can be much like a royal’s spouse: Celebrity and neighbor, common and uncommon, noble yet ordinary.

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contents

THE TAnZANIAN EDUCATION PROJECT As I walked into the meager classrooms, my eyes scanned over the broken desks and lopsided chairs with disbelief.

10 RETIRED? NOW WHAT?

We prepare for retirement with financial planning, but sometimes we forget to make plans for ourselves.

SEPTEMBER - OCTOBER 2012

Beaver Dam is unusual in that we don’t have the most common street name in America, Second Street; our Maple Avenue, where Robert V. Bogert’s home served as our first city hospital.

15 COMMUNITY OP T I M I S M

16

LEGEND & LORE

20

THIS & THAT

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FORTUNE

Put on a cape, find a comfy chair, and sit back and enjoy reading about Jerry Bell.

Small insights and thoughts that life sends our way.

“Vote Early, Vote Often”

A short story about a piece of paper that brings hope for what life has to offer.

I found a group that thought like me and believed that optimism can be grown in adults, but is infectious in youth.

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VIEWFINDER

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THE WANDERING MAN

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Vicki Hollenberg shares how her love of photography grew by a little self-teaching.

Musings and Meanderings in the everyday life.

“Summer is Almost Gone”

PARTING THOUGHTS Bringing attention to things important to each of us, before they are lost.

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CONTRIBUTORS Lloyd Clark A 10-year resident of Beaver Dam, Lloyd has left politics and political writing to pursue his dream of doing something that will actually pay his bills.

Thus, Lloyd has opened his own commercial writing and marketing shop. When not watching his wife and daughter figure skate, he spends his time driving a Zamboni, riding REAL horses and teaching the insane to joust.

Karla Jensen Karla Jensen, Executive Director of the Beaver Dam Area Arts Association, has been a freelance writer for 23 years. She is a published playwright with her husband Mark. She teaches writing at the Seippel Center and serves as writers group leader at the Beaver Dam Community Activities and Services. Karla’s background includes radio, television, magazine publishing, tourism, and real estate, not to mention Danish Dancing.

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Dave Edwards Dave lives in Beaver Dam with his wife and trail companion Diane. He served as the evidence photography instructor for the Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources (WDNR) from 1993 until his retirement in 2008 and photo-documented hundreds of pollution cases during his 28-year career; however, the WDNR can neither confirm nor deny that Mr. Edwards was employed as an environmental enforcement specialist for said agency.

Cassie Parkhurst & Katie Poch Cassie Parkhurst founded The Tanzanian Education Project in 2009 while attending Winona State University where she received her bachelor degree in law and society in 2010. Katie Poch is studying math education at UW-Whitewater and has joined The Tanzanian Education Project where she volunteered for 3 months this year in East Africa.

Both are graduates of Beaver Dam High School.

Cover Image: Jack Bartholmai

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F rom

t h e E d itor

It is not supposed to be easy. I have been told this countless times through the years, and I have to remind myself of this from time to time. I imagine no matter what someone is trying hard to make happen, everyone reaches a point where they want to take the easy way.

To complete the magazine, I made a last minute trip to the Dodge County Historical Society. Typically I would be rather stressed, but when I got there and settled in I found no sense of urgency - only a fulfilling sense of calm. I began shuffling through the stacks of photos, and my mind settled down to where I was simply just curious, looking through scenes of Front Street in the time when on any given night the streets were packed.

I had this thought as I was walking downtown. There is always an easy side of the hard way and vice versa. The truly difficult thing is to decide what is most important. Walking through the downtown district of our hometown makes it far easier to appreciate the history. Something easy to forget and dismiss when you are disconnected from it.

Every time I sit down to write this note I have a similar feeling. A definite struggle between what is easy to say and what is hard to say. The easy way presents itself but I have to work hard to move beyond it. What I find helps the most is to put aside the easy option. The path of least resistance is hardly ever true when it comes to life’s most important work. Taking the extra time to explore other options can sometimes seem trivial when I have my mind made up, but oftentimes I discover the perfect answer. This only happens at the point where I have exhausted what I think to be all the options and I have spent hours legitimizing my decision and debating the benefits and downsides. Not until all that is done do I then have the opportunity to sit back and see clearly through the dust that settles. All but defeated, I have a sense of clarity to make a decision.

I know what is hard to say but I maintain a level of precaution - always gauging the reaction of the reader. That mentality plagues me in everyday life but serves me well. That high level of monitoring is definitely the hard way - but it is the only easy way I have. I guess the best way to explain it is this: Sometimes the right way is the easy way - but you don’t know for sure until you try the hard way.

LocaLeben is Local Life. We invite you to share your stories in LocaLeben.

They bring meaning to our lives together. Help us restore our town back to the vibrant community it longs to be. Give me a call at (920) 306-1189 or send me an email at content@localeben.com.

Local Real Estate, Local Living.

Kelly Hoffmann Broker Associate, ABR, e-PRO Licensed Appraiser Cell: 920-296-2752 Direct: 920-356-1100 ext 226 Email: HoffmannK@FirstWeber.com www.kellyhoffmann.firstweber.com

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Need extra copies? LocaLeben is available for pick up at all public libraries in Dodge County and any advertiser in LocaLeben.

The MAGAZINE EDITOR Erik Dittmann

PUBLISHER Jim Dittmann

TECHNICAL DIRECTOR Ben Dittmann

ARTISTIC DIRECTOR Preston Bowman

LocaLeben The Magazine is published in Beaver Dam, WI by LocaLeben LLC. PHONE: 920 306 1189 EMAIL inquire@localeben.com WEB localeben.com LocaLeben The Magazine is mailed bi-monthly to all homes and businesses in the 53916 zip code.

All rights reserved. The entire contents of LocaLeben The Magazine is Copyright (c) 2011. No portion may be reproduced in whole or in part by any means, including electronic retrieval systems with the expressed, written consent of LocaLeben LLC. LocaLeben The Magazine reserves the right to refuse to publish any advertisement deemed detrimental to the best interests of the community or that is in questionable taste. Editorial content does not necessarily reflect the opinions of the publisher of this magazine. Editorial or advertising does not constitute advice but is considered informative.

SEPTEMBER 22,2012 ST. JUDE CHARITY SOFTBALL GAME AT LAKEVIEW PARK IN BEAVER DAM REN’S NURSERY VS. PARADISE LANDSCAPE GAME STARTS AT 1 PM BRATS, SODA, WATER AND CHIPS WILL BE SOLD

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PARADISE LANDSCAPE 5

FEATURE ARTIST

TERRILL KNAACK KARLA JENSEN

J

ames Patterson writes great thrillers. Rolex designs great timepieces. Terrill Knaack produces great artwork. If you’ve spent time in Dodge County, Terrill’s name doesn’t need to be mentioned twice for the public to know of whom we are speaking.

He’s asked for by name more than any other artist. In the field of timepieces, if you want the best, you get a Rolex. In the field of art, if you want the best, you buy a Terrill Knaack. He’s the brand we love in our own back yard with a name as prominent as Patterson and a reputation as fine as a Rolex.

As a writer for LocaLeben, I experienced my first and only interview with a featured artist while the magazine’s publisher Jim and editor Erik sat across the room. I wondered if the Terrill Knaack impression I had, would be the same Terrill Knaack they would come to know during our short time together. Terrill

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sat in his stocking feet, tanned legs exposed, like a close friend convincing us how common he is. While Sue, Terrill’s right hand and spouse, contrasted this image as we discussed this prominent artist’s amazing career, unusual commissions, and character. In all things art, Terrill can be much like a royal’s spouse: Celebrity and neighbor, common and uncommon, noble yet ordinary.

Terrill’s home is broken into two equal halves, book ends, one exemplifying the secrets to his creative process in his studio, the opposite a gallery showcasing outstanding artwork and photography, polished and framed. His studio resembles a professor’s sanctuary: Empty frames askew, a trio of tripods, fat photo lenses, and the handsome snout of a grey wolf emerging from an otherwise snow white canvas. A sketchy childlike drawing like a half-finished recipe is tacked alongside its more complex counterpart - a commissioned peninsula of land not yet com“White-throated Sparrow and Plum Blossoms” plete. Dances with Wolves meets National Geographic right here lakeside in Beaver Dam. His studio is as fine and polished as his art. It’s a magnetic cozy place that compels you to hang out, a fireplace as its focal point as if the art isn’t equally as magnificent to behold.

I loved finding Terrill and Sue so down to earth and friendly in both these locations. Being in Terrill’s presence didn’t turn me into a puddle of melting chocolate, me begging for an autograph on my hip with a sharpie or for a photo in leather jackets and shades. He’s not that kind of famous. Instead, I found myself longing to kick my own shoes off, curl my legs underneath me on the

couch and settle in to hear his tales of travel and inspiration.

Terrill has traveled the nation extensively and internationally, a missionary in the field of nature, eager to sell us on his brand of ecology, and he accomplishes this through his art. He has scouted locations to paint like Prince William Sound, the Sierra Madres, the Canadian Rockies, the African Savanna, with merely the clothes on his back and a satchel of painting essentials. “Nature is a very spiritual place.

There is something unexpectedly new everywhere you go if you pay attention,” claims Ter“December at Trout Landing” rill. “I love Lake Superior, I’m transfixed by it. I could spend a lot of time there,” he added. Terrill is known for his plein aire works, outdoor painting within nature; a part of his branding.

“The subject matter of nature is so deep, I’ll never get to it all,” he jokes.

The Watermark community center project recently commissioned Terrill to create the donor wall that will be featured in the new community center upon its completion. Terrill unveiled his rendering of this showcase piece at the June Campaign Kick-off event held at the Veterans Center. The donor wall is fashioned from the image of a tree with various sized leaves, depending on levels of donations. This piece of beauty embraces Terrill’s trademark creativity, love of nature and the excellence we so often see in his brand.

After we spoke a bit, Terrill reminded me of a Sunday evangelist preaching from the high pulpit of nature, about artists finding their motivation for painting and how art can be a spiritual pursuit if you allow it. “There is a sense of order that is diverse. Look at the way plants are organized. I feel a presence

in the landscape that makes me want to paint it,” declares Terrill in his most ordinary unassuming pastoral way, while still sharing his passion. Apparently he captures that presence well, because whatever spirit or energy he infuses into his art and photography, it also makes the public want to buy it. You can enter his studio soon during the upcoming Second Annual Fall Driving Art Tour on Saturday, October 6 and Sunday, October 7. Pick up your map/brochure at any Dodge Central Credit Union location and make this your first stop.

Terrill is a passionate ecologist, one who name drops art mentors and the most gorgeous settings on the planet as if he might have been there just last week. He speaks as if meeting Ansel Adams personally or studying under Owen Gromme, another prolific Wisconsin artist, held the same significance as having dinner at Mom’s house. He has been inspired by study, understudy, and a steady diet of immersion in his field, which tends to be more mountain, more prairie, and more lake than anything. Even if you get him started on humans wrecking the planet, he will still create beautiful artwork. It is just his nature.

As the Executive Director of BDAAA, I am embarrassed “Early Morning - Point Beach” to admit that Terrill Knaack and I do not know each other as well as I would like. At least he hasn’t signed my hip yet, but I’m not ruling that out. I heard his name often before I met the man and the vision of an egotistical art legend is what I expected, not the kind, talkative, intelligent man I’ve come to know. Terrill couldn’t be a nicer guy, a blend of Jack Hanna of Columbus Zoo fame and the Marlin Perkins from Wild Kingdom I watched during my youth. Back then, we were envious of guys who gushed a cascade of knowledge about nature, environment and ecosystems. These were guys we knew we could trust and that taught us many lessons about co-existing with nature. I think Terrill lives up to those standards, even if he does get a little “wild” sometimes.

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THE TANZANIAN EDUCATION PROJECT Photo: Sean Leyva CASSIE PARKHURST & KATIE POCH

After Cassie Parkhurst started The Tanzanian Education Project, she did fundraisers and presentations to spread the word about the help needed in Tanzania. One of her presentations was at Beaver Dam High School and Katie Poch was in the audience. She was only 17, but the presentation ignited a fuse in Katie that made her want to help. When she turned 20 and decided that she wanted to volunteer overseas, she remembered Cassie’s presentation, contacted her and their teamwork and friendship began.

Parkhurst who graduated in 2006, four years before me, had returned to give a presentation about her volunteer work in Africa. Aside from the many other presentations I sat through in that same auditorium, this one stuck with me. She seemed so passionate and excited about the children she was helping in Tanzania. Her enthusiasm was so contagious that it now felt okay to pack up and donate the books that were such a cherished part of my childhood.

atie: Everyday as I arrived to work my shift at the Beaver Dam YMCA, I walked past a book drive box in the main lobby. It read The Tanzanian Education Project in big bold letters. At first I thought it was just the same as all the other book drives, but deep down this one seemed different, and I did not know why. At home, I dug out my childhood books that were packed away in dusty boxes in the corner of our basement. My mother and I sat in our den sorting the books one by one. Each book took us further down memory lane. We laughed about the good old days and it seemed too hard to part with them. While holding one of my favorites, Goodnight Moon, it finally struck me; The Tanzanian Education Project was different. I remembered being in the auditorium at my high school just a few months earlier with the girl who started the organization. Cassie

Cassie: My organization, The Tanzanian Education Project, spent 2010 collecting, sorting and categorizing over 10,000 books, learning aids and sports equipment. Once our sea container was on its way, Teresa O’Neill, Eilieen Moeller and I went to Tanzania to receive the goods. We spent countless hours sweating at the port day after day working to get the container through customs and finally established a delivery date. I will never forget the help of over 400 volunteers and countless donors; without them this never would have been possible.

Words cannot describe the relief; the joy and utter excitement that we felt watching the truck come in with the container in tow. We strategically emptied the container of the large wooden crates. The rough wood with the crude letters that subscribed ‘donation’ seemed like the most unfitting package for what treasure lay inside. The process took longer than we had expected, as no machines were there to aid us. Instead, the sweat dripped from our brows as we pushed to beat the setting sun. We continued with our work by headlamp, as the blackness of night drew upon us, but that did not seem to dampen the anticipation. As the crates were lowered from the truck, one of the Masai guards used a crowbar to snap open the top of one of the crates with an ear-piercing creak. Everyone’s faces lit up and cries of elation filled the air. Shrills of excitement grew louder and louder as the books and paper were revealed. This is a moment I will never forget and one that I wish I could share with every volunteer, donor and supporter that worked so hard to make this happen.

K

Photo Submitted by: Katie Poch

Katie: I never dreamed that I would take three months of my life to volunteer in Tanzania but that idea took root during Cassie’s presentation in the high school auditorium back in 2009. When I arrived in Tanzania in the summer of 2012, my first impression of the school was complete shock. I could not believe how little they had. As I walked into the meager classrooms, my eyes scanned over the broken desks and lopsided chairs with

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disbelief. Each classroom showcased a single worn chalkboard with tattered rags that hung nearby for erasers. The dirty white walls stared back at me, showing only remnants of maps and learning aids.

The bleak appearance was only disrupted by the life and energy of the students. It made me sad to know how much they must struggle everyday just to learn.

I was proudly told that this school had one of the best libraries, but from the look of the classrooms it did not seem possible that could be true. I was able to see into a small portion of the library through the iron grills and thick mesh window, but it seemed modest at best. It was not until the heavy wooden door creaked open that I saw how rich and prized this room really was. It has shelves and shelves of books from novels to textbooks and walls covered with learning aids and maps.

Strong tables and sturdy chairs fill the space, a stark contrast to the desks the students use in their classrooms. This proper learning place surrounded by inadequate classrooms seemed so out of place.

It was clear once I began teaching, how essential these books were to my students’ curriculum and learning experience. To my dismay, I learned that many students’ first exposure to any book is at this school. One day when I was preparing my lesson in the library, I snooped through a box labeled ELA Nursery. To my surprise, I found many books I loved as a child. I started to page through them, thinking to myself about the day three years ago that I packed up books just like these.

I fingered through them a little more and came across one that looked especially familiar. I opened the cover and saw my mother’s handwriting. I did not think it could be possible until my name popped out of the middle of the page; it read in black permanent marker Katie Poch. It seemed so surreal that my books had traveled halfway across the world to this East African library. I always knew it was important to share with those in need, but I never imagined how rewarding it would be to see the impact of such a small act of kindness. Words truly cannot describe the joy I felt knowing that these children who have so little would enjoy my books as much as I did and possibly cherish them even more.

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RETIRED? NOW WHAT? DAVE EDWARDS

A

few months after retirement, I ventured back to my place of employment for many years, the Department of Natural Resources Horicon Office. Colleagues greeted me with hugs and handshakes and then followed up with the standard, “Are you glad you retired?” My widening smile said more than words could have. I quickly dodged a question about an enforcement case I may or may not have worked on. Amnesia is a good friend to a retired DNR employee. Then came the big question. “Are you keeping busy? I have no idea what I will do if I retire,” they claimed. I began to consider this dilemma for many: We prepare for retirement with financial planning, but sometimes we forget to make plans for ourselves.

Several years ago my wife Diane and I got serious about retirement and our investment strategies with Edward Jones. Although I have never actually met Mr. Jones, I will leave the subject of finances to him.

I have had several conversations with friends and former colleagues about how to prepare for retirement. I start out by simply telling them what I have been up to in retirement, including golf, cycling, reading, travel, photography, acrylic painting (on canvas, not on house) and playing with the grandchildren. I entertain our grandchildren on a regular basis and personally find rocking chairs to be old school, but grandpa naps are

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strongly encouraged. When asked about my golf game I respond, “It depends on the day and if there is water involved.” I then share a story about a particularly bad performance on the links. Full disclosure: I did turn myself in to the DNR for illegally filling wetlands with too many Titleists (got off with a warning and was advised to take lessons).

Cycling is a great form of exercise, and a seasonal highlight is cycling the trails with the Madison Bike and Bowl Team (we bowl in the winter months). Surely you have heard of us! No? I am really disappointed, and no, we are NOT the guys on the Flomax commercials, but I digress. You can visit our website www.madisonbikeandbowl.com for useless albeit interesting information about old guys on bicycles (training wheels optional).

I enjoy reading books and have created an Excel spreadsheet where I dutifully log all the books read since I retired in 2008 (a benefit

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of retirement is you have time to do things that some might find excessive). I record the title and author of each book and the year I read it. I considered adding a rating system for each book, but thought that would be too excessive.

Since retiring, I have read over 50 books. Diane thinks I read way too many political books.

So you mean to tell me “Alice in Wonderland” and “Through the Looking Glass” are political books? I have to admit I kind of thought rabbit was a raging liberal.

Diane and I enjoy travelling, and I am sure we will travel more when we are both retired. Currently, she must remain employed to pay for my Titleist golf balls. I like national parks and she likes big cities, so we compromise on trip locations. After we decide together on a general location, I go to work planning our next great adventure. Diane trusts my judgment (mostly), but I cannot seem to convince her to spend a vacation in places called Death Valley or Devil’s Cork Screw.

So far I have only discussed the “me, me, me” activities, but retirement can be so much more rewarding. By far the most important component of retirement is to volunteer.

“Sailboat at Sunset” - Dave Edwards To quote writer Sherry Anderson, “Volunteers don’t get paid, not because they’re worthless, but because they‘re priceless.” I spend a fair amount of volunteer time with the Beaver Dam Area Arts Association and with the Friends of the Horicon National Wildlife Refuge where I am the selfproclaimed Webmaster. I will pause here and wait for people who know my computer skills to pick themselves up from the floor and stop laughing. Done? Okay, I know my limitations and inform Diane of problems with our PC. She simply responds by saying, “It is a highly technical problem that techies refer to as PICNIC.” (PICNIC is the acronym for “Problem In Chair, Not In Computer.”)

Back to volunteerism, remember your church is always looking for good volunteers. By far, my most rewarding experience is leading groups to the Milwaukee Rescue Mission to help serve meals to those in need. Since becoming involved with the Mission, I have helped serve over 3,000 meals (just an estimate, no spreadsheet to validate the numbers here, yet).

Many local organizations need help. Find an organization that interests you. Try something different. If you have zigged your entire life, try zagging. Retirement can be a grand adventure and you do not need a treasure chest of gold; however, you do need to plan ahead both financially and for yourself.

Perhaps in the future, I will see you on the links or cycling around the county. And if you happen to see him, be sure to say “Hi” to Mr. Jones for me.

“Flowing Water” - Dave Edwards

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“We are lucky that so much of our early architectural history still exists. It makes every walk an adventure in the past, with history literally at our feet.”

F E A T U R E

HISTORY AT OUR FEET

LLOYD CLARK & PATRICIA PAWL

W

ith the approach of fall, warm days, clear crisp nights and changing leaves on the trees, residents of our little burg have the opportunity to experience our town in a fresh and exciting way - on foot! Beaver Dam is a pedestrian’s dream with only a few sharp hills, interesting landscapes and architecture, and beautiful homes on every street.

Autumn, the most anticipated of all Wisconsin seasons, brings out the best in Beaver Dam. The lovely tree-lined streets are awash in fall colors. The Golden Beavers take the field for America’s favorite sport, football, representing not only our town, but our town pride as well. The lake wreathed in colors is majestically picturesque in the fall dusk.

Taking a walk around town, one of the first things you might notice is that Beaver Dam is unusual in that we do not have the most common street name in America, Second Street; instead, the street that once was known as Second Street is our Maple Avenue.

We have the obligatory streets named for Presidents - Lincoln, Washington, Madison and Jefferson, as you would expect in any small town, and we have streets named for businesses, Mill Street, and landmarks, Spring Street, that long ago defined our growing community. However, it is the streets that are solely Beaver Dam that makes our town special, in a Beaver Dam sort of way.

There is Mackie Street named for the town’s founder Thomas Mackie. You can stroll eastward down the street from the Post Office and actually pass the spot where the first residence in our fair town was erected. Apparently during our Centennial in 1941, a large stone with a bronze plaque was erected to mark the spot. Unfortunately, the stone and plaque are missing. As you cross the empty field next to Beaver Gunite and behind Recheck’s, you can hear, very clearly, water from the natural spring running through the underground pipes. This spring, after which Spring Street is named, is the very reason that Thomas Mackie built his cabin where he did.

There is University Avenue, named during a time that Wayland Academy was a functioning university. Beaver Dam’s first cemetery, the final resting place of many of our town’s founders, lies along its sidewalks.

The feet of many German prisoners of war tread its length leading to where a major train station once stood.

However, there is one street, one that many may assume is spelled incorrectly, that is named for one of our most prolific early businessmen and public servants, Bogert Street.

Bogert Street is only two blocks long, running alongside Lincoln Elementary School between the aforementioned University Avenue and

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McKinley Street, another Presidential street. While many beautiful homes line the street, none of the “grand mansions” such as the Swan House reside there, just a lot of happy children.

I am sure that some of our younger residents will assume that Bogert Street derives its name from one of the mystical creatures in the Harry Potter books and films that takes the shape of whatever the person looking at it most fears. Adults often think that it is a misspelling of legendary movie hero Humphrey Bogart. Sorry folks, but Bogert Street was named for Robert V. (R.V.) Bogert, a true Renaissance man the likes that Beaver Dam, or even Wisconsin, had never seen before.

In the “History of Dodge County, Wisconsin” published in 1880, Bogert was identified as one of the most important influential residents of early Dodge County. The History states, “R.V. Bogert, Postmaster; was born in Claverick, NY, July 3, 1819, and came to Wisconsin the fore part of October 1849, locating in Beaver Dam; in Chenanago Co., NY, he received his early education and assisted his father on the farm; in Tioga Co., he was a clerk in a general store, after which he moved to Oswego, NY, and hired out to a firm to lumber-it up and down the Susquehanna River; this he continued for eight years; from Oswego he moved to Beaver Dam.”

We do not know much about Bogert’s trip to our lovely town or the general store that he opened when he arrived; however, we can set the scene in Beaver Dam circa 1849. A story in the October 17, 1924, Beaver Dam Citizen on early Berlin pioneer William Murkley quotes the 85-year-old on his recollections of his travels to Berlin as a 10-year-old boy: Although Beaver Dam could boast but one dwelling house back in the year ’49, according to Mr. Murkley’s memory of that momentous trip, it did possess a tavern.

“We unloaded our belongings at this tavern and then prepared our meal over an open fire,” said Mr. Murkley. “The building had no windows and a dirt floor. There was burlap at the doors, and we used a tallow (a rendered form of beef or mutton fat) dip for light. With us we carried two goose-feather ticks (mattresses), pillows and two homemade coverlets.

We slept on the ground.”

Although he was but a small boy at the time, Mr. Murkley remembers distinctly some features of the trip. “The next morning I looked over the town,” he said. “I remember seeing a ‘coon perched in a tree and I watched the beavers make a dam.”

From the recollections of Mr. Murkley, the Beaver Dam that Bogert came to in October of 1849 was about as rustic as one could imagine.

Through an unlikely source, “Wisconsin Necrology - 1881,” we

Upper Woolen Mills Photo: Dodge County Historical Society

learned that Bogert’s mother Susanna joined him here in 1855 and that she passed away on June 11, 1881. Susanna lived to a ripe old age of 92.

There were eight grandchildren from Bogert’s marriage to Celinda Leonard.

Though Robert and Celinda were married in 1844, there are no records showing that she came with him in 1849, or that she joined him at a later time. The US Census of 1860 does show the following: Name: Robert V Bogert Age in 1860: 40 Birth Year: abt 1820 Birthplace: New York Home in 1860: Beaver Dam Ward 4, Dodge, Wisconsin Gender: Male Post Office: Beaver Dam Household Members: Name - Age Robert V Bogert - 40 Celinda G Bogert - 37 Agnes M Bogert - 14 Robert V Bogert - 12 Henrietta Bogert - 10 Henry L Bogert - 8 Lucy O Bogert - 5 Nellie Bogert - 4 Charles H Bogert - 1

Court case Truman v. McCollum.

Bogert continued his forays into finance, as he was one of five men to sit on the inaugural board of directors for the Dodge County Fire and Marine Insurance Company in 1853. Bogert was in some very distinguished company, as the other four members were William Farrington, Judge Samuel L. Rose, Lewis Schuyler and Robert Norris, all leading citizens of our town at the time. Judge Rose and Bogert shared an unusually strong business and personal bond. Insurance must have agreed with Bogert, as he was involved in it to a tremendous degree. According to the “History of Dodge County, Wisconsin,” he went on to represent these insurance companies: Liverpool & London & Globe; the Royal of Liverpool; the Lancashire of Manchester; The Queen, of London; Continental, of New York; Watertown, of New York; Northwestern National, of Milwaukee; Northwestern Mutual Life, of Milwaukee, and the Traveler’s Accident of Hartford. It’s obvious that in the late 1800s, if you were in the market to purchase insurance, Robert Bogert was the man to speak with!

If that were not business enough to keep a man busy, in 1855 until 1860, according to the Annual Report of the Bank Comptroller, he and Judge Rose formed and ran the Dodge County Bank. The Report lists Judge Rose as President and Bogert as Cashier. In 1860, the year of the first of a string of bank crashes, Bogert owned the majority share of the bank with a value of $16,700, a fortune at the time. Bogert was also listed as the President of Waushara County Bank in Wautoma; however, according to the report of 1861, neither of the two banks filed reports for 1861 and had closed down.

That was not the extent of his business interests in Beaver Dam. The year before his mother arrived from New York, he partnered with S. Lewis forming the company of Lewis and Bogert, investing in the Empire Flour Mill and the Woolen Manufacturing Company, two of Beaver Dam’s most profitable companies. The company of Lewis and Bogert lasted for seven years, until 1861, when his election as Mayor spun him off into a new direction - public service.

It would be a tremendous understatement to say that Robert Bogert was a man of varied interests. He was our Town Treasurer in 18511852; our Mayor in 1861; U.S. Assistant Assessor for Dodge County from 1862-1865 and was reappointed to the position in 1868, holding it until Robert V. Bogert - Photo: Beaver Dam Community Library

In 1860, Bogert would have resided in Beaver Dam for 11 years and five of the Bogert’s children were born here.

Bogert’s entrepreneurial nature, and varied business interests, became the financial foundation for our town to build on. It is not known how successful he was running his general store. We do know that in 1852, Bogert, Mason Darling, John Eastman, E.W. Drury, Abram Ackerman, Robert Earll, James Lewis, J.C. Axtell, D.E. Bassett, A.G. Cook, John Carlin, John Y. Smith and Simeon Mills were appointed commissioners of the newly incorporated Fond du Lac, Beaver Dam, Columbus and Madison Rail Road Company. The railroad connecting these growing Wisconsin towns would have run along roughly the same path as Highway 151. However, it seems that the railroad never got off the ground. This is probably due to the incorporation of the La Crosse and Milwaukee Rail Road Company the month after the Beaver Dam line, which ran through Beaver Dam and Fox Lake and connected our town all the way to the East Coast. Railroad speculation must have been lucrative as it is noted that he was also listed as an investor in both the La Crosse and Milwaukee Rail Road Company and the Milwaukee and Mississippi Railroad Company. We know this because he is noted in several equity sales of railroad stock in the First Annual Report of the Wisconsin Railroad Commissioner and one Wisconsin State Supreme

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the position was eliminated. In 1876, he received the nomination for the final public service position of his life - Postmaster of Beaver Dam.

In the Executive Journal of the Senate of the United States, on January 13, 1876 it is written, “I nominate Robert V. Bogert to be the postmaster at Beaver Dam, in the county of Dodge and the State of Wisconsin, in the place of A.J. McCoy whose commission expired on the 11th day of January, 1876. U.S. Grant, Washington, D.C. January 12, 1876.”

Beaver Dam was classed as a Third Class Post Office and Bogert received only $1000 a year in salary. Though his salary rose to $2000 toward the end of his term, this was no doubt a hard pill to swallow for a man that been so involved in finance and politics and who had invested heavily in both the railroad and banks.

The obituary for Judge Rose, who had partnered with Bogert on many projects including the banks and railroads, stated that Bogert was nearing death as well. In the Milwaukee Sentinel of March 15, 1887 it says, “There in Beaver Dam, on opposite sides of the street, have been lying on their death-beds two men whose careers were similar in some points, Robert Bogert and Judge Rose. The former is at death’s door, the latter dead. Both were once very wealthy and both, after quite similar ups and down, quit life as poor men.” Robert V. Bogert died Sunday, March 20, 1887, at the age of 67. He is buried in the City Cemetery.

If you want to take a walk and see the house in which Robert Bogert and his family lived, do not walk down the street named for him.

Instead go to 212 West Maple Avenue. Bogert owned quite a bit of property in the area, including the entire section west of Water Street from the lake up past Maple Avenue. The home still stands and it is fitting that for a man who gave so much to our town, his home would be the location of our first city hospital.

The August 14, 1907, edition of the Dodge County Citizen heralded that Beaver Dam would have a hospital. The Sisters of St. Mary Hospital in Beloit, through their representative Rev. Robert Wall, past of the St. Patrick’s Catholic Church, purchased the former J.J. Williams property on Park Avenue. Remodeling was expected to take place in 1908, but proved too costly. This appears to be the same property referred to in the 1960 St. Patrick’s Centennial History, which states that E.J.M. Hale purchased a Park Avenue property in 1909 and donated it to the Archdiocese of Milwaukee for use as a hospital to be named the Hale Hospital. This hospital plan also fell through.

In 1912, however, an effort to open a hospital led by several doctors, businessmen and citizens succeeded.

An important step was locating the hospital. With few residents owning automobiles, a central location was necessary. Arrangements were Empire Mills & Cloth Factory Photo: Dodge County Historical Society

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Bogert House - 212 W. Maple Avenue Photo: Dodge County Historical Society

made to lease the Old Bogert house on Maple Avenue. At the time, it was being extensively remodeled by owners Joseph and George Heimler.

The two-story building had such high ceilings that they were taking out the floors and converting it to a three-story building.

A fund drive was held to obtain the funds to furnish the rooms.

The September 12, 1912, Dodge County Citizen reported on the success of the fund drive and noted that the following people were furnishing rooms: Briese & Heilman, Mr. and Mrs. T. L. Newton, Mrs. H.B. Sherman, Mr. and Mrs. W.D. McKinstry, Mr. and Mrs. Edward Beichl, Mr. and Mrs. J.E. McClure, A.B. Chandler, Mrs. M.B.M. Peacock, Mrs. J.J. Dick, Congressman and Mrs. M.E. Burke, and Wayland Academy. In addition to the eleven rooms, one ward of four beds had been furnished and $1,640 had been raised for the maintenance of the hospital. The goal was to raise another $400 to $500. A list of the names of all those who contributed was published along with the people noted to be furnishing rooms.

Everyone who contributed to the hospital became a member of the Beaver Dam Hospital Association. A meeting of the Association was held in City Hall in mid-September to elect officers. The first Board of Directors for the hospital was comprised of John A. Miller, George B. Swan, M.A. Jacobs, John V. Zweck and L.A. Briese.

The services of three experienced nurses from Trinity Hospital in Milwaukee had been obtained to take charge of the new hospital. The October 3, 1912, Dodge County Citizen noted that Miss Hellwig was at the hospital getting things ready. She was soon to be joined by Miss Fuchs and Miss Hogan. The article goes on to state who the hospital would serve: “For some reason or other, a fallacy has obtained among the doctors as well as the laity that the hospital is only for surgical and operative cases. This, however, is not true. On the other hand, the hospital is the safe place for a case of typhoid, pneumonia, appendicitis, peritonitis - in fact, any illness of sufficient seriousness to require daily visits by the physician and an attending nurse, or where much nursing or attention is required on the part of members of the family or friends.”

On October 23, 1912, the doors to the hospital were opened to the public to visit and inspect. The hospital already had a number of cases with little Noble LeHew being mentioned by name. Noble had his left eye injured while playing with friends.

The hospital operated for eight years. In 1920, the building was again converted to flats forcing area residents to travel to Columbus, Madison, Fond du Lac or elsewhere for hospital services until The Lutheran Deaconess Hospital opened in 1922. Since then, the Beaver Dam area has enjoyed continuous hospital service.

One hundred years after being the home of our first hospital, the building at 212 West Maple Avenue, and all its history, still remains as a proud part of the Beaver Dam landscape. We are lucky that so much of our early architectural history still exists. It makes every walk an adventure in the past, with history literally at our feet.

COMMUNITY LET YOUR OPTIMISM RING TRUE KEVIN CARNINE

i

have been an optimist my whole life. Optimism is something you are born with; it is not easily learned and seldom taught. It is hard to keep, something that needs to be nursed, massaged, and constantly fed, otherwise that nasty illness known as pessimism can come creeping in. I was lucky when I moved to Beaver Dam six years ago. I found a group that thought like me and believed that optimism can be grown in adults, but is absolutely infectious in the youth of a community. The Optimist Club of Beaver Dam is that group.

Started in 1983, the Optimist Club of Beaver Dam was created with the belief and goal that the youth of this community need support and activities that will feed the natural optimism that we all have as children. A child is not born with the belief that they cannot do something or that things will never get better; those are things they learn from their surroundings. The Optimist Club has always strived to be an example of what can be achieved if you believe and have faith.

The club recently held a new member orientation where we “showed off” our club to prospective members. On one of the tables were scrapbooks with pictures and newspaper clippings dating back to the beginning of the club. It is hard not to smile and feel pride about the club when you look at all of the amazing projects, ideas and support the club has been a part of over the years. One of the first major projects took place at the Beaver Dam Mall and involved a mountain of pumpkins. In 1984, the first pumpkin carving contest took place. With carving knives in hand and pumpkin guts everywhere, dozens of children went home with a free pumpkin and a happy memory. As an aside, the event was changed to pumpkin decorating in subsequent years, seven-year-olds with knives makes for a scary Saturday.

Paging through the scrapbooks, the projects and events that the club has tackled passed in front of me: Tri-Star Basketball, Just Say No Club, Optimist Golf Tournament, Middle School Writing Contest, College Scholarships, Bike Rodeo, Adopt-a-Highway, and thousands of poinsettias sold.

As the club’s main fundraiser, the annual holiday poinsettia sale has made over $120,000 through the years. Every dollar of that money has gone back to the community in sponsorship and support of organizations like Big Brothers Big Sisters, PAVE, Swan City Skaters, the Boy Scouts and the Girl Scouts of America.

My childhood memories are peppered with stories and events sponsored or run by organizations like these. I shudder to think where our youth will be in the future without these organizations, and that is why I feel it is so important for the Optimist Club to continue to strive to help the youth of the community.

I turned the page of one of the scrapbooks and there was The Optimist Creed, a collection of statements recited at the beginning of each Optimist Club meeting. You could say that it is our Ten Commandments, but instead of “Thou shall not,” in true Optimist fashion the statements all start in the affirmative: “Promise yourself to...”

Optimism is a way of life. It takes effort and commitment to wake up every morning and face the world with a smile and a belief that you are going to make it a little better place. The last line from the Optimist Creed sums it all up: “Promise yourself to be too large for worry, too noble for anger, too strong for fear, and too happy to permit the presence of trouble.”

I love being an Optimist. I love being a member of a club that believes in looking at the sunny side of everything. I love that we have active members that have been with the club from the beginning, and I look to them as examples of what it means to be a true optimist. I believe that things can and will be better, and the Optimist Club believes that too!

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YOU HAVE OUR WORD ON IT. 15

LEGEND & LORE S T OR I E S T OL D & U N T OL D JUDY (BELL) HEIN

Many thanks to Ann Kulka for her invaluable help with obtaining the barbershop history for this piece.

“If I keep this up I’ll probably end up with a barber’s claw from holding the shears all day.”

W

hen said with a slight nasal quality while looking out over a pair of wire-rimmed glasses, you might recognize this as a quote from Floyd Lawson, the famous owner of the Mayberry clip joint institution on “The Andy Griffith Show.” Now as much as hip trouble, back issues, foot pain and “barber’s claw” are a part of barbering, so are a good conversation, a bit of gossip and a comforting listening ear. I know for a fact that my brother, Jerry Bell, does not have a “barber’s claw.” But with apologies to Howard Sprague, I am changing only the last of his words to honor this Beaver Dam icon. “There’s three ways to get news out in Mayberry. There’s telephone, telegraph, and tell Floyd.” Make it rhyme by replacing “Floyd” with “Jerry” and you have a tribute to my brother’s wonderful way with words. He didn’t have “two chairs, no waiting,” but he would do whatever he could with his one chair to squeeze you into his appointmentfilled days. Jerry also had a charm with those little children who were scared of their first shears experience. It makes me wonder how many people have an honored place in their child’s photo album for that snip of hair and special first haircut photo with Jerry at the helm of the chair.

Over the past few months he cut Jerry’s First Barber Uniform - 1963 back his hours, knowing it would be just too arduous a decision to call it quits in one fell swoop. So after 50 years of the service profession of barbering, he officially retired on August 2. It was an extremely difficult decision for him, as he is not just someone who is a barber; he is a barber who is someone. He lived and breathed his barbering career. He loved every second of it and never thought of it as a job. It was a lifestyle, and he has earned many informal career distinctions over those years, including shoulder and neck masseuse, counselor and sports commentator. So put on a cape, find a comfy chair, and sit back and enjoy reading a little about Jerry’s life.

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Jerry in his National Guard uniform with our parents - 1967

Our parents, Jim “Wallie” and Irene Bell had four children, all born in Beaver Dam, Jerry being their second oldest in 1944, following older brother Jim in 1943, and preceding sisters Judy in 1958 and Jan in 1962. Speaking of our parents, they were the epitome of loving, nurturing role models, setting wonderful examples of lifelong learning, service to others, importance of friendships and a good work ethic. You may remember Dad’s small business out of our home, where he owned Bell’s Shoe Repair, and Mom kept the ledgers in order. Dad would say, “Jesus fixes people’s souls and I fix their heels.” Jerry attended elementary, junior and senior high school in Beaver Dam, where he had a paper route and worked at Spurgeon’s. Brother Jim remembers their bedroom walls being covered with pin-ups . . . of cars, that is! He graduated in 1962, and when Dad asked him what he wanted to be, he replied, “I don’t know, maybe a plumber.” Once Dad told him what that entailed, he changed his tune to, “I don’t know, maybe a barber,” and enrolled in Davenport Barber College in Iowa, where he began cutting hair after one month of school. Haircut prices varied from $0.65, $0.85 and $1.00, depending on the experience of the barber. He graduated from the college in 1963. He recently returned to the Iowa site only to find that the college is no longer there and has been replaced by a parking lot.

From 1963-1965, he worked for Louie “Slim” Pohlman in downtown Beaver Dam on Front Street near City Lunch. He then worked in Columbus for Bill Gavinski in 1965 and 1966. (When Jim was married in 1966, Jerry talked him into wearing a hairpiece!) Joining the National Guard in 1967, Jerry attended basic training at Fort Campbell, Kentucky, and advanced training at Fort Sam Houston, Texas, as a Medic in the 3rd Red Arrow Division in Beaver Dam and the 13th Evacuation Hospital in Madison. In 1967, Jerry settled in for the long haul. He worked for Lee Winkler at Winkler’s Family Hair on South Center Street until new owner Ann Kulka bought the business in 2003, and he worked at Barber-Ann’s, now on Corporate Drive, until Thursday August 2, 2012.

As Andy Griffith put it, “You know Floyd always takes an hour or so for lunch. Says if he comes back too fast all the food goes right to his feet.” Well, I know that Jerry often cut his lunch short or skipped it altogether so he could make sure that a groom would be groomed perfectly for his special day or a dear customer who passed away would look at peace

while surrounded by loving family. Jerry’s dedication never wavered, as neither sinus surgery nor two bouts with throat cancer could keep him down and out of the shop.

He would endure radiation treatments in the morning and be back serving his customers at his chair that same afternoon.

While Floyd was a professional barber, he seemed to have some troubles with getting the side burns even, especially on Barney.

But Jerry was meticulous about making sure you “looked even” when you left his chair. In 1972, he earned second place finishes in state convention contests in fashion cut and classic cut, qualifying him for the National Men’s Hairstyling Competition in Houston, Texas. Other merits include being awarded a ring from Roffler Hair Jerry in Floyd’s barber chair Products and earning his manager’s license.

Mount Airy, North Carolina

While Floyd had an affinity for Calvin Coolidge and his quotes, Jerry’s lies more with the Beach Boys and their lyrics. Thanks to a longtime customer friend who took him to their Summerfest concert in July, he happily sat 23 rows from the stage. Another major interest is in the sports arena, including the Brewers, Packers, and his all-time favorite, racing. In fact, it was he who introduced me to the endearing animated movie “Cars,” sparking my desire to hit the mother road someday for a nostalgic ride on Route 66, possibly to look for some red, blue and white striped poles along the way, but that’s another story. Racing has always been a huge part of his life. Although 14 years my senior, I do remember him taking my sister Jan and me to the races (after seeing the white car downtown with the announcer shouting through the bullhorn that Raceway Park was the place to be on Tuesday nights). That was in the early 1970’s, and since then, he has been a member of Geno Berndt’s pit crew, driven a Legends car at Raceway Park and attended several races where he met his favorite NASCAR driver Matt Kenseth. If you need directions to Cambridge, just ask him.

But one of his very favorite things to do is travel, and when the trip can be combined with barbershop nostalgia, it’s even better. On his way back from a Martinsville race, he stopped in Mount Airy, North Carolina where he went to Floyd’s Barbershop and was allowed to “cut” brother-in-law Allen’s hair in Floyd’s chair!

I cannot even begin to estimate the number of haircuts Jerry has done, although his figure of about a quarter of a million doesn’t seem far off the mark. I know there have been generations of men who have sat in his chair at seven different stages of their lives: baby, toddler, young boy, teen, young man, adult and senior. In fact, his brother-in-law (my husband Greg) was his last official haircut. When people discover that I am his sister, they all smile and make the same comment.

“Jerry’s your brother? Oh, he’s been my barber my whole life and he’s great.” Well, I can say the same thing. “He’s been my brother my whole life and he IS great.” His customers meant so much to him, just as he means to them. Thank you, Jerry for you were just the right tonic to help keep our community looking good. Enjoy as you snip, trim, clip, and cut your way through the next chapters of your life.

Mom surprises Jerry at his workstation on his retirement day.

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VIEWFINDER

VICKI HOLLENBERG i

came to photography while in the Navy. Stationed in Newfoundland, Canada for three years, I wanted to capture the essence of the Island to share with my family. I started off with a 110 instamatic; it was all I had at the time. I rapidly outgrew that and progressed into a bigger and better camera, and a budding photographer was born. I tried to get what I was seeing or feeling onto film, and I learned by trial and error. When I returned stateside, I bought a used manual SLR and taught myself how to use it. My love of photography grew.

End of Season A blustery November day on the Wisconsin shore of Lake Michigan south of Sheboygan told that the sun-warmed days of summer had been replaced.

“Photos have the ability to capture mood, emotion and unexpected moments and share them with others.�

Still Watch In the flat calm waters of early morning, the egret and his reflection wait in solitude. Taken along Dike Road, Horicon Marsh National Wildlife Refuge.

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“I tried to get what I was seeing or feeling onto film, and I learned by trial and error.”

Since leaving Newfoundland, I have lived in several states. In each location I have found opportunities to hone my skills.

Gravitating toward wildlife and nature is a continuation of the love of the outdoors I had growing up. Living in Beaver Dam puts Horicon Marsh with all its photo opps at my doorstep, but I find those opportunities wherever I go. I received an Honorable Mention in the “Capture Wisconsin” photo contest in 2009, and one of my egret photos was selected for the 2012 Horicon Marsh Bird Festival program cover and the publicity postcard. I have had a great time learning from other photographers in the Lightcatchers Photo Club and six of my photos were included in the photography exhibit “Through the Lens” at the Seippel Center for the Arts this past winter. My plan is to continue learning and practicing the art that is photography.

Photos have the ability to capture mood, emotion and unexpected moments and share them with others. There is nothing more satisfying than the “oooh,” “ahhh” or chuckle that tells you the viewer “gets” what you were trying to capture.

Shadows of History Echoes of the Civil War at Fort Morgan, Alabama could be felt through the dripping patina on the brick and the play of light and dark through the labyrinth of arches. I expected to see soldiers emerging from the shadows.

Self Portrait: Vicki Hollenberg

Woodland Symphony In the shade along a sandy trail, this composition of hues and textures captured my eye.

Bon Secour National Wildlife Refuge, Gulf Shores, Alabama.

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THIS & THAT

“ V O T E E A R LY, V O T E O F T E N ” ( NO T R E A L LY )

DAVE BOWMAN

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very four years our nation participates in a collective process, which is the shining beacon many nations aspire to, leaving many exhilarated, some heartbroken and many muttering, “Why does it have to last so long?” Yes, the presidential campaign season is upon us again. And once again we hear the same utterances from folks, “It’s never been this mean spirited before,” “That sure is a dumb slogan” or “I can’t believe the candidate just said that!!!” Every four years it seems that the campaign tone is the worst it has ever been in the history of the universe, and there is a desire to go back to simpler times when things were more civilized and less crazy. Really?

Since the beginning of this great country, politicians have strived to be chosen to become the “Leader of the Free World.” Campaigns have come and gone, some inspirational and stirring and some not so much.

While the current political climate is tense and some say divisive, our political history is peppered with accusations and debates that make our current situation pale in comparison. In the same token, there have been

some lighthearted attempts to not take ourselves too seriously. Maybe more of that is needed.

During the presidential campaign of 1828, John Quincey Adams was running for re-election and stated that his opponent Andrew Jackson was too uneducated to be president, claiming that Jackson spelled Europe, “Urope” (shades of Dan Quayle’s “potato-e” anyone?), as well as insulting Jackson’s wife Rachel for good measure. When Abraham Lincoln faced Stephen Douglas in 1860, Lincoln called the much shorter Douglas the “Little Giant,” saying he was “five feet of nothing in height and about the same in diameter.” Douglas retaliated with “Lincoln is the leanest, lankiest, most ungainly mass of legs and arms and hatchet face ever sitting on a single frame.” It makes the 1984 Walter Mondale debate zinger to Ronald Reagan “Where’s the beef?” kind of quaint and cute.

Slogans, gimmicks and lighthearted tomfoolery have always been a part of the political stage. These range from the down-to-earth “Vote Yourself a Farm” (Abraham Lincoln); promises “A chicken in every pot and a car in every garage” (Herbert Hoover); personal “I Like Ike” (Dwight Eisenhower), “Not Just Peanuts” (Jimmy Carter), “Ross for Boss” (Ross Perot); and inspiring “It’s Morning Again in America” (Ronald Reagan).

Why, no upstanding election campaign would have been complete without an “Archie Bunker for President” bumper sticker on your car, a “Pat Paulsen for President” lapel button or Richard Nixon making a guest appearance on “Rowan and Martin’s Laugh-In” to show off his comedic timing by uttering the famous catch phrase in that hysterical Nixon delivery, “Sock it to me?” Ah, those simpler and more dignified times.

When all is said and done, after the final speech is given, the final balloon has fallen to the convention floor, the last bit of confetti swept up and the last television campaign ad broadcasted, we Americans will continue our longstanding and wonderful tradition of going to the polls and peacefully selecting our President. No matter what your political affiliation, exercise your right to vote.

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W W W . B E AV E R D A M . K 12. W I . U S

THE WANDERING MAN

TAMON MARK UTTECH

S U M M E R I S A L MO S T G O N E

T

he month of August is a kind of prison, because it is the last of the summer months. A time to reflect on opportunities we might be missing and SUMMER’S ALMOST GONE. As the song goes: “Where will we be... When the summer’s gone?”

It has taken years and years, but I think I finally learned a thing or two! Three simple words I tell myself: “Make an effort,” and once that is done, NEVERMIND the outcome.

I recently received a wedding invitation in the mail. The wedding itself is a private affair (the church chosen only accommodates 40 people), so I was only invited to the reception. Would I attend? Enthusiastically?

Regretfully? Would I attend alone? With a guest in tow? Would I prefer the Chicken Cordon Bleu? The Seasoned Roast Beef?

I had fully 37 days to reply; I am down to 5 days. You might wonder what the problem is. The simple answer would be to return to the previous paragraph and look at all the questions! The complicated approach would be to break it all down, which makes more sense. So here goes: 1. Would I attend? My life policy is to take no invitation for granted.

That idea wreaks havoc when confronted with all sorts of ‘inviting’ junk mail. OF COURSE I would attend. (I didn’t burn the invitation, just the junk mail.)

2. Enthusiastically? Actually no. The signature song from ‘HeeHaw’ comes to mind: “I searched the world over and thought I found true love . . . “ 3. Regretfully? (See above.)

4. With a guest in tow? This added to the dilemma. Should I try to find a date? Or hope to meet someone there? I actually spent some time reflecting on this question, and this question turned out to be the MAIN reason why my 37 days to reply dwindled down to 5. So I contacted the bride-to-be and explained why I hadn’t mailed in my RSVP yet. It didn’t really have anything to do with the food choices, I told her. She said that so far the responses she had gotten were few, but of those few, the women chose the Chicken Cordon Bleu, and the men chose the Seasoned Roast Beef. Whew! What the bride-to-be told me actually DID give me a clue about how to handle the ‘guest’ question. I would no longer have to worry about getting a date and then having to argue about my choice of food.

(She: “What?! You ordered Chicken Cordon Bleu?! A Real Man would order the Seasoned Roast Beef! I don’t know if I want to be here with you on this ‘date’ now!” etc.) Since my actual preference was for the Chicken Cordon Bleu, I could also forgo the date problem and meet someone there who was having the same meal. (I reasoned that each table would not want to have different meals delivered so I could easily be seated at a table with MANY women.) And then what? Argue with them all? But ALL women CAN’T be the same . . .

I mailed in the RSVP on the due date, which means it will be received a little late. I responded that I would indeed have a guest in tow, which I named: MYSTERY WOMAN, and we would both have the Chicken Cordon Bleu.

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21

FORTUNE A S HORT S T ORY COLTON DUNHAM

F

ind time for happiness. I slid the small piece of paper into my jean pocket and disregarded the two halves of the cookie, as I took what I truly wanted. Who would have thought that a piece of paper could make someone feel so hopeful of what life has to offer. I shouldn’t be this hopeful. Unfortunately, tearing apart a flavorless cookie to receive a profound message was going to be the best part of my day.

I have been tearing apart cookies for a message for a few years now, ever since my family and I arrived to this strange cement jungle. My new home is a two-bedroom apartment that my parents can barely afford.

They run a restaurant with authentic cuisine from our mainland. A home is supposed to make you feel comfortable and secure. Where my family and I live is not home. It is a steamy bare vessel where I can only escape through memory. My parents keep telling me on a daily basis that this is my home now.

I sit alone most nights in my small bedroom, dreaming of another time and place where everything was okay. My bedroom floor is made out of dark and dirty wood. I do not dare to walk around barefoot. The floor creaks as I make my way to my bed. I open up the torn journal that I bought when we moved here. I tape every single fortune into this journal that I keep safe underneath my bed. I graze my finger along the edges of the torn paper as I study each one. Find time for happiness is the latest addition to the collection. The voices of my parents pierce through the paper-thin walls. They must be fighting about money again, or the lack thereof. I curl up on my bed trying to tune out the voices of my parents as they get louder and louder until my hands reach over my ears to make them stop.

There is a loud thud on the floor. I whip out of bed to see my fortune journal open and scattered. As I recollect my fortunes and writings, a picture peers out of the corner of one of the pages as if it is playing peek-a-boo with my conscience. It is a picture that my parents do not know I have in my possession. The boy in the photo is Han, my older brother who never made it over to this new land. He has dark wavy hair and brown eyes. I understand now why Han was always popular with the girls at school. His handsome features made him stand out from all the rest. After the accident, my parents never talk about him. We never mention his name. As strange as this cement jungle is, my parents are trying to forget as they escape into the strangeness. I miss you. I whisper gently as I tuck the photo of Han between the pages.

This is now the fourth day in a row that it has been raining. Not a hint of sunshine to enlighten my gloomy disposition. With each step I take, I splash tiny puddles. The sound of heavy traffic speeding past me allows me to be oblivious to the surrounding conversation. It is a Saturday, so any worries of feeling like a stranger in a strange land inside a classroom can be ignored, at least for the next forty-eight hours.

A bell rings as I rush into the restaurant to grab the first fortune cookie of the day. Cracking a cookie open is a gratifying experience for me. It’s exciting. As I pinch my fingers on the piece of thin paper, I slowly pull it out to reveal a message. Find time for happiness. This was the first time that I have gotten the same message more than once. Receiving the fortune twice must mean something. It has to mean something. Is this a sign from something beyond our comprehension to bring positive change?

Possibly, but I am not getting my hopes up.

22

Happiness is hard to achieve, but once you have it, you have to hold onto it. This is what my mother told me when Han graduated from school. I just wish that she followed her own advice. As much as you can hold onto happiness, it is easy to let go, especially when everything falls apart. My family and I are like a lot of people. We have struggled, and through our struggle, we have found that it is hard to accept reality and move on. It is especially hard for my father who has not moved on quite yet. He is bottled up with so much frustration that he often takes out his anger on my mother with a relentless open palm.

Today is a relatively slow business day, so I observe out the window to see strangers stride past. Most of these walks of life walk past seemingly content. Glass shattering makes everyone’s eyes, including mine, turn toward my mother as she sluggishly stands with her cheeks rosy red.

My father rushes out of the kitchen to notice what she has done. All of the plates my father ordered are in pieces on the reflective tiling. My father ferociously grabs my mother’s arm, pulls her into the kitchen and out of the eye of the public. My eyes trail away from strangers on the street to the swinging kitchen doors to see my mother, the woman who has kept as strong as possible since the accident, kneeling on the floor in tears. I stand frozen cold in my tracks, as I cannot think of a thing to do to comfort her.

Our two-bedroom apartment contains an eerie silence later that night. Father has yet to arrive home and my mother is sitting alone at the kitchen table. As I make my way to her, I grab the crumpled fortune out of my jean pocket. When my mother looks up at me, I see the pain in her eyes. I gently place the piece of paper into her hand and clutch it closed with my hand over hers. Please read this. I wrap my arms around her with no intention of letting go. This is the fortune that will save us all.

Colton Dunham serves as leader of the Creative Writer’s Group at the Seippel Center and has published a variety of work including screenplays, short stories, non-fiction essays and film reviews. His latest screenplay “The Tree House” made it to the top five through Milwaukee Film’s Collaborative Cinema Program. He writes for The Daily Rotation, a media/entertainment website, and attends UWMilwaukee for Journalism and Film.

ate where we’ve come - recognize that giving back for the general good is right - while we still have time.

As Grandma Sophie would say - “So soon we get old but so late we get smart….”

Remember last month’s issue of the Viewfinder? I made a terrible mistake - the proud owner of the ‘67 Chevy II is JEFF Abel - not Joe. No amount of spellchecking or proofreading by others could ever catch that - I simply wrote Joe and never looked back - until I saw the look on his face!

Jeff - I apologize! Every time we see each other now, It’s - Hi Joe! - Jeff’s a good sport…

PARTING THOUGHTS JIM DITTMANN

Well here we are: Parting thoughts Volume 1 Issue 5

September may mark the end of summer but it is still my favorite month. I was born in September, married and our first child arrived in September. I met my best friend Mark in September - it was the first day of the 6th Grade, 1964. We’d buy freeze pops from Bremsers, 5 for a quarter - read comic books - experienced “brain freeze” for the first time.

Stingray bicycles were the wheels of choice - they allowed us to terrorize neighborhoods as the “Scarface Gang.” We could visit all parts of the city - travel a great distance to the best apple tree in the world. We’d steal the sweetest green apples from Grandpa Braunschweig’s tree - he came to expect us on a warm September evening…

Mark has also gotten me in more trouble than anyone else on the planet - he brought the firecrackers to our 15-year high school class reunion - “psst - let’s toss these onto the dance floor” - guess who got thrown out.

I

was cutting the grass yesterday - it always gives me a little time to reflect and talk to myself - not out loud of course, but I suppose I could with the noise of the machine and earplugs in - maybe I’ll give it a try. Uncle Harold (Pinney) comes to mind - he asks, “Do you know how to say cut the grass in French?” No unc, I don’t know - how’s it go?

“Mow zee lawn,” he laughs…

My dad died in January of 2008 - beginning of the last national election cycle. Dad followed politics pretty closely. He did not like most politicians and summarized their activities with a recurring pounding of his fist and the words - “Greed! Greed!” If he had lived further into 2008 - I think it would have killed him. Dad was born in 1928 - he grew up during the depression - called them the “Oatmeal Days” - warned of how the Greed was going to recreate the calamity - he saw it all coming...

Perhaps a bit of Dad has rubbed off - I fear some for our common interests. The term Commonwealth comes to mind - a proud concept defined as the general good or community. Seems to me the greed that Dad spoke of does threaten much of what we hold dear. I think I’m beginning to understand what he was talking about. We need to be careful - appreci-

“Happily we bask in this warm September sun, which illuminates all creatures...” - Henry David Thoreau Cheers!

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