For local TV stations, news days like Thursday don’t happen very often; days when there are so many important stories going on all at once it’s practically impossible to apply the usual pecking order  in deciding which one gets priority when going live or during the newscast.

Here we had two people missing in the icy waters of Falls Park while trying to rescue a child who’d fallen in. A man wanted for questioning in a Chamberlain homicide, is holed up inside a Sioux Falls house surrounded by lawmen trying to talk him out. Two people dead after their car was struck by a semi in front of the Grand Falls Casino. A woman sentenced to prison for being high on meth while a two year old in her care lay dead in the closet.

I wasn’t in the Keloland newsroom Thursday but can pretty much picture the scene; “organized chaos” as veteran assignment editor, Dexter Gronseth stands at his elevated desk with a phone (sometimes two phones) to his ear getting information and dispensing it quickly to those waiting for direction. “Ben, you and Rock head to the standoff..let me know when you’re ready to go live. Sammi, Don’s going to solo anchor. I need you to go with Kevin in the live truck and cover Falls Park..go..go go.” 

Of course news directors, producers, photographers, engineers and all reporters are on hand scrambling to make sure we not only get our facts straight but FIRST.

I know these are serious and tragic stories and don’t  mean to seem insensitive but for those who’ve chosen journalism as a career, days like Thursday are exhilarating and a true test of whether or not you have the chops for the job. From what I saw, you all passed with flying colors.

Well done!

Thinking today about my broadcasting buddy, Grant Peterson, longtime radio personality at KBRK AM in Brookings and world famous spokesman for the NAANP ..the national association for the advancement of Norwegian people. (Okay, I might have made that up.) Grant has been an avid supporter of the South Dakota Rock and Roll music association hall of fame over the past five years; devoting air time each spring on his Friday edition of the “Great Afternoon Smorgasbord” radio program toward promoting our annual induction ceremony and concert. (April 13th Ramkota) In fact, it was shortly after our visit in the studio last week that Grant fell ill and had to be hospitalized for a couple days.  I certainly hope we had nothing to do with it. Anyway, I’m sure Grant would appreciate all good thoughts and prayers for a quick recovery and a return to his proper place at the radio microphone where he belongs.

My cousin, Grouse and me with Grant Peterson at KBRK

I got to thinking the other day about another former KBRK radio personality who went on to make a  name for himself as an “owner” of radio stations in Sioux Falls and Sheldon, Iowa.  But,  E.C. Red Stangland, a native of tiny Hetland, South Dakota, became better known for another occupation;  poking fun at Norwegians..in print.

Red Stangland at his Norse Press desk taking orders 1989

It started quite by accident in 1973 when it was suggested by friends over coffee that he publish some of those corny Norsky jokes he kept testing on them. So, on a dare, he put together a small joke book, had five thousand of them published and managed to get them put on area news stands where they sold like crazy. Before long he’d published another..then another until at least a dozen Scandinavian joke books were in print and he’d opened a distribution warehouse filling orders for books and other Scandinavian humor items from Tee shirts and hats to bumper stickers.

I can’t remember what this spinning ear of corn gadget was supposed to be. Anyone?

I caught up with Red at his Norse Press office in Sioux Falls some 20 years ago where I asked about the phenomenal success of his books. (Over a million sold at that time)  He said he really enjoyed doing it because, as a Norwegian himself, it was easy, didn’t require a lot of thought and involved no heavy lifting. He was concerned at first that Norskies might take offense at his profiting at their expense; so worried that he didn’t even put his name on the first book; just a post office address. But after he realized there were no lynch mobs after him, he included both his name and photograph. He told me that, instead of being offended,  Norwegians loved them. In fact, most mail orders were to people with Scandinavian names. He felt that Norwegians were the only ones left with a sense of humor. I think that’s true because even when, in her later years, my mom wasn’t feeling too hot, I’d bring home the latest version of Red’s Norwegian joke book and read them aloud. She’d slap her leg and laugh out loud..proving Red’s theory. There was never any smut in Red’s books..but he’d push the envelope on occasion with a bit of bathroom and mild sex humor. The maybe-too-graphic barometer he used was a lady secretary who worked at a very conservative Lutheran church. Red told me that if she laughed..the joke was in.

Red Stangland’s entire life..which ended way too soon in 1995 at the age of 73..was filled with unplanned routes to notoriety. In 1975, he teamed up with Bob Johnson for a little comedy routine promoting the Nordland Fest. Johnson, sans his dentures and donning a crazy Norskie outfit, was a scream as Uncle Torvald.

People loved Red and Torvald which led to them putting together a 45 minute show and they wound up entertaining at events all over the area right up until Red passed away.

Stangland also gained fame for his establishment of..and involvement in..a community watchdog group called the Concerned Citizens Organization. A lot of folks, who may have appreciated his books and comedy, didn’t think much about his politics and those of his followers for being such outspoken naysayers on so many issues they felt promoted positive growth for Sioux Falls. In fact, Red told me, he was invited to leave town several times.

Red heading up a Concerned Citizens Organization meeting.

If the truth be known, I didn’t necessarily agree with Red’s political views back then either..but it was hard not to fall for the twinkle in his eye and his appreciation for all the joys life had to offer..especially the ability to laugh at yourself.

I hope my friend, Grant has a bunch of Red’s books handy as he recuperates because the old adage is true about laughter being the best medicine.

Oh, I asked Red if he had a favorite Norwegian joke. It was hard to pick just one but he shared this: On a plane ride to Minneapolis, a beautiful woman sat next to Ole who asked what she vas going to do in da Tvin Cities. She said she hoped to hook up with a guy.. adding that she’d heard Norwegians and Native Americans made the best lovers. What’s YOUR name she asked?

“Sigurd Red Feather” said Ole.

Welcome to Lund Lake..where there are still a few choice shore-line lots available. But hurry, both the deals and the lake itself may not last much longer.

Lund Lake, as seen on Facebook

There was considerable concern at our house this weekend as Linda stood by our back door biting her nails as rain, and melting snow combined with the still frozen ground to turn our back yard into a sizeable containment pond rising perilously close to the house itself which, of course, means the very real possibility of it seeping into our basement. That brings back a flood of bad memories from the time before we had drain tile and a sump pump installed, when all the carpeting in our finished lower level, had to be pulled back and we took turns night and day manning the Shop-Vac sucking up water that crept in following a heavy downpour. I can still see Linda plop down on a chair from total exhaustion and frustration, and with her face in her hands begin to weep..but only for a short while. She’d soon shake it off, apologize for her little moment, flash her familiar smile and resume vacuuming up water.

 Fortunately, this latest threat has passed. The dam that is our brick patio, held and the drain tile did its job. Our basement remains as dry as a Lutheran sermon.

Besides, Linda doesn’t have time for any downstairs issues. She, along with my sister-in-law, Judy, have been busy carrying out the plan to renovate our main floor. The living room is the latest to get refurbished and rearranged which meant relocating my Archie Bunker chair.

(It just dawned on me that a few of you who follow this twice-weekly fiasco might actually be too young to know who Archie Bunker is..or was. I’ll give you a couple minutes to Google the name so you can catch up.)

I don’t believe I’m as culturally insensitive or politically hawkish as ol’ Arch but besides our girth, we have something else in common; “It’s  my chair, meathead, and if you sit in it, I’ll kick you out.”

From my new location by the ellipse window, I have close at hand my trusty laptop, a good view of the TV, several remotes, reading and writing materials, some Keloland TV memorabilia and even a mini recliner that I got as a retirement gift and which served as a model for the real thing acquired last year.

Steve Hemmingsen carved that old time microphone out of two types of wood and, of course my Captain 11 bobblehead is always on display.

It’s going to be a challenge today (Sunday) trying to keep our invited company from sitting in my chair. The guest of honor is our grandson Taylor Smith. It’s his birthday so I suppose I should let him park his buns on my recliner for that alone. But he’s more than welcome to occupy the seat of honor for another reason;  his honorable service to our country in the United States Marine Corps both here on the home front as well as the bloody battle fronts of Afghanistan.

Happy Birthday, Taylor from two very proud grandparents. Welcome home. Sit wherever you damn well please.

LATER:

The Cardinals are gathering again; both in Rome and my backyard.

While, I have nothing to say about those old guys dressed in red gathering in the Sistine Chapel to choose a new old guy from amongst themselves to be the new pope taking over for the old old pope who broke pope precedent by resigning his position, presumably so he could spend more time with his Maker.

No, I’m talking about Cardinals..the beautiful red birds who have weathered our long winter and, in spite of a steady heavy snow this morning, were filling our neighborhood with a chorus of piercingly loud and yet beautiful songs that, to me,  announce the arrival of Spring. They may be early birds but it’s not worms they’re after..it’s sex. Each male Cardinal has a repertoire of 8 to 10 songs which are sung to establish a territory and attract a mate.

I just got a call from the computer repair shop suggesting that in addition to installing a second hard drive to take the strain off my C drive which is full to overflowing, I spend 19 more bucks to add a more modern virus protection device because my old one; Norton, has allowed corrupt temporary files to cause the initial problem. So now, I get to call Norton and try cancel my account stop the billing for protection I wasn’t getting. Uffdah.

It’ll be nice, though, to have my old desktop back all fixed and fast and free of disease.

Let’s face it, though, talking about computers and the problems they can present is boring;  so I thought we’d have a little fun this time playing “When the were young” a look at a few photos of celebrities from their more youthful days. I was shocked by a couple. I’ll give a clue or two about each one..then identify the lot at the end.

I’ll post the answers below in the comments. Thanks for playin’ along.

I just stepped outside to listen for the Cardinals again but they’ve either found a date or just got tired of trying because all I hear now is the wind.

I wonder if men, like Cardinals,  can attract females  by singing.

What am I saying? That’s how I got all three of my wives.

God created the month of March to give people who don’t drink the chance to experience what a hangover feels like. (Garrison Keillor)

 “My, where did February go? It seems to have just flown by.”

I’m allowed to repeat clichés like that because I qualify for the senior discount at restaurants, theaters and motels. I’m not only old, I’m old fashioned.

How can that be, Lund,you seem so young?

I have a stack of bills over on the table that needs my immediate attention as soon as I’m done here. I’ll be paying them by check.  Yes, I am still armed with a checkbook and am not afraid to use it no matter how much pressure I get from creditors urging..nay, practically insisting, that I reimburse them automatically on-line “for my convenience” to which I say Poppycock.

Even though  it costs about five dollars a month in postage, I still feel more comfortable going through my regular routine; rounding up the bills, checkbook, envelopes, letter opener, pen, stamps (both postage and return address) and a good stiff grown-up beverage to keep me calm if and when I should discover any irregularities. It usually takes about 45 minutes sitting at the table to complete the process but it’s time well spent as far as I’m concerned just knowing I had a hand in it; and that somebody on the receiving end will have to physically open the envelope, remove the check and apply it to my account rather than some computer belching out the numbers. When our kids are all home at Christmastime and see me going through this ritual, they invariably remind me about the convenience..and safety.. of paying on line.But, they’ll probably keep still from now on after our son had his identity stolen and accounts raided this past month. Fortunately, he’s covered financially but what a headache. No thanks, I’ll continue to live in the dark ages until checks are not an option or the post office drops service altogether..not just on Saturdays.

Speaking of old fashioned..I’m becoming keenly aware that I’m losing touch with pop culture and have been for some time.

I’ve tried to avoid being a stereotypical old geezer when it comes to things like fashion trends, hair styles and popular vernacular. But, I’m afraid I can no longer cope in silence.  Good Lord. Men’s haircuts. How can the ladies like the looks of these just-got-out-of-bed…stickin’ straight up, un-combed tufts of short hair..trimmed high on the side to reveal often large misshapen ears?

It’s just how Keillor describes the springtime appearance of Norwegian bachelor farmers fresh out of their winter hibernation showing up in LakeWoebegon… right down to the scraggly two week old growth of beard which women now seem to find so appealing; perhaps for the extra scratchiness. Why am I citing Garrison Keillor today..twice?    He’s hardly one to talk about unkept hair and  general scruffiness.  

Neither am I for that matter. Don’t get me wrong,  When most men my age are crying over the sink each morning at the site of great gobs of follicles that have become detached overnight, I’m  pleased to still have a full head of thick hair even though it’s now regressing from the popular salt and pepper look to silver grey on the fast track to all white.

This is my motorcycle hair look (note Kawasaki in background) some say they like it better than the glued down helmet head appearance but you can’t ride in the winter. Oh, by he way, I also catch grief  for the Jackie “O” sunglasses which I wear over my regular glasses because I’m too cheap to buy prescriptions. I won’t even get into the socks with sandals thing..even though they’re white.

Aside from hair length, I haven’t changed the style in…well, EVER.. which has led to suggestions that I get with the times. But if the times mean morphing into the hobo look, I’ll have to pass.

 Oh, yeah, and what’s with the latest in men’s suits? I suppose I should be glad that most guys appearing on TV  talk or award shows, still feel obliged to dress up but I really hate to see how fashions have regressed back to the 60’s where suits are shiny and tight with ties that are plain and skinny.

Yeah..tight enough to expose your shirt below the button. Yeah, that’s the look.

I suppose the popular “Mad Men” TV series may have had an influence but it only works on guys who are rail thin; certainly not short and stout fellas like poor Jonah Hill who clearly found the weight he recently lost but hasn’t told his taylor.

As I got older and wider, I rejoiced when the form fitting pants and suit jackets of my youth disappeared so I could relax the gut a little. But now, they’re back and there’s no hiding behind clothing or hair anymore to cover up certain areas of the body that are sensitive to some of us like ears, butts and bellies.

Thank god, Linda still loves me the way I am.

Wait a sec..I better check.

Yeah, she says she still does but added I could use a haircut.

As promised, I did watch the Oscars Sunday night but managed to get ‘er done in just over an hour thanks to my trusty DVR. I was able to fast forward through all the commercials, lame jokes by the host, long boring acceptance speeches and the annual tribute to those in the film business who died in the last year..most of whom you’ve never heard of. Of course, the Ang Lee movie (one of the few I did NOT see) swept most of the awards. It wasn’t long until this showed up on Facebook and made me spray a sip of my screwdriver all over the computer screen.

I probably shouldn’t even mention last week’s blog about the Oscars since it didn’t bring very many comments. One of them was from my old pal, Jack, who simply wrote “Yawn.”

I first got to know Jack way back in the 70’s when he was a jet pilot with the South Dakota Air National Guard.  

That’s Jack on the lower left with his fellow F-100 Air Guard pilots in 1973

He was among lots of pilots and broadcasters who gathered regularly at the “Captain’s Galley” lounge for, cocktails, fun conversation, girl watching and live music.  Jack eventually became a commercial airline pilot and left town only to return a few years ago to spend retirement from high atop a luxury Sioux Falls apartment building. There’s only one way I know of to get Jack back into my blog corner and that’s to write something about his first love; flying.

So here goes.

I forget the exact year but it was sometime during the mid 80’s when it was suggested that I do a story on Nellie Willhite; a little old lady in Sioux Falls who just happened to be the first licensed woman pilot in South Dakota.

She was pushing 90..I was told..but sharp as a tack. Now,  I’ve heard that sort of thing a lot in my reporting days; you gotta do a story on my uncle Torvald or my grandma Esther who’s turning 100. The photographer and I go to the party and find grandma Esther propped up in a chair with hair looking like a dandelion gone to seed ..barely able to see or hear much less do an interview. They’d mostly just shade their eyes from the bright lights and say “What?” a lot. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not making fun of the elderly..especially since I am one, but most really advanced age  folks aren’t quite as coherent as their kids think they are.

 So, to be honest, I thought that’s what I was getting into with Nellie…especially when just as we were about to go  meet her I was told that she’s deaf and had been since childhood following a bout with measles at her home near Box Elder.

Well, you’d never have known it to talk with her. She apparently retained enough hearing to get by just fine plus she had developed a lip reading ability to perfection.

Her interest in aviation began after seeing Charles Lindberg land his “Spirit of St. Louis” airplane at the Renner airport shortly after Lucky Lindy’s historic non-stop trans-Atlantic flight in 1927.  Nellie took flying lessons and the very next year, at the age of 35,  became the first woman pilot in the state. Her father coughed up 27 hundred dollars to buy her first aircraft; a Eaglerock bi-plane in which she became proficient enough to earn a living  by barnstorming and doing aerobatics in air shows.

In the photos above, that’s young Nellie in her full flight regalia and giving rides during her barnstorming days in her very own bi-plane, “Pard,” which she flew until 1935.

 She purchased the plane from another South Dakota legend aviator, Clyde Ice. Nellie also became a charter member in the “99 Club” formed by “Lady Lindy” Amelia Earhart. It was an exclusive club consisting only of pioneer women pilots in America. When I asked Nellie about Earhart, she whispered her answer saying “She was sort of a publicity machine and not that great of pilot.”

Nellie with her bi-plane she named “Pard” after her father. “Pard” is still around; an exhibit at the Southern Aviation Museum in Birmingham, Alabama

In later years, Nellie taught aviation classes and flew airmail. At the beginning of World War II, she applied to join the British Air Transport Auxiliary in Canada hoping to fly military aircraft to Europe but it didn’t work out.

 In her later years, Nellie Willhite received numerous awards and honors for her aviation achievements  not only in South Dakota but around the world. When she was  in her early 90’s, actress Marlee Matlin..who is also hearing impared..paid her a visit to research a possible movie about Nellie but it never materialized. Matlin was so taken with this early aviatrix, though , that she bought Nellie a new digital hearing aid..which, apparently she never wore.

Nellie’s last flight was as a passenger to New York where she gathered with other surviving member’s of Amelia’s “99 Club.” She, like, Clyde Ice, survived a lot of close calls in those rickety old planes to live extraordinarily long lives. Clyde made it to 103 while Nellie didn’t fly off into the sunset until the age of 98 in 1991.

When our interview was concluded, I had to sit back for a second just to absorb the experience of meeting with this remarkable woman. As she, and her little dogs, escorted us to the door, I said how much I appreciated her sharing her story.  She just smiled and said, “Come back again some time, you haven’t heard the half of it.”

Suddenly I thought of all the questions I’d neglected to ask; about her romances, her work with South Dakota’s only woman U.S. Senator, Gladys Pyle, and more about her close acquaintance with Amelia and what she thought might have happened on Earhart’s fateful around the world flight.

Nellie probably knew precisely what went wrong and I missed the scoop of the century.

(Thanks to Augustana’s Center for Western Studies for information about Nellie Willhite to help me fill-in the blanks of my memory.)

I’m actually going to watch the Academy Awards Sunday night; something I haven’t done in several years mainly because I rarely have seen many of the movies nominated; mostly due to  my aversion to movie theaters. Don’t worry, this isn’t another rant complaining about the high price of admittance and popcorn or the deaf-inducing volume or even the noisy inconsiderate clods sharing the theater experience with me who feel duty bound to provide a running audible commentary during the entire show. I generally wait until the films come out On Demand and watch in the comfort of my own big chair surrounded by snacks and beverages provided at no charge; at least not at a thousand percent mark-up.

But this year, I couldn’t wait that long to see “Lincoln” so Linda and I went. It was very good, although as I mentioned here before, I was sort of expecting director Steven Spielberg to provide a couple Civil War battle scenes as only he could..but instead got a lot of long speeches in dark rooms.

I also went to see the nominated “Zero Dark Thirty.” It too was interesting and well acted. It also lived up to the title since the half hour scene at the end.. of the Seals going after bin Laden.. was shot so dark you wished they would have passed out night vision goggles in the lobby before the show so we could see it on screen.

My cousin wanted to see “Django Unchained” so we checked it out a couple weeks ago. For some reason, Hollywood is in love with Quentin Tarantino who writes and directs these shockingly violent blood splattered masterpieces like “Pulp Fiction” “Inglorious Basterds” and this silly spin-off, which amounts to a cross between  old spaghetti westerns and a Sam Pekenpaw production in which bags of blood explode and spray after every impact of lead on human flesh..and there are hundreds if not thousands of them in “Django.” The movie is also peppered with expletives in which the “F” word flies as often as the bullets and in such a variety of usages be they adjectives, verbs or nouns.  Worst of the abusers is Samuel L. Jackson who plays the “Uncle Tom” character as longtime head of Leonardo De Caprio’s family plantation. He plays fast and free with the “N” word to the point where it would make an Alabama audience squirm. Anyway, I thought it was just a goofy movie and felt a bit guilty liking it.

The highly touted Ben Affleck film, “Argo” was On Demand so Linda and I watched it at home and enjoyed it very much. The cast is really good and the plot (even though we know how it ends) is sufficiently tense and exciting but It just didn’t leave me awed like it has some who believe Affleck’s being snubbed for best director is tantamount to treason.

Last but not least, I took Linda to see “Silver Linings Playbook” Thursday..and, unlike any of the other best picture nominees, it has really stayed in my head for some reason. Again, I don’t know why these movies feel compelled to throw the f-bomb in every other word of the script, especially when it really doesn’t add a thing to the story and will take forever for editors to bleep it all out for TV.   Anyway, it’s what I’d call a serious romantic comedy that had me hooked from the start. The performances by Bradly Cooper and Jennifer Lawrence truly capture the fine line between crazy and normal. Robert Di Nero’s character (his best work in years) also treds on a balance beam between nice and nuts.  

“Silver Linings Playbook” is my favorite of the bunch but it really doesn’t stand much of a chance in any of the nominated categories..except maybe for Di Nero as best supporting actor.

Oh, I know, there were NINE movies nominated for best picture this year which, in my opinion, is four too many. Nominations are getting to the point that they’re handed like gold stars in grade school. Give ‘em to everybody so there are no hurt feelings.

I just couldn’t get myself into the mood to see “Les Miserables.”  The clip of Russell Crow singing or Anne Hathaway’s clip of being clipped are bad enough but sitting through three hours of this tired old French fable that even has the word miserable in it..is too much to bear..or pay for; at least until it comes out on my home TV and I need something really sad and depressing to get out of my happy mood.

I’m also not big on anything by director, Ang Lee. Lots of people (including the critics)  liked that crouching tiger hidden dragon thing he directed a few years ago featuring gravity defying Asian people running through trees. It was 2 ½ hours of my life I’ll never get back and wasn’t about to invest in his latest fantasy flick, “Life of Pi.”

The film “Amour” is up for an Oscar. It’s about a French couple coping with the complexities of getting old and losing one’s marbles. I don’t think “Amour” which is sub-titled, has even been shown here yet. I can wait to see it.

The other nominee, “Beasts of the southern wild” is now available to watch at home but I haven’t yet although I’m anxious to see the performance by that 9 year old girl with the funny name; maybe i’ll shell out the five bucks to watch it this evening after I CLEAN THE  SNOW OFF MY SIDEWALKS.

I picked up some popcorn at the store just in case

.

To my great relief, nobody from the city has been by to perform a pop inspection of my sidewalks which, as I told you last week, remained unshoveled as my way of protesting the city’s refusal to scrape the snow off  the neighborhood streets.  It wasn’t much of a rebellion, though, knowing that temperatures into the forties last weekend would likely take care of the snow and the problem. It did too..except at our house where the walks first turned into concrete rivers and now, thanks to this latest arctic blast, have become slippery glaciers that don’t appear as if they’ll yield until sometime in May. So it’s back to ACE for another bag of ice melt.

Besides the ice, this photo from our front deck reveals another truth about my astounding ability to procrastinate. Can you see what it is?

Part of my daily routine is to check a few favorite web sites which is where I came across photos of a couple characters who some of you under the age of forty may not recognize. Heck, I’m  a long ways past forty and I didn’t know who they were right off.

Well..here see for yourself.

Looks a little like that controversial former head of Egyptian antiquities and darling of the History Channel..Zahi Hawass only without the Indiana Jones hat.

But it’s actually the Palestinian who, 44 years ago, took exception to the Middle East policies of presidential candidate, Robert Kennedy and emptied a revolver into him  as he walked through the kitchen of the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles shortly after declaring victory in the California primary.

He’s Sir Han Sir Han the scum bag with two same names who was first sentenced to die in the gas chamber for his crime but, three years after the murder,  got life instead when California decided the death penalty was cruel and unusual punishment. So, Sir Han, who’s approaching 70,  has been keeping busy with Donald Moeller-like appeal after appeal, now claiming he’d been hypnotized and doesn’t remember anything about putting a bullet in Kennedy’s head and injuring five others.

Sir Han shortly after killing Senator Robert Kennedy in 1968

The parole board still isn’t buying any of it so Sir Han remains in solitary at..get this..Pleasant Valley State Prison in Coalinga, California. He says he’d like to go back to Jordan if he’s ever released which isn’t likely.

Okay, how about this guy..recognize him?

He’s a former drug addict who became “born again” and lived a Christian life until jilted by his girlfriend..then resorted back to  his crazy ways which included a plot to assassinate music legend, John Lennon. A plan he carried out in December of 1980 outside Lennon’s New York City apartment building.

Mark David Chapman is a strange ranger. So strange that his lawyers were confident they could get him off the hook on a not guilty by reason of insanity plea. But then Chapman..who got born again..again.. behind bars..surprised his attorneys saying he was going to plead guilty and take his medicine without anymore legal appeals. Chapman, who remarried before the assassination, remains isolated from the prison population at his new digs, Wende Correctional Facility in Alden, New York, but he is allowed one conjugal visit a year from his wife. He’d like to go free somedayand start a new church with her but his requests for parole every two years have, so far, been denied; in part because of so many people on the outside  have sworn they’ll shoot him on site if he’s ever turned loose.

I don’t know why, but for some reason I don’t ever recall seeing  this photo of Lennon signing an autograph for Chapman himself..just hours before Chapman returned to shoot him dead.

Photo of John Lennon signing a copy of his Double Fantasy album for Mark David Chapman, taken by Paul Goresh, December 8, 1980. Photo Copyright © 1980, 1981 Paul Goresh. All Rights Reserved.

Chapman’s next shot at parole comes in 2014. Unlike Sir Han, though, there is a possibility he might actually  someday be set free; perhaps when Lennon fans are too old to present a threat.

Maybe he and his wife will open that church.

Who could possibly want to be a member?

I can’t “Imagine.”

So far, I haven’t seen anybody outside my house dressed like city Gestapo agents checking the walkability of my sidewalks but I can imagine the scene if they did show up.

Ding Dong.

I open the door. “Yes, Mr. Lund,” the one wearing a monocle says, “are you avare zat zee city assorities have issued orders zat sidewalks must be free uff zee ice by zis time yet yours are not. Explain.”  “Well, I figured that since you guys didn’t feel it necessary to clean my street, you really couldn’t expect homeowners to stand out there banging away at the ice on sidewalks..which, technically, you own.”

“Zat is no excuse, Mr. Lund. We haff vays of making you work and belief me zay can be most unpleasant. Is zat vat you vish?” “No sir, no. I’ll get right to it. Please don’t take me off in that big black car of yours.” “Very well..see zat you do or vee will return mitt zee dogs.”

We’ve made it to mid February and soon those howling frigid north winds that’ll flash freeze you on the spot, will be replaced with gentle warm breezes wafting up from the south It will be spring and we can brag about surviving one more Dakota winter.

Every time I used to share that Pollyanna optimism with the Keloland weather doctor, Jay Trobec, he’d point out that March and April are often the snowiest months of the year.

There are, though, a few undeniable signs that our suffering is at an end. Spring training has begun and the engines of NASCAR will soon be roaring to life for the Daytona 500 and the beginning of another racing season.

As most of you know, I love cars and I got to thinking the other day about where my fascination with the automobile first began and then it hit me; my brother, Denny’s go kart that he built when we were kids.

He had somehow procured a pedal-start motor from an old washing machine. (Yes, early washing machines used to be powered by a gasoline engine with a kick start. God I’m old.) Anyway, Denny also found a two by six board for the chassis, a pair of two by fours for the axles and four wheels from a pull wagon; probably from my Radio Flyer that would be worth a fortune today. He managed to bolt the engine down and configure a drive mechanism out of a stick with a pulley attached. He either steered the thing with his feet or a rope tied to the front axle..I don’t recall. But I do remember mom saying “Oh, dear lord” the first time he fired it up and flew down our gravel street in a cloud of dust and burning oil.

Unbelievably there’s an image of a go kart on the web that looks exactly like my brother’s. In fact, that even looks like him..but it’s not.

But there were times when that old motor wouldn’t fire and I can still see Denny kicking and kicking and sweating and swearing. I learned all the satisfying curses from my brother working on that &^#@$% go kart. 

Dad, being a carpenter and wood craftsman, just couldn’t help but get caught up in my brother’s project and, sort of like a father helping his boy scout son build a toy car for the Pinewood Derby, Dad decided to turn Denny’s basic motorized plank into a magnificent example of homemade transportation. He spent hours constructing a hood, fenders and grill for the thing..then painted it British Racing Green.

The front end on this one looks very much like the grill and hood dad made.

I believe Denny actually drove it in a Cossack Day parade but he lost interest after getting a driver’s license and a real car. It sat idle in the garage for years and years. Every once in a while, I’d go in and give the pedal a kick hoping that it would miraculously fire up and I could take her for a spin but it never did. I have a hunch mom dumped a cup of sugar in the gas tank.

Well, I hope you all have a wonderful weekend. Heck, we’re already off to a terrific start by dodging that killer meteor which provided a close encounter Friday.

Wait..what’s this?

Two guys in dark trench coats just pulled up the driveway in a black car with city plates.

“Linda…DO NOT answer that door!”

There’s a black pick-up truck that is regularly roaring by our house day and night with an exhaust system so loud it makes the windows and our nerves rattle. Its driver apparently takes great joy in revving the big engine up to about 5 thousand RPM’s and spinning his wheels on the still icy streets of our normally tranquil neighborhood. I get so angry I fantasize about putting on a face mask along with my heavy parka with the hood up, then standing out in the middle of the street armed with a baseball bat ready to take out one of his headlights next time he bellows by. I won’t, of course. The only parka I have has Keloland News embroidered all over it..plus I’m too chicken for any such Rambo tactics whether justice is on my side or not. Speaking of icy Sioux Falls city streets, it looks like, once again, no blade shall touch the snow covered asphalt where the people actually live.

Oooh, a little cranky this morning are we? Nothing another cup of coffee can’t fix. (hang on a sec.)

Okay..I feel better now.

The subject I really wanted to visit about today?

Clowns.

 It’s time to stop picking on them. Stop drinking the Hollywood Kool-Aid that portray clowns as evil, creepy creatures..like The Simpson’s Krusty, Batman’s Joker, and Steven King’s Pennywise. It’s become fashionable to bash them..to fear them. There’s even a name for this entertainment industry induced fear of clowns; coulrophobia.

Oh, there are a few real life exceptions, like mass murderer, John Wayne Gacy who tortured and killed 33 young men burying them in his basement and backyard.

 In his spare time, Gacy was known to delight children at parties dressed up as Pogo the Clown.  But he is not representative of the clowns from my youth; not by a long shot. In fact, I want you all to know that I actually lived with a clown in my growing up years and survived just fine, thank you. When we moved into the new house my dad built with his own two hands in the early 50’s, my mother tried her best to make up for the fact that he included just ONE bedroom for 3 boys by telling us how much fun bunk beds will be and decorating the room in a fun circus décor, complete with colorful rings around the ceiling light fixture and a switch plate cover in the shape of a clown whose nose activated the on/off  switch.  I wish I had a picture of it. Wait, you don’t suppose there might be an image on the inter..well, I’ll be darned.

That’s him. Okay, maybe that’s a little creepy..especially since it remained in place over the light switch until we were all teenagers.

During my reporting years at KELO, I had occasion to visit with lots and lots of clowns from Ronald McDonald, Bozo, Weary Willy (not a big talker)  and most all of the 30 plus members of the El Riad Shrine Circus clowns..especially the delightful Hal Teslow.

Few took the business of being funny more seriously than Halowishes. Each Thursday, this retired construction contractor would spend an hour putting on his clown outfit..then spend three or more hours making the rounds at Sioux Valley Hopsital visiting patients and passing out stickers that read, “I hugged a clown today.” 

In all his years working the corridors, not one person, including stoic consertvitive midwesterners,  refused a hug and no child screamed in fear when Hal came in the room  unless they’d been warned by their nervous nelly parents beforehand about being wary of any and all strangers.

When my story about Hal Teslow ran on Keloland sometime back in the 90’s, I had the wonderfully haunting..eye moisture inducing melody “Send In The Clowns” quietly playing in the background which managed to turn a few of my colleagues into mush upon viewing it in the editing room..which made me happy and happy is what clowns are all about; or should be.

A recent Google search revealed that Hal died in 1999. I sure hope there were lots of folks around to give him a big hug before he passed on.  He was such a wonderful guy with a heart as big as his clown shoes who, I’m sure, would be sad to see the bad rap he and his fellow comic performers in orange wigs and make-up are getting these days.

But where are the clowns?
There ought to be clowns…
Well, maybe next year.