AFTER THE GREAT WAR
Those were the facts, but they cover up some strong
feelings he had
about the only important thing that ever happened to him, namely the
war. He returned from the Army and resumed farming with C.A. on the
Lofgren Home Place. His pre-war girl friend, Cleo, had married someone
else. According to Esther, he had been a cheerful type until he left
for the Great War. He came back moody and depressed, and basically
remained so for the rest of his life among us family members. Around
other people, he was jolly and talkative. If you lived with him, it was
hard to reconcile the two personalities. When Elmer got mad, he clammed
up for long periods of time.
Elmer was overwhelmed in the early 1920s: Esther's husband
Claus was dying; August was
recovering from the bull attack; and C.A.
and Augusta were in California caring for Jennie's children and helping
with survival of the Hedberg family. There were three barns full of
cows to milk, and no one to help. Elmer remembered his army buddy, Bill
Mindrup, from Alhambra, Illinois. They had met in France, had been in
the same platoon. Mindrup later claimed to have saved Elmer's life
once (Elmer neither denied nor confirmed that). In desperation, Elmer
called Bill, who
coincidentally had just been fired from his job. Bill moved to Harris
and helped with the milking and farming until conditions normalized. He
then worked for Otto Peterson, an implement dealer, married his
daughter, Myona, and never went back to Illinois. That was the start of
an odd tradition: Lofgren boys go into the army, where they make close
friends who follow them back to Harris. The newcomers have a chance to
start over. For the rest of us, it's the same old
Harris. Elmer thought of his stint on the farm as supporting C.A. and Augusta, while C.A. believed that Elmer didn't have the ability to live on his own. Elmer wanted C.A. and Augusta to sign the Home Place farm over to him, since it was all he had, and both August and Paul had their own farms. Otherwise, when the old folks died, he would have to buy out the inherited shares of the rest of the siblings, using money he didn't have. Augusta was particularly opposed to this idea. As a result of that dispute, he didn't speak to Augusta for the last 20 years of her life. At Esther's urging, C.A. finally transferred the farm over to Elmer after Augusta died. Elmer didn't speak to Paul, either, although I don't know what their dispute was. That made for peculiar working conditions, considering how much our two families worked together. Elmer communicated with Paul by sending messages through Paul's son, Arvid, even when Paul was present. Paul would answer through Arvid, also. Elmer's economic theory of farming could be called demand-side. If you didn't spend or borrow any money, you'd be bound to come out ahead at some point. Instead of reading his bank statement, he'd check the size of the woodpile to see how wealthy he felt. This type of subsistence horse-based farming was already out of fashion when he started farming, and became even more so during the 20th century. We had 19th century farm equipment, and, with the exception of electricity, a tractor and a milking machine, all bought in flush times just after WWII, we remained in the 19th century. When everybody else began to raise hybrid corn for which you had to buy seed every year, Elmer continued to plant low-yielding non-hybrid Minnesota #13 so he could replant seed the next year. We depended on Paul and Arvid to supply capital equipment in return for labor. |
IDAThe Swenson farm on which Ida grew up (Chapter 18) was not large nor particularly prosperous. All the children had to work in the fields. She was the family comedian. She made up ridiculous puns, distorted proverbs, and sang mangled popular songs to the others, so the field work would be easier. She continued this all her life. She had a naturally sunny disposition, and refused to let anything bother her. Under conditions where others would get depressed, she would merely get stoic. The only time I ever heard her complain was when she once said, "After 80, you really start to feel old." Ida did Home Front Red Cross volunteer work during WWI, making bandages and other supplies. Like many another farm girl without immediate marriage prospects, she left the farm for Minneapolis in 1920, and learned typing and shorthand at the Minneapolis School of Business. She did babysitting, housework and cooking for the Vawders, a wealthy family who lived on Minnehaha Creek, in return for room and board. After graduating in 1921, she got a job at the Minneapolis Grain Exchange (then known as the Chamber of Commerce) as secretary to a grain trader. Her first day on the job coincided with the beginning of the 1921 agricultural recession. Panic selling hit the grain markets, which crashed. She was sent to deliver some papers to a trader on another floor. When she got there, she was told he was in the washroom, so she stood outside waiting for him. After quite awhile, the police arrived—he had shot himself. Some traders jumped out the windows. Everyone was screaming and crying. She thought to herself, "So this is what the business world is like." She persevered, though, and worked at the same job until 1929, when she married Elmer. Ida's and Elmer's home farms were only about 3 miles apart, so my parents must have been at least vaguely aware of each other's existence. No one in the family was sentimental enough to say what caused my parents to begin courting, but, since Ida had to do housework and babysit on weekends, she almost never returned to the country. Once in awhile, Elmer took the NP train to St. Paul and the streetcar to Minneapolis to court her. In a nostalgic mood, he told us of one such trip. When the train pulled into Harris, he asked the engineer if he could ride in the cab. The answer was, "Sure, if you want to shovel coal." So Elmer hung up his Sunday-Go-To-Meeting suit jacket in the cab, and fired the engine all the way to St. Paul. Of course, by then he was all sweaty, and his white shirt was not the cleanest thing you ever saw. She married him anyway. Ida went barefoot, indoors or out, all summer, and developed very tough feet. I once saw her accidentally step on a nail sticking up out of a board. The nail bent over without puncturing her foot. Mike tells about how, when he was young, she would take him along when she drove the dirt road into Rush City to go grocery shopping. She drove about 15 mph on the road to town, but when she hit the city , she drove really fast (it scared him). Later, at home with Elmer present, Mike asked her why she drove fast in town, and she answered, "The sign says I have to go 30 miles an hour." The answer, of course, became a family joke. Since she also delivered her mangled jokey lines with a straight face, you could never tell if she really misunderstood something, or was only being funny. |
THE HIRED MANUntil Mike and I got to an age where we could do significant farm work, the Hired Man was also part of the family. Some of them had come and gone before my memory, leaving only artifacts behind. Aino, for instance, had carved his name in fancy script on the side of the stairway in our granary. Another one stole the family car ( Chapter 9). Bentley was the Hired Man that I remember. He needed only one name. Small, thin, with piercing eyes, he always wore a cap to cover a bald head. He could eat any kind of food, including tough meat, despite the fact that he had absolutely no teeth. Sometime before my memory, he came walking down the road looking for work. He was more educated than other family members. He pointed out to me, for example, that what I had called a bug was not a mere bug, but a centipede, and he described the distinction between centipedes and millipedes. That may not seem very erudite from the perspective of today's TV nature programs, but when you're a pre-TV 7-year-old, it's pretty impressive. Bentley worked hard; no one could complain about that. He normally caused no trouble, but when he got paid, he would go to town and stay there until his money was all gone. He would then return, drunk, belligerent, and too sick to work for a few days. He'd beg forgiveness, promise to behave, and the cycle would start over. Bentley, the private man, was a mystery that revealed itself in two parts, the first through an accidental coincidence, while the second was pried out after his death. The story was a tragedy in the best sense of the word. He never stopped being a drunk because he was trying to drown his sorrows. Unfortunately, they had learned to swim. Esther once went to Topeka, Kansas, to visit the Topeka relatives (Chapter 7). She sent picture postcards to everyone in the family. Bentley got a picture of Ft. Leavenworth prison. He was visibly upset. When she returned, he confronted her. What did she mean by sending that postcard? Of course, she meant nothing. Since Bentley had exposed himself that far, he had to tell more of the story. He was in the US Cavalry during the inter-war period, intending to make a career of it. He was very sick one day, and asked permission to go to the doctor. The captain refused, swore at him, and told him to saddle up. The argument escalated into a classic western pistol fight, with Bentley killing the captain. There were obviously extenuating circumstances, since Bentley spent only one year at Leavenworth before he was dishonorably discharged. As far as I know, none of us ever told Bentley's story to anyone else in the neighborhood. After we were old enough for heavy work, Bentley went to work for a cousin, Clarence Johnson (Chapter 8). Clarence and his wife Marie, who had no children but did have a thriving dairy operation, kept him for several years. After that, Bentley found a shack in the woods not too far from Harris and, with a small amount of County Relief and some odd jobs, was able to spend quite a bit of time in the Harris Tavern. I remember seeing him there often when I was old enough to shoot pool, but not old enough to drink beer. He didn't change much with age: he had always looked old to me. When Bentley died, Marie decided that the Christian thing to do would be to try to find Bentley's family. He had once told her that he had two sons in Michigan, but didn't know what had become of them. So Marie, without the help of the Internet or Public Library telephone books, but only persistence, began to make long distance calls to people in Michigan named Bentley (this was in the 1950's, when a long distance call was a big deal). Within a couple days, she somehow located his two sons. They came to Harris for the funeral. The part of the story of Herbert Bentley (I finally found out that he had a first name) that they added was: when Bentley was released from Leavenworth, he returned to Michigan to start a new life with his wife and two sons. His homecoming was a surprise, and when he walked in the door, he found another man at the kitchen table. Without a word, he turned, walked out of their life, and into ours. For over 30 years, they had not known what had happened to him. The county buried Bentley in the corner of the Harris Oak Grove cemetery reserved for paupers. Many of the others buried in that corner also worked for us occasionally, such as Little Andy, an old man who lived in a shack only about 6 feet off the railroad tracks. We would shock the field corn to let it dry in the field. If winter set in before the corn dried, someone would have to sit out in the snow by each shock, unprotected from the north wind, and husk the ears. That was usually Little Andy. We paid him only enough so he could walk to town and get a little bit drunk. |
MIKE AND ME
I don't remember learning to read (it was sometime before I entered first grade at age 5), but I think Esther had something to do with teaching me. She also insisted that I learn how to wash dishes and pick up clothes after myself. She said, "Your wife will thank me someday for teaching you to help out." Although Liz doesn't know where my domestic habits came from, she probably is somewhat grateful. I had been out of high school for a year when Mike returned home in 1954. I left for Minneapolis and the University of Minnesota almost immediately. He went to Michigan and married Bonnie. They moved into the Smith Place and began the hard life of 19th century farming. They stuck with it for 6 years, but the farm could not support their growing family. Mike had always loved uniforms, so he joined the State Highway Patrol, where he stayed for 20 years. He always refused promotions, because that would mean desk work. He took a seminar given by a professor at Northwestern on Scientific Accident Reconstruction, and became fascinated by it. He spent most of his last years on the patrol teaching it to other patrolmen, not only in Minnesota, but around the country. He founded Lofgren Associates, Accident Reconstructionists. His son Dan now runs the business, and Mike is a semi-retired employee who travels around the country to investigate accidents and testifies at trials, because he likes to do it. With Marina's help (Chapter 9), I miraculously got a degree in Physics and (also miraculously) an engineering job. I retired from that in 2000 and started to think about what an odd family we are. |
ELMER'S AND IDA'S LAST YEARSEven when she was younger, Ida attended both Sunday services and Ladies Aid meetings at the Harris Lutheran Church, and continued to do so in old age. Elmer would be mad, because he thought she should be home taking care of him. She blithely ignored him and went anyway. She would often work in the kitchen at these and other church social affairs, so I could never figure out, either, what the attraction was. Sociability, I guess, was inextricably entwined with work. Elmer was the opposite. Being a dairy farmer, he had great anxiety about getting home in time to milk the cows. This tendency to get home became even stronger after Mike left home and the cows were gone. Elmer solved the problem about wanting to get home by not leaving. With money from the government soil bank program paid you not to grow crops, they were able to retire and draw Social Security. They had more cash income than they'd ever had in their lives. Naturally, they put it all in the bank. Ida passed the time by going to Senior Citizen's Center events, where she learned to make rugs out of plastic bread wrappers, and hot pads by weaving yarn around plastic six-pack rings. Thinking to ease their old age, Mike and I had plumbing installed in the house so they could merely turn on a tap to get hot and cold water to wash dishes, use the bathroom indoors, wash clothes in an electric machine and tumble them in a dryer. Elmer had a tough time adjusting to these modern conveniences. He couldn't give up his treks to the outhouse and he watched the size of the woodpile as avidly as ever. He wouldn't let Ida use the dryer but insisted she hang clothes on the ropes slung between the box elder trees in the side-yard. If she heard him coming she'd take the coffee pot off the new electric stove and put it on the woodstove before Elmer could catch her using up electricity. Elmer insisted on keeping the woodstove. With no woodstove, a woodpile would be pointless. She gradually got sicker, developing blood clots. Finally, her
immune
system broke down, and she died, after a long period of being sick.
Elmer, who had gradually become more feeble, became more helpless after
she died, and had to go to Green Acres, the nursing home in North
Branch, where he died at age 90. Neither Mike nor I had any urge to
live on the Home Place, so we sold it to a retired golf course
groundskeeper from St. Paul. He keeps the lawn significantly neater
than Pete, our groundskeeping bull ever did. Nevertheless, the
outbuildings are in disrepair, and the barn, almost 100 years old,
won't last long: its roof has caved in.
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These Swedish songs were recorded at the Lofgren Home
Place in Harris. I converted them to mp3 audio files in June,
2005. I hope the fruitless background attempts to play guitar
along with them aren't too distracting. We never could figure out what
keys they were using. PÅ GÖTEBORG'S GATAR (2:19): Elmer & Ida Lofgren, January 7, 1978. "On Göteborg's Street". The narrator is an alcoholic street singer who tends to fall down because the world is turning on "an axle that never needs grease." I sent this song to Alf Gunnarson, who says he's not familiar with it. It was probably a comic song that died out in Sweden but stayed alive in our family. Since it refers to Göteborg, it might have come down to us through the Swenson line. LILLA RÖDA STUGAN (3:28): Elmer & Ida, November 28, 1978. The title means "Little Red Cabin." MÄJSTÅNGEN (:45): Elmer, 11/28/78. On Midsummer's Day (traditionally June 24, but now celebrated on the nearest weekend), the Swedes all dance around a mäjstången, which means "maypole." Ever wonder where the term "dumb Swede" comes from? FARMARAS FLICKA (1:21): Elmer, 11/28/78. A tribute to farm girls ,which is what the title says in English. VID SILJAN ÄR MIT HEM (2:13): Elmer & Ida, 11/28/78. "Siljan is my Home." Lake Siljan (SILL-Yahn) is in Dalarna landskap. We heard this song many times when growing up. It was a favorite homesickness song among the generation that had never been to Sweden. None of our relatives are from Dalarna, either, but you have to take your homesickness where you can find it. SWEDISH SONG (:46): Elmer, harmonica and vocal, 11/28/78. I 'd never heard this song before, and didn't think to ask Elmer the name or what it's about. I VÄRMLAND (2:11): Elmer,
11/28/78. We don't have any relatives from Värmland
landskap, either. The song says they have it "so good, good, good"
there, so there was probably no reason to emigrate. |
