WINTER FUN

CHRISTMAS CARD AT THE LAKES

 SNOW EQUIPMENT-SHOVELS AND MUSCLES

WINTER FUN

BY R. AUBREY LA FOY

Growing up during the depression days was not all that bad. We could always find something to occupy our time and we didn’t have diversions such as TV, computer games, I-pods, etc. We had to invent our own pleasures.

Snow is made for kids. Adults have a difficult time managing the stuff because it stops traffic, clogs up roads, driveways, sidewalks and after a huge deposit where do you put it? Kids on the other hand see snow as God’s gift for playing. In those days adults had their own problems and did little to find something for us to occupy our time. In those kids should be seen, but not heard. I tried to think of the many activities we indulged in during the winter using snow as our prop.

Kids in those days could find a place to play that under ordinary times would not be utilized. This opportune place was only one block north of our home. Sometime earlier a basement had been dug but that was the end of the operation. We discovered that it was a wonderful place to go sledding.

The community I grew up in (Milford) is elevated from the surrounding land. It was bordered on two sides by Mill Creek on the south and east and West Okoboji was 1 ½ mile north. Continuing west (2 ½ miles) of town the land drops slopes towards the Little Sioux River. On the east side of town were a series of hills that descend towards Mill Creek. Milford had built right up to the edge of those slopes and that is where we discovered a wonderful place to go sledding. It was called Kesey’s Hill. Just to the south of the Kesey house and barn was a very open field that stretched quite a ways south and a very steep hill that ended in Mill Creek. In the winter many Saturdays found Kesey’s Hill filled with kids sliding down towards Mill Creek. There was neither a warming house nor rope machine to pull us back up the hill after a wonderful and exciting slide down the hill. We would get to the bottom, turn around and trudge back up the hill to turn around and away we went. We raced each other and tried to see how far towards Mill Creek on our sleds we could go. Some of the sleds were great and looked pretty slick but no matter because the runners were metal and one could even somewhat steer the sled because it had a handle that extended across the front of the sled for you to grab. Attached to holes in the handles was a looped rope that after you slid down the hill you could pull the sled back up. Some of the kids used flattened cardboard boxes and thinking back don’t know if they did that for lack of owning a sled or for the novelty.

We would get all bundled up at home wearing our sheepskin coats, aviator caps with the goggles, three and four buckle overshoes, scarf and wool mittens. We always had plenty of wool mittens as my grandmother, Georgia Holcomb, knitted them for us. Two pair would keep your hands warm until they would get so wet and heavy that your hands would turn red. We pulled our sleds over to Kesey’s Hill which was about seven blocks from our house. We didn’t have cell phones or a way to communicate with our folks and if they were worried about us we never heard it. We would play and slide until we would get so cold and wet it was a necessary to pull our sleds back home, take off the wet clothes and then stand over our floor heat registers and warm up. I don’t recall ever getting frost bitten but we sure had rosy cheeks and were tired. That night we didn’t have to be told to go to bed, we went.

Another place that we went sliding was only one block north of our home. I don’t know when the basement was dug nor why it was not completed but it gave the neighborhood kids a wonderful place to slide. Digging basements in those days was accomplished with a team of horses hitched to a large hand scoop bucket. The bucket was a scoop with two handles and the worker would dig into the dirt and the horses would pull it up out of the excavated hole when the worker thought it was at the correct place, would push the handles up and dump the load. This operation continued and the hole would go deeper and the dirt would be piled up on the north end and form a hill. The site was abandoned but that little hill and coasting down into the hole or basement created a miniature sledding area for kids. I don’t recall having any disagreements or fights as we took our turn, sliding down the hill, turning around and pulling the sleds back up to the top of the mound, pick up the sled, get a running start, slam it down and  away we went. My sister and I had an advantage because that little hill was near our LaFoy grandparent’s house so we could go over there and warm up when we got cold. We naturally included our buddies but we were always welcomed. We even created some jumps to go over and many a Saturday afternoon was spent at the location. But Kesey’s Hill was a lot more exciting and challenging.

One Christmas Santa Claus brought me a pair of skies. The skies were pretty elementary and you had a strap on each ski to put your foot in. No binders and really no way to turn the skis. I got two sticks for poles and it was exciting to push off from the top of the hill and go down, down, down with wind rushing past your face and even passing up the kids on the sleds. But again after getting to the bottom, we would jump-off the skies and trudge back up the hill. Falling down often was the norm in those days but one of my falls sort of bent my shoulder as I fell on a rock buried under the snow. In those days we took our lumps and seldom told our parents. I often thought of those early skis when we began with our boys.  Rope tows and ski lifts made it a lot more fun and tripled the skiing time. Sometimes we would take our ice skates along when we went to Kesey’s Hill, slide down, put on our ice skates and glide up and down frozen Mill Creek.

Today, Kesey’s Hill as we knew it as kids, no longer exists. It became the victim of modern progress being that sand was more valuable than a hill for kids to slide on. Thinking back it would be hard to estimate how many kids used Kesey’s Hill on any given Saturday, in the depression years, but there were probably 50 to 100 kids. We took turns, helped each other, raced and had a wonderful time. The price was right as it was FREE.  Wet mittens and jeans was the order of the day and after playing there for hours the tramp home loomed in the future. Many times we stayed until it was so dark that we were afraid somebody would run into us as we plodded back up the hill after an exhilarating slide down Kessey’s Hill.  

There was always something to do in those days and we had little to no adult supervision or interference in our playing in and with snow. How about a Fox and Goose game after lying out the pattern in some newly fallen snow? You’re IT.

LOOK AT THE ICE AND SNOW

SNOW BOUND TRAIN SOUTH OF TERRIL-1936

ICE TOOLS AT MARITIME MUSEUM

When our boys (Randy-Ray-Carl) were growing up we came to the lakes from Mason City most weekends. During the winter we had two snowmobiles and two iceboats which provided plenty of entertainment. We loved to go around the lakes but, for me, ice boating was the ultimate. There was no other joy so dear to me to get your ice boat up on two runners and go. An ice boat will go three times the sped of the wind -so a 20 mph wind will let you travel 60 mph. Many winters we ice boated all winter and others only a day or so. I built the boats from kits in our basement in Mason City and carried them on the roof of our station wagon between Clear Lake and Okoboji.  Our son, Randy,still has one of our original ice boats at White Bear Lake in MN. He keeps me informed if he gets to go. Winter was fun but, alas warm Arizona appeals to us more as we grow older. Have a great Winter!!!

THANKSGIVING

Aubrey's home in Milford

                                                    LaFoy Cottage at terrace Park-Many Thanksgivings spent here.

LaFoy Cottage on Pocahontas Point-Lake West Okoboji

                                                         HOLCOMB CLAN-1936

MEMORY LANE

THANKSGIVING

BY R. AUBREY LA FOY

Several years ago we were in Canada when they celebrated their Thanksgiving.  We were accused of planning it that way but we pleaded ignorance as we didn’t know it was their Thanksgiving. Each year we were invited to attend a Thanksgiving dinner with relatives and it was super. We had turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, green beans, cranberries and pumpkin pie. The meals were great and they made us feel right at home. The Canadian Thanksgiving is the second Monday in October. In other parts of the world, different cultures also celebrate festivals of thanksgiving. Although they are quite different than the American or Canadian holiday, they all resolve around giving thanks for life’s blessings and celebration of the autumn harvest.

When I was a kid we had Thanksgiving the last Thursday in November but in 1941 President Roosevelt signed the bill establishing the fourth Thursday in November as Thanksgiving Day. Because two years out of every seven have five Thursdays in November, some states still celebrated on their own on the last Thursday. Roosevelt tried, without success to move it even further back under pressure by department stores to allow more time for Christmas shopping.  This effort did not meet with general approval so he moved to the fourth Thursday in November. Since 1956, the fourth Thursday in November has been observed by every state.

The Pilgrim’s first harvest feast in 1621 has become a model for thanksgiving celebration in the United States. It was probably held outside based on the fact the colonists didn’t have a building large enough to accommodate all the people who came. Native Americans out numbered the Pilgrims. Edward Winslow (leader of the colony) wrote: “King Massasoit, with ninety men, whom for three days we entertained and feasted, and they went out and killed five deer.” The initial “Thanksgiving” feast was really a traditional English harvest celebration.  The Pilgrims shared it with the Native Americans because they had taught the colonists to plant crops and hunt wild game. Without the Native Americans, the Pilgrims may not have survived the harsh winter and been able to celebrate their first harvest of plentiful crops in the New World.

The Pilgrims set ground at Plymouth Rock on December 11, 1620. Their first winter was a terrible as they lost 46 of the original 102 who sailed on the Mayflower. Only about one-third of the original colonists were Pilgrims.  The others on board were hired to protect the interest of the London stock company who financed the journey.

Modern Thanksgiving staples such as pumpkin pie, cranberry sauce, corn and mashed potatoes were not served at the Thanksgiving feast of 1621. No menu was written down but historians believe that seafood and wild game were the main dishes at the feast. Seasonal vegetables such as squash may have been part of the harvest feast but vegetables didn’t play an important part of the Pilgrim’s diet as they do today. Spices, Dutch cheese, wild grapes, lobster, cod, native melons, pumpkins and rabbit plus wild fowl, turkeys and Indian corn were the staples of the meal. Sweet deserts also did not accompany the meal due to the lack of sugar and without ovens it was impossible for the Pilgrims to make breads, pies and cakes.

Nevertheless, the 1621 feast has become the model for Thanksgiving celebration in the United States. October of 1777 marked the first time all 13 colonies joined in a thanksgiving celebration as it commemorated the patriotic victory over the British at Saratoga.  George Washington proclaimed a National Day of Thanksgiving in 1789 but Thomas Jefferson scoffed at the idea of having a day of Thanksgiving so the idea sort of died out. It wasn’t until 1863 that President Abraham Lincoln proclaimed the last Thursday in November as a national day of thanksgiving. After Lincoln every president proclaimed a day of thanksgiving.

What wasn’t on the Pilgrims’ menu? Ham: There is no evidence the colonists had butchered a pig for the occasion although they had brought pigs with them from England. Sweet potatoes/potatoes were not common. No corn on the cob as it was dried out at that time of the year. No pumpkin pie but maybe stewed pumpkins. The Pilgrims had cranberries but no sugar and no milk as there were no cows brought over, maybe goat’s milk and very few eggs as they had brought over only a few and probably not many laying eggs as yet.

I wont’ even get in the way the Pilgrims dressed.  We think of them in black and white garments with the men wearing “funny” hats and what pageant would not be deemed a success unless little Johnny was not carrying a blunderbuss gun.  But we still like to think of them so the kids can put on their Thanksgiving performances. Legends and traditions are tough to break. I recall a person I met one time who said, “I don’t care how many facts you present to me you will never change my mind.” I think that is the way we are with Thanksgiving, all the facts in the world won’t change our minds about the traditional Thanksgiving meal or how the Pilgrims dressed.

Thanksgiving is a time for family traditions and although Connie and I are far away from our families we still have a traditional Thanksgiving.  We usually have turkey but lately Connie has found a very nice Butterball chicken that is just as good.  I don’t recall ever having turkey for Thanksgiving until I was in the military. At our home we usually had ham, chicken and pheasant but always mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, pickles, corn, beans, dressing and pumpkin pie.

I have had many Thanksgiving meals and most of them seem to merge into a pattern and but a few are memorable.  I recall a great Thanksgiving dinner we had at my mother’s parent’s home when I was just a kid, probably in fourth grade. It was probably the last time all my grandparent’s children and grandchildren got together.  All of my aunts, uncles and cousins were in attendance making about 30 people in all.  My grandparents still cooked on an old iron range so it was quite a task to prepare that much food. Salads, vegetables, pickles, bread and jelly were brought to the house and seating was a real problem.  The large oak dining table was filled with extra boards and card tables were set up to accommodate everybody. The kitchen was filled with women cooking and serving. When all were seated, prayers were said. The thing I remember most was that the dishes of food kept passing and I wondered when we were going to eat. It was quite a gathering, never to be repeated as unfortunately as the family scattered soon after that moving to other towns. It was a time one wished there had been a movie taken for future generations but not it is only in the minds of those who attended and few of them are still around.

For many years we had our Thanksgiving celebrations at the old cottage on Pocahontas Point, Lake West Okoboji. We moved there 1971 and each year had our three boys and their families attend.  We usually had Connie’s mother, three of my aunts and several times invited single people to join us.  After a scrumptious meal our boys and I would find a pond or lake frozen over and ice-boat. There was nothing better than to come back to the cottage after a vigorous sail and have leftovers. I still hate to go out to eat on Thanksgiving because we don’t have any leftovers. Even when the boys came back home for Thanksgiving I wanted to go out to a restaurant in order to save Connie from all the work. When I broached that question our boy’s reactions sort of gave us the impression that was not such a good idea. “No leftovers,” was their comments.”

Thanksgiving is a time to reflect on the many favors and rewards we have living in the USA. The day should be what the word says “Give Thanks” for our family and friends.  We should pray to God and thank him for his benevolent bountiful blessings upon us.

Information Please

I recall that when I was a lad we had one phone in the house. To talk with somebody you took the receiver off the hook and cranked the little lever on the side and a lady would say, "Number Please" Everybody in town had a number so you would say "78" which was my grandparent LaFoy. She would ring them and they would answer or say they aren't home right now, call later. It was very personal. Our phone exchange (Milford) was on the 2nd floor above the drug store. I recall my Mother taking me up there one day as the operator was a very close friend. It was interesting to see her take a log cord with a gadget on the end and all the holes to put them in She had a strap around her neck and head with a mouthpiece in front so whe could talk. I recall that when I first met Connie and she lived on a farm near Estherville he folks had two phones-One for Wallingford and the other for Estherville. An operator was on duty at each and this was in the early 1950s. One phone in the house. We have six her in Leisure World and seven in Arnolds Park PLUS our cell phones. Progress??   Below is a story about those days and the telephone.

INFORMATION PLEASE

When I was a young boy, my father had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood. I remember the polished, old case fastened to the wall. The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box. I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother talked to it.

Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person. Her name was "Information Please" and there was nothing she did not know. Information Please could supply anyone's number and the correct time.

My personal experience with the genie-in-a-bottle came one day while my mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer, the pain was terrible, but there seemed no point in crying because there was no one home to give sympathy.

 

I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway. The telephone! Quickly, I ran for the footstool in the parlor and dragged it to the landing. Climbing up, I unhooked the receiver in the parlor and held it to my ear.

"Information, please" I said into the mouthpiece just above my head.

 

 A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear.

 

"Information."

 

"I hurt my finger..." I wailed into the phone, the tears came readily enough
now that I had an audience.

 

"Isn't your mother home?" came the question.

 

"Nobody's home but me," I blubbered.

 

"Are you bleeding?" the voice asked.

 

"No," I replied. "I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts."

 

"Can you open the icebox?" she asked.

 

I said I could.

 

"Then chip off a little bit of ice and hold it to your finger," said the voice..

 

After that, I called "Information Please" for everything. I asked her for
help with my geography, and she told me where Philadelphia was. She helped me with my math.

 

She told me my pet chipmunk that I had caught in the park  just the day before, would eat fruit and nuts.

 

Then, there was the time Petey, our pet canary, died. I called,

“Information Please," and told her the sad story. She listened, and then said things grown-ups say to soothe a child. But I was not consoled. I asked her, "Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers on the bottom of a cage?"

 

She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, " Wayne , always remember that there are other worlds to sing in."

  
Somehow I felt better.

Another day I was on the telephone, "Information Please."

 

"Information," said in the now familiar voice. "How do I spell fix?"

I asked.

 

All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest . When I was nine years old, we moved across the country to Boston . I missed my friend very much.

"Information Please" belonged in that old wooden box back home and I
somehow never thought of trying the shiny new phone that sat on the table in the hall. As I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me.

  
Often, in moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy.

A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle . I had about a half-hour or so between planes. I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone with my sister, who lived there now. Then without thinking what I was doing, I dialed my hometown operator and said, "Information Please." 
Miraculously, I heard the small, clear voice I knew so well. 

 

"Information."

 

I hadn't planned this, but I heard myself saying, "Could you please tell me how to spell fix?"

 

There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, "I guess your finger must have healed by now."

I laughed, "So it's really you," I said. "I wonder if you have any
idea how much you meant to me during that time?" 
I wonder," she said, "if you know how much your call meant to me.

 

I never had any children and I used to look forward to your calls." 

  
I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and I asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit my sister.

  
"Please do", she said. "Just ask for Sally."

 

Three months later I was back in Seattle .  A different voice answered,

"Information." I asked for Sally.

 

"Are you a friend?" she said.

 

"Yes, a very old friend," I answered.

 

 "I'm sorry to have to tell you this," she said. "Sally had been working part time the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago."

 

Before I could hang up, she said, "Wait a minute, did you say your name was Wayne ?"

 

"Yes." I answered.

 

"Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down in case you called.  Let me read it to you."

 

The note said, "Tell him there are other worlds to sing in.

He'll know what I mean."

 

I thanked her and hung up. I knew what Sally meant.
 

 

Never underestimate the impression you may make on others.

 

Whose life have you touched today?

 

Why not pass this on? I just did....

 

Lifting you on eagle's wings.

May you find the joy and peace you long for.

 

Life is a journey... NOT a guided tour.

 

I loved this story and just had to pass it on. I hope you enjoy it too.

 

 

 

 

 

VENICE OF OKOBOJI

VENICE OF OKOBOJI

BY R. AUBREY LA FOY

The Iowa Great Lakes have attracted many dreamers. People who visualized and developed elaborate plans and projects designed to entertain, house, provide food and recreation for lake tourists and residents. It was so in the late 1800s and early 1900s and it has continued today. Rumors of new enterprises are always discussed over coffee or drink or two. Many of the early ventures are still around but many have disappeared, faded or forgotten.

One of the most elaborate dreams to bloom and fade was the Lakewood Park. Few people realize the area between Emerson and Millers Bay is laced with canals, lagoons and little ponds. Some of the canals and lagoons are explored and used in the summer but snowmobilers have discovered them and it is wonderful to travel between the two bays skimming the frozen canals. Ice skaters have used the canals for years.

John A. Beck of Fairfield, Iowa was one of our early dreamers and developers. Lakewood Park was to be the American Venice where gondolas were to glide on calm waters. There were to be lagoons, islands, waterways, rustic bridges, soft music and moonlight nights on the canals. A Dutch windmill was to be built with a reading room in the tower. The area encompassed over 1000 acres.

In late September 1911 a dredge was brought here from Royal Center, Indiana by train. Mr. E. B. Thomas was contracted to dredge and carve a canal system in 300 acres of land between Emerson and Millers Bay. The floating dredge weighted 100 tons and was 72 feet long and 16 feet wide and had the capacity of dredging 2.000 cubic yards per day. It was powered by steam and had its own electric system so was used at night.

Five openings to Lake West Okoboji were shoveled out: one north of Eagle Point, one south of Gull Point, two into Emerson Bay and one into Millers Bay. The one south of Gull Pont has been filled in and cottages have been built on the fill but the rest of the openings can be found. Three are used but the one that enters Little Emerson Bay is there but sort of hidden.

The project cost in the neighborhood of $20,000. Lakewood was plotted into 500 lots. Many of the early buyers were from Fairfield, Iowa. In 1914 Mr. Beck built Crescent Beach Hotel. He also built The Inn and a hacienda on Hi-Point. The hotel took its name from the crescent shaped beach between breezy Point and Eagle Point.

Early steamboats docked at the hotel and people came by train to Arnolds Park and then go to their cottages by boat. During the summer they rode the steamboats to Arnolds Park or Okoboji to get supplies. The road on the west side of Lake West Okoboji was not very good but Highway 86 is another story.

J. A. Beck was a well known figure in the area because he rode a fine horse and wore a long white coat while overseeing the Lakewood Project. It was reported that Mr. & Mrs. Beck were a “handsome pair.” Mr. Beck passed away in 1931.

In 1968 Jerry Enderson bought the property south of the Millers Bay store. He hired Syndergaard Excavation and later Wedeking Construction to complete the canals that are there today. Several years ago the Town of Wahpeton replaced the bridge over the canal that flows into Miller Bay.

Mr. Beck was a dreamer and although his vision of gondolas and quiet rides on canal never materialized. The canals were built and are utilized to this day. He built for the future!

TIME WILL TELL

TIME WILL TELL

The longer I live the more I have come to realize that bad and good things happen to us all. A bad thing will happen and at that time we are devastated but later on we realize it was all part of the grand design.

To illustrate this point I quote from Robert Schuller’s book, Hour of Power’ “This is a story of a Chinese who had one horse and one son. One day the horse broke out of the corral and fled to the freedom of the hills. The neighbors came around that night and chattered, “Your horse got out? What bad luck!” “Why,” the old Chinese said, “How do you know its bad luck?” Sure enough, the next night the horse came back to his familiar corral for his usual feeding and watering, leading twelve wild stallions with him! The farmer’s son saw the thirteen horses, slipped out, and locked the gate. Suddenly the man had thirteen horses instead of none. The neighbors heard the good news and came chattering to the farmer, “Oh, you have thirteen horses! What good luck!”  The old Chinese answered, “How do you know that’s good luck?” Some days later his strong young son was trying to break one of the wild stallions only to be thrown off and break a leg. The neighbors came back that night and passed another hasty judgment: “Your son broke a leg? What bad luck!” And the wise father answered again, “How do you know its bad luck?” Sure enough, a few days later a Chinese warlord came through town and conscripted all able-bodied young men, taking them off to war, never to return again. But the young man was saved because of his broken leg. Who knows what is good for us and what is not?

To illustrate this view further I will cite some of the things that happened in my life, which I thought at the time, were disastrous and bad luck, but in the end turned out for the best or good luck. I am sure many of you can testify to the same equation. 

I entered the US Army in the summer of 1943 and went to March Field, Riverside, California. My basic training was with the Aviation Engineers and upon completion was assigned to an engineer company as a clerk/typist. Due to some rearranging of engineer companies I soon found myself transferred to Edwards Air Force base out in the California desert. Losing my position as a clerk/typist was bad luck, but the transfer to the desert was good luck because while there saw some marvelous new inventions for the future. Our company was building a rifle range across the dry lake and day after day we were treated to a spectacle of a jet plane flying overhead. Several days later a Morris Wing plane flew over our building site and later that day a radio-controlled plane was sighted. We were getting a view of the world to come in aviation. If I had not been transferred those sights would never have been observed.

In November 1943 we were called back to March Field and given physicals in preparation to being transferred into a Combat Engineer unit. To an 18-year-old kid this sounded exciting but I was crestfallen to learn I was not included because I didn’t have army prescription glasses to wear and especially to have them in my gas mask, bad luck. I was very disappointed but later on in the war I found out this unit I was to be assigned to have very heavy causalities in combat in Italy, good luck.

In December 1943 we were transferred to an air force base in Kansas. We didn’t even know what kind of a plane was in the unit but soon learned it was the super bomber, the B-29. I was in the ground crew and assigned to the transportation section of the 6^th Bomb Maintenance Sqd. Soon after we arrived and after some training in driving army vehicles the unit was shipped overseas, bad luck.

We were jammed into a troop ship (8000 personal) and proceeded out into the Pacific Ocean. We didn’t know our destination but 32 days later landed in Bombay, India. We were in the “land of enchantment and mystery, good luck. We rode a train (3^rd class) across India and arrived at an air base not far from Calcutta. The B-29 were serviced and readied for combat and conducted several raids against the Japs in Indo-China and Japan. Early in June I accompanied about 15 other truck drivers to Calcutta to pick up more vehicles but on the return trip was placed in a hospital with an infected right hand, bad luck. It was touch and go for while but the great doctors did save my hand but my outfit moved while there and I had a time locating them, good luck

Soon after finding my unit and returning to duty was reassigned to another unit servicing B-24J (C-109) planes, which flew the “Hump”, carrying gasoline for the B-29 planes to bomb Japan. This operation lasted several months and then the B-29 units were moved to the islands in the Pacific. I was not on the list to go and went into Calcutta to get assigned to some other unit. I again was disappointed not going with my unit and fellows I had been with for over a year, bad luck. The command I went overseas were awarded four battle stars and for you fellows who were counting points to come home this was a bonus as it meant 20 more points. Good luck.

After a month in Calcutta I was transferred to an Air Service Group in northeast India. It was called Assam at that time and my new unit was great, good luck. Not long after I arrived was assigned to work in the lab looking though a microscope, taking smears and blood counts. It was a job that really excited me but alas I was again pulled out of that job and assigned to a Quartermaster Truck Company headed for China, bad luck.  I was the new kid on the block as most of the company had been together for about two years and I was always an “outsider.” Bad luck! Soon after I arrived at another air base in India we pulled out and drove the Ledo-Burma Road to China. I was a wonderful experience and I spent the rest of the war in China. Good luck! Over the years teaching the experiences and sights I observed in India and China served me well, good luck.

I always thought I would like to be an engineer so after being discharged from the service in 1946 I enrolled at Iowa State in the spring. My courses were difficult and especially algebra. I had had no math since the 10^th grade so with my time in the service that made five years. In the middle of the quarter I had a malaria attack and missed a week of classes. I never did catch up so did very poorly at Iowa State, bad luck. I transferred to Iowa State Teachers College (University of Northern Iowa) and did very well and the best part was I met Connie and we were married in 1948, good luck.

Connie and I graduated from Cedar Falls in 1949 and looked for teaching positions but the only one at all available was at Sabula, Iowa that did not fit our needs. Bad luck so went to Greeley, Colorado to continue my education, good luck. Connie had a position teaching 2^nd grade in Greeley, good luck and I received my master’s degree in 1950, good luck.

We again sought teaching positions in Iowa but did not find any, bad luck. In July 1950 we received notice that both of us could teach in Greeley, Colorado, good luck. We taught there for three years. In 1953 my father died bad luck so we decided to come back to Iowa. In response to a Christmas card inquiring about teaching positions at Mason City, Iowa we learned one was open at Roosevelt Junior High School and I applied and got the job, good luck. I taught in Mason City for 25 years, good luck.

In the year 2005 I discovered I had an aneurysm on my aorta, bad luck. But thanks to the doctors at Mayo hospital, Scottsdale, Arizona they repaired it. The discovery was a miracle as it was only by chance that I had ultrasound several days before and the aneurysm was discovered, good luck.

I believe many times that we think something is really bad luck it turns out that was the way it was supposed to be. Look back over your life and you will discover that many times what you thought was bad luck in reality turned out to be the best thing that happened to you. But like the old saying goes if you didn’t have bad luck you wouldn’t have any luck at all.