One Town Kid

By Kay Fisher

Some adventures and some misadventures of a kid growing up in Minnesota, then growing up more in the Navy, and finally not really growing up at all.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Dec 27, 2018
• ISBN: 9780359319725

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Intro

Why write a book about your life?

The best reason I can think of was said by my mother-in-law Elaine who wrote the following poem:

Remember by Elaine Lofgren

There are a lot of words inside me

That I still want to say.

Someday they’ll be written down

I’ll do some each day.

It may be a silly story,

A thoughtful line or two,

Or maybe just a memory,

Before my life is through.

I may never really finish

That I know is true.

But if I only leave a memory,

A simple thought or two.

And somehow after I am gone.

If they bring a smile or tear,

Maybe someone will remember

That indeed, I have been here.

I grew up in Hawley, Minnesota - a small town 25 miles east of the twin cities of Fargo, North Dakota and Moorhead, Minnesota, and 25 miles west of Detroit Lakes, Minnesota.

In retrospect, Hawley was a wonderful place for a kid to grow up.  My parents never had to worry about me getting into drugs or being abducted by some random bad guy.  By age 5 or so I was out to play until supper time.  In school, there were basically two kinds of kids - farm kids and town kids.  I was one of the town kids.  The school buses were only for the farm kids.  All of us town kids walked to school, which was in the very center of our little town of population 1200.

You might expect this book to be in chronological order.  That is not the case.  These stories were inspired by things I have observed and/or photographed throughout my life.  As a result, I chose to follow these threads wherever they led.  The many stories left untold will be saved for another time.

In 2008, when my brother passed away, I had the privilege to speak at his funeral.  I thought about this for months before he died and by the time of the funeral, I was pretty well prepared.  I think what I said then says as much about me as my brother so we’ll start with that:

My Brother

Dick Nieland by Kay Fisher

This is what I said (or intended to say) at Dick’s funeral.

I’m Dick’s little brother Corky.  My real name is Kay but when we grew up my nickname was Corky.  Back then, of course, my brother was Dicky.

My brother was a hero.

He was a hero because of his service in the U. S. Army in Korea, Germany, and Ethiopia.  But he was a hero to me for many more reasons.  So many that I made a list.

My brother was 11 years older than me – almost 12.  My first memories of him were when he was already in the Army and home on leave in uniform.  He was handsome and dashing.

First, let me say that in Texas there is an old saying that you can say anything bad about someone - long as you bless em afterwards.

For instance, you could say Would you look at Mary Jane – why she has gained 40 pounds.  Bless her heart. 

Or you could say, Did you see Jake’s little baby – why that is the ugliest baby I have ever seen.  Bless his heart.

Because my brother was so much older than me, I can honestly say I have never had a harsh word to say to him and have never had an evil thought about him.

DickandCorky0001.jpg

Dick & Me,    Photo From Family Archive

If you consider that he was 11 years older and, in the army, you might have a problem with the arithmetic.  It doesn’t quite make sense.  That’s because we have a rich history of lying about our age in our family.  It started with our mother.  Mom’s birthday was on the 4th of July.  We never forgot because every year she would make a big deal about Hurray for the 4th of July!  Our family never missed Mom’s birthday.  After she passed away, we found out that her birthday was really on the 3rd.  She just lied about it so everybody would remember her birthday.  Bless her heart.

My birthday was on the 26th of November.  When I was a senior in high school I came across my birth certificate.  I said, Mom – this says I was born in February!  She said, Well, let me tell you a little story.

When all your friends were starting school and you had nothing to do around the house, we lied about your age to get you in school a year early.  We didn’t dare tell you though because you had too big a mouth!  Bless her heart.

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Dick’s Army Photo

Back in those days to join the service you had to be 18 years old or 17 years old with your parents’ permission.  My brother lied about his age to get in the Army at 16 and serve in Korea.  Bless his heart.

My brother was a great influence on my life in many ways.

My first job was at the Garrick Theater here in Hawley.  I would sweep up after every show and shovel the sidewalks in the winter.  For this I got 50 cents a week and all free movies.  So, when you dropped your popcorn or spilled your coke, it was me who cleaned it up.

I watched all those old war movies.  As we watched heroes like Audie Murphy, I would think of my brother in Korea and tell all my friends that my big brother was a hero too.

According to the obituary, it says Dick was in the army for 14 years.  That is counting reserve time.  If you asked Dick how long he was in, he would tell you 8 years, 11 months and 28 days.

All my life I wanted to grow up and be just like my big brother.  I knew I was going to join the service as soon as I got out of high school.  As it turned out I was in the Navy for eight and a half years.  I didn’t quite make it as long as my brother – but close.

My brother learned to drive in the middle of a 180-acre wheat field – where somehow - he managed to hit another car.  Bless his heart.

My brother was cool.  He was like James Dean.  For you younger folks, he was like Arthur Fonzarelli from Happy Days.  When your brother is The Fonz, it is a hard act to follow.

My brother always had cool cars.  Dick’s brand new ’55 Pontiac convertible was bright red.  The first thing Dick did to it was put straight pipes on it.  All the stores on 6th street in Hawley used to have large glass fronts.  Dick would drive down the street and back off that Pontiac in low gear and it would bark and rumble and shake all the windows as he came down the street.  One day the cop came into our family tavern to complain to my dad about Dick making so much noise coming down the street.  My dad said, Why don’t you tell him yourself – he’s right there at the end of the bar.  Just then, Mom came roaring by in the Pontiac with the pipes barking and shaking the windows.  The cop just shook his head and left.  Bless his heart.

Pontiac Copnvert 1955.jpg

Dick in His 55 Pontiac Convertible,    Photo by Gwen Kathryn Fisher

If that car was in the Barrett Jackson auto auction today it would probably bring a million dollars.

He also had a ’57 Ford Skyliner (hide-away hard top convertible) and a ’59 Ford Skyliner.

When he went to Germany in the Army, somehow he made a deal with an automotive dealership in Massachusetts and traded the ’55 Pontiac convertible for a brand new ’59 Mercury convertible a couple years before ’59.  He paid payments on it overseas so that when he returned to the states he picked up a brand-new red convertible.  The first thing he did with the new car was to drive to Minnesota.  But the automatic transmission would not shift into third gear.  So, my brother just drove all the way from Massachusetts to Minnesota in second gear.  Bless his heart.

My brother got me started building models.  He taught me how to put together plastic models.  Like my brother, I have been building models of some sort all my life.  Like in the Dionne Warwick song Trains and Boats and Planes.

One year when my brother was home on leave I was told that I wasn’t allowed in the basement anymore.  Why not? I asked.  It’s a surprise, Mom said.  A month later, on my birthday I was brought down to see the most amazing model train set I have ever seen.  I am still amazed to this day about the detail and craftsmanship that my brother put into that setup; and also, the fact that he did it on schedule, while only home on leave.  It was the best birthday present I have ever had.  My friends and I played with that set for many years afterwards.  It had a mountain, a passenger train, a freight train, multiple switches and sidings and a huge HO scale village with streets and cars and bridges.  Even by today’s standards, it was awesome.

When my brother got out of the Army, he could fix anything mechanical.  When I got out of the Navy, I was convinced that I could fix anything that plugged into the wall.

Dick and I had a lot of automotive adventures.

I was never a fast reader in school until I became interested in cars.  The first book that I ever took much interest in was the Motors Auto Repair Manual.  I read it cover to cover several times.  I learned a lot about cars and mechanical things but had no experience or practical knowledge – that was what my brother was for.

Mom decided one day that Dick and I should repaint her car.  It was a ’55 Buick Special Convertible – stick shift, black with a red leather interior.  My brother knew how to spray paint and I knew how to do what I was told.  We sanded it down and feathered the edges of all the paint chips as best as we could.  Dick sprayed the car and Mom inspected it.  We botched the feathering job and Mom made us do it all over.  This time we were told to sand the entire car down to bare metal.  Our only power tool was this old Craftsman quarter inch electric drill with a sanding pad on it.  It took us a week of constant sanding to get the car down to bare metal.  Then Dick painted it a second time.  This time we received Mom’s approval.

If you remember, 1955 Buicks had three portholes on the side of the front fenders.  Somehow Dick convinced our mom that it would be cool to install yellow truck clearance lights in the portholes.  The next thing you know Dick and I are out in the garage drilling out the portholes.  When we were done, at night the car looked like Hawley’s first pimp-mobile.

One day Mom decided she wanted the odometer on the Buick turned back to 20 thousand miles.  It wasn’t illegal in those days – just unethical.  Bless her heart.  Dick said no problem and had me remove the speedometer cable at the transmission end and hook it to our trusty old Craftsman quarter inch electric drill.  Unfortunately, the drill turned it in the wrong direction.  My brother said, No problem – just run it all the way around past one hundred thousand miles and back up again.  Bless his heart.  I set up the drill on the garage floor, locked the trigger in the on position, and let it run the speedometer all the way around.  It ran 24 hours a day for a week and a half.  That drill still worked for years afterward.  I had to throw that drill away a few years ago when it started giving me shocks.

My first car was a 51 Ford Victoria (2 door hardtop).  Most ’51 Fords are coupes.  The Victoria’s were rare.  I paid $75 for that car when I was 14 years old.

I was putting the cylinder heads back on one day and the book said to follow a sequence tightening the bolts and to tighten them to 100-foot-pounds of torque.  I didn’t have a torque wrench so I asked my brother, How do I know when I get to 100-foot- pounds of torque?  Dick said, Turn them until they squeak – then give them another half a turn.  Bless his heart.  After I tightened those 48 bolts I reported back to Dick that the extra half a turn was a bit too much and I sheared off three bolts.  What do I do now?  Dick said just drill a hole in each bolt and take them out with an easy out.  After I tried that, I had to report back that I just drilled three very crooked holes in the head bolts.  Dick said Just leave it.  There are 48 bolts – missing three probably won’t hurt anything.  He was right.

One day I was trying to put the transmission back in the car and I couldn’t do it.  It was too heavy for me.  I was working in the dirt under the car and trying to shim the transmission upon slabs of wood and put it in place.  I knew to use a pilot shaft, but I just couldn’t get that darn heavy transmission into place.  I only weighed about 112 pounds at the time and just wasn’t strong enough.  Finally, after fighting with it for a couple of hours, I got desperate and went in to ask Dick for help.  He came out and slid under the car, put the transmission on his belly and wiggled it around for about two seconds and it slid right in.  I couldn’t do it then but as you can see now (like my brother) my belly is large enough to hold up a transmission.

Dick was a man of action.  One year he was visiting us in Massachusetts.  We were sitting on the deck and I mentioned that I was going to remove the large tree over us.  Dick said, Let’s do it now.  So, I borrowed my neighbor’s chainsaw and Dick starts cutting away.  He said he would put a notch in it and it would fall away from the house.  I wasn’t convinced since the tree was leaning the other way.  I stood on the deck railing and was pushing the tree away from the house as he cut.  Soon there was a loud CRACK and the tree started falling towards the corner of the house.  I was pushing for all I was worth so that it would miss the house and Dick was yelling for me to get out-of-the-way.  There was a large BOOM and a cloud of dust.  When the dust cleared, we missed the house.  Then I asked Dick where the chainsaw was.  It was under the tree – broken in half.  I bought my neighbor