Where the Hell Is Chippewa Falls

By Mary Ann Froede

Where the Hell is Chippewa Falls is a “travelogue” through Mary’s first eighteen years of growing up in a small mid-western town in the 1920’s Depression era.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jan 6, 2020
• ISBN: 9781728341927

Mary Ann Froede

Mary Ann Froede was raised and schooled primarily in Wisconsin and Minnesota but has been in California for over 50 years. She studied as a pre-med and worked as an office nurse before marrying her husband Jim. They served in the Presbyterian ministry for 42 years until Jim’s death. She is proud of her three children, her seven grandchildren and 12 great grands. Mary sang professionally throughout her life and was a vocalist with the Stan Kenton Revival Band in the 80’s and 90’s. Just retired (at 90 years young) from owning and operating a uniform manufacturing company that made and supplied vinyl aprons and tablecloths nationwide (Taco Bell being one of her customers). Living in the Presbyterian retirement home, Monte Vista Groves Homes in Pasadena has been a great joy, especially the writing class that started her on her path as an author of this, her second book. The first being “WHERE THE HELL IS TUCUMCART.”

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© 2020 Mary Ann Froede. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 01/03/2020

ISBN: 978-1-7283-4193-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-7283-4192-7 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

An Historic Beginning

Descendency

Why Come To Chippewa?

School Daze

About The Author

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AN HISTORIC BEGINNING

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I am sure that the rambling of my mind regarding my early childhood comes from stories I have heard as, of course, I was too young to have really remembered. Naturally, I don’t remember my birth, but I do remember the stories told to me about it. I was born in St. Louis at Barnes Hospital, February 3, 1928. One of the clearest stories told to me was the fact that I was born with a head of very dark hair and a distinct white patch at the crown of my head. The obstetrician who delivered me was young, but had snow white hair which he explained to Mother had occurred when his wife had been killed suddenly early in their marriage and his hair had gone white overnight. He called that my birth mark. I still have that patch, but it is hard to see amidst the blonde streaks I enjoy in my hairdo. My sister, Ruth, remembers that when she looked in the bassinet to see me, her only thought was that she wished I could go back to where I had come from. Typical sibling rivalry, I guess.

In the year 1927, my parents and 3 year old sister Ruth were living in East St. Louis, Missouri. One day, because of a news report of a particular event, they went to the airport. My father was carrying my sister as they struggled through the maze of people. My mother was carrying me in utero, as I wasn’t born until the following February. My sister got really excited and kept pointing, saying Daddy, there’s Lindbergh, there’s Lindbergh! My father wasn’t sure, but he and Mother turned around to find themselves just a few feet away from the then very famous flyer, Lindbergh, who had returned from the first historic flight across the Atlantic ocean. My first distant brush with HISTORY.

In East St. Louis, we lived in a second floor apartment with one of the doors opening onto a rooftop where my mother would put me out in the buggy for my nap. This lasted a short while as she soon discovered that the air was so polluted from the surrounding industrial complexes that I would be covered with soot! My last trip to St. Louis proved that they had finally cleaned up the neighborhoods and the atmosphere.

The depression then struck our family and because my father was out of work (something I didn’t know about or understand at the time), we went to Faribault, Minnesota, and lived in the upstairs rooms over my grandmother and grandfather. My clearest memories are of the Saturday morning radio shows…. Let’s Pretend being my favorite. They were usually fairy stories or Hansel and Gretel types of stories with evil witches waiting in the woods to capture silly young children who had ventured there, cutting off their arms and legs. Really wholesome stuff.

One of the neighbors was so dear to me. When I visited, she always had a special treat for me. She was totally crippled and moved around on a chair that had wheels attached and the back removed. One day, my treat was an apple and I asked if I could have a knife to cut it into smaller pieces. Well, not being too adept, I managed to slice off the end of my finger and had to race home crying to get help from Mother. My sister says I ran into the room with my hand wrapped in a bloody tea towel and cried out The maid bloodied herself.

While living in Faribault, Daddy had time on his hands, So he started building a boat in the garage of my Aunt Verona and Uncle Rolf directly across the street. That boat gave us many hours of pleasure when we finally moved to Lake Wissota. Rolf was the youngest of the boys and was very shy and quiet, but had a beautiful voice and as an older adult became very well known for his performances. Verona was not Norwegian, same as my mother, and so was not treated too favorably by the in-laws. When either of them came into a room, the conversations immediately turned to Norwegian. Mother always resented that, but learned to love them anyway, as they learned to love and appreciate her. Although Verona was not a very attractive woman, she had a fun loving personality but apparently was badly treated by my Grandma and Grandpa. She had a wart on her nose, and with me being heavily inspired by the radio about mean witches, I always made that connection. Actually, she did treat me well, though, as did the cousins. Both she and mother suffered from the same treatment from Grandma and Grandpa in that they were not Norwegian

Aunt Laura, the only girl, was married to Uncle Lee, a worker at the local meat packing plant… He was a tall, very handsome, quiet man. The factory went on strike and he was told not to report for work and he complied. The strike was settled but some of the union members called a wild cat strike and stayed home. Well, my uncle knew that he had to work in order to support his good sized family, so he crossed the picket lines. One night as he returned from work, he was attacked by a group of men who beat him almost to death. Every bone in his body was broken. Not only his bones, but also his spirit. They slathered his house with yellow paint and also painted the boy’s bikes yellow. Minnesota at that time had laws protecting the unions and preventing investigation of labor issues, so no one did anything. My dad and his brother, Uncle Einar, hired a private investigator who found out that it was thugs from Chicago hired by the union. Uncle Lee was a shadow of a man when he finally recovered many, many months later and was like that until he died at an early age.

On top of all of that sorrow, their oldest son, my cousin Gene, joined the army (it was war time) and went off to basic training. He complained one day about having sharp pains in his stomach. His sergeant, thinking he was gold bricking said to just go to bed and forget about it. Gene woke up in the night, had his buddy take him to the sick bay where he died of a ruptured appendix. That increased the burden of grief on that poor family. One good thing……they live in the old brick house which is now listed in the National Registry of Historic Homes.

Daddy’s oldest brother, Einar, settled in Madison, Wisconsin. He worked in the news element and eventually published the Madison newspaper until he retired. His wife Magna worked all of her professional life with the blind. There was a very large institution in Madison where she taught. Einar was very active and became the president of The Sons of Norway in America, an international organization. His greatest triumph was to be knighted by the King of Norway.

Next in line in the Hammer family was Sigmund. He studied to become a scientist and concentrated his efforts on oil. He was head physicist for Gulf Oil for all of his career years, but then retired to become a world renowned consultant on oil recovery. He discovered and implemented a system that is still used world wide of flooding retired oil wells with water. The oil is lighter and floats to the surface of the well and can be easily siphoned off. On one of his few visits to us here in California, he eased my mind by telling me that each of the small earthquakes are a blessing in that they relieve the pressure on the tectonic plates and allow them to move slowly and mildly, avoiding THE BIG ONE. After his retirement, he traveled the world helping other