Monday, November 8, 2010
Anonymous
Not often enough some people leave comments on one of my blogs. I appreciate that but seldom can I figure out who they are. A couple sign their name, others use a coded name but from what they say they seem to know me and I can almost figure it out. So far however there are two I am not sure about. One calls them self Papaed. I have that narrowed down to two, one woman and one man. The other signs Sortajkr. That also is narrowed down to one of each gender. I like the feed back and wish there was more, but I would like it more if I knew who they were. I guess they wish to remain anonymous. By the way Sortajkr, post away.
Crisp Lake Chronicles
The Crisp Lake Chronicle was an underground newspaper published in the early to late 1950's. It's circulation never mounted to much and the best I can determine from reading the now yellow toned pages it was a paper that printed all the news that was really unfit to print anywhere else.
Some might call it a gossip rag, others might say it was a collection of a bunch of stories that were meaningless to anyone other than the reporter, still others might say everything was made up and untrue. I on the other hand believe every word of what I read in the CLC and look at it as little slice of Americana.
What is really strange to me is that other than my grandfather's collection there does not seem to be any record of it ever existing. The Examiner has no mention of it in its archives, the Jackson County Historical Society has no record of it among their catalog of the Inner City News, nor does the Internet give it any mention. It is like a conspiracy. It is a mystery.
So I feel it is my obligation to resurrect some of the articles and place them from time to time in my blog. Social historians will applaud me, my readers will gain some in site as to what it was like back in the 50's living in and around Fairmount, Maywood, and even Englewood but even more so on Crisp Lake proper, and some might even be offended if they have a thin skin about their ancestors.
The big mystery however is that in all the papers I have perused so far there is not the slightest mention of who the reporter was or who actually was the publisher or distributor.
The few old timers left in the old neighborhood claim they have no knowledge of the publication and change the subject when questioned about an event that was claimed to have happened.
My grandfather left a note on the outside of the box the papers were in that said not to open until 40 years after his death. A note in side the box, just opened recently, says that anyone reading the contents could do anything they wated with the information contained in the CLC becasue most of the people mentioned would be dead or to old to read anyway.
First edition coming soon.
Some might call it a gossip rag, others might say it was a collection of a bunch of stories that were meaningless to anyone other than the reporter, still others might say everything was made up and untrue. I on the other hand believe every word of what I read in the CLC and look at it as little slice of Americana.
What is really strange to me is that other than my grandfather's collection there does not seem to be any record of it ever existing. The Examiner has no mention of it in its archives, the Jackson County Historical Society has no record of it among their catalog of the Inner City News, nor does the Internet give it any mention. It is like a conspiracy. It is a mystery.
So I feel it is my obligation to resurrect some of the articles and place them from time to time in my blog. Social historians will applaud me, my readers will gain some in site as to what it was like back in the 50's living in and around Fairmount, Maywood, and even Englewood but even more so on Crisp Lake proper, and some might even be offended if they have a thin skin about their ancestors.
The big mystery however is that in all the papers I have perused so far there is not the slightest mention of who the reporter was or who actually was the publisher or distributor.
The few old timers left in the old neighborhood claim they have no knowledge of the publication and change the subject when questioned about an event that was claimed to have happened.
My grandfather left a note on the outside of the box the papers were in that said not to open until 40 years after his death. A note in side the box, just opened recently, says that anyone reading the contents could do anything they wated with the information contained in the CLC becasue most of the people mentioned would be dead or to old to read anyway.
First edition coming soon.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Log 5, Alaska
Continued from Log 4 dated November 4, 2010
9/8/02
Dad is still not doing well. Brian and Traci keep me posted. They have to return to their homes tomorrow which will leave Marsha to deal with it by herself. Johnny and Marlyn are out of town, at least Renee is there. Shannon keeps in touch. I told Darren not to return for the funeral, concentrate on his Chicago experience.
Some of the kids brought by some berries. They wanted to make us some Eskimo Ice Cream. I declined but paid them for the berries. Don't know what kind of berries they are, little round blue things. One would think they are small blueberries, but every time I ask I get a different answer.
Mike Jump is coming for lunch today.
9/15/2002
Last week a moose came into town or at least close enough to cause a lot of excitement. The elders say it was the first time that has happened. A girl in my class dad shot it. The district had a cross country meet yesterday. 150 kids flew in from all over the district. The fourth season of the Sopranos begins tonight.
It is raining again. The TV is out - satellites and rain don't mix. We need to start taping movies or something. Mike Jump fixed the short wave radio. I signed up for a college class at the University of Alaska. Not looking forward to it.
The regional newspaper is called the Tundra Drums. Just regional stuff, nothing I am much interested in. Paula has fixed up the small bedroom and made it a den. She picked up another cleaning job, is the only one to have applied for the special ed position so far. I wrote a short story about seal hunting.
9/17/2002
Marsha called, Dad is doing worse. I am not surprised. Brian emailed me and said that Dad wrote on a message board. "Tell Snapper I love him." Later he wrote, "Tell Paula I love her." That is the first time I remember dad saying that to me or anyone else. I am sure there were other times but I don't remember. They must have faded from memory. This is a memory I will keep.
9/19/02
Marsha called. Dad died at 6:30 PM CST. I am blank, the feelings will come later.
9/24/02
Dad's funeral was today. I talked to Seann, he called, so did Traci. It was a nice funeral by all accounts. Seann said it made him feel close to the extended family. He said he spent a lot of time with Brian and JQ.
I finally cried for the first time. Afterwords I wrote a funny email to the kids and Brian and Traci. Time to move on and with good memories of dad. We were not physically close most of our lives, but we had come to an unspoken understanding. There was nothing left unsaid between us.
Bye DAD, see you in the morning.
9/8/02
Dad is still not doing well. Brian and Traci keep me posted. They have to return to their homes tomorrow which will leave Marsha to deal with it by herself. Johnny and Marlyn are out of town, at least Renee is there. Shannon keeps in touch. I told Darren not to return for the funeral, concentrate on his Chicago experience.
Some of the kids brought by some berries. They wanted to make us some Eskimo Ice Cream. I declined but paid them for the berries. Don't know what kind of berries they are, little round blue things. One would think they are small blueberries, but every time I ask I get a different answer.
Mike Jump is coming for lunch today.
9/15/2002
Last week a moose came into town or at least close enough to cause a lot of excitement. The elders say it was the first time that has happened. A girl in my class dad shot it. The district had a cross country meet yesterday. 150 kids flew in from all over the district. The fourth season of the Sopranos begins tonight.
It is raining again. The TV is out - satellites and rain don't mix. We need to start taping movies or something. Mike Jump fixed the short wave radio. I signed up for a college class at the University of Alaska. Not looking forward to it.
The regional newspaper is called the Tundra Drums. Just regional stuff, nothing I am much interested in. Paula has fixed up the small bedroom and made it a den. She picked up another cleaning job, is the only one to have applied for the special ed position so far. I wrote a short story about seal hunting.
9/17/2002
Marsha called, Dad is doing worse. I am not surprised. Brian emailed me and said that Dad wrote on a message board. "Tell Snapper I love him." Later he wrote, "Tell Paula I love her." That is the first time I remember dad saying that to me or anyone else. I am sure there were other times but I don't remember. They must have faded from memory. This is a memory I will keep.
9/19/02
Marsha called. Dad died at 6:30 PM CST. I am blank, the feelings will come later.
9/24/02
Dad's funeral was today. I talked to Seann, he called, so did Traci. It was a nice funeral by all accounts. Seann said it made him feel close to the extended family. He said he spent a lot of time with Brian and JQ.
I finally cried for the first time. Afterwords I wrote a funny email to the kids and Brian and Traci. Time to move on and with good memories of dad. We were not physically close most of our lives, but we had come to an unspoken understanding. There was nothing left unsaid between us.
Bye DAD, see you in the morning.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Prohibition Village Style - Alaska
Alcohol, or the lack thereof, has never been a problem for me. When I was informed that Hooper Bay did not allow the consumption, possession, or sale of alcoholic beverages, however, the forbidden fruit, or grain in this case, seemed more appealing.
Prohibition works about as well here as the 18th Amendment did for the rest of the United States.
Home brew is made by the gallons here and it is no secret who makes it, who drinks it or who sells it. Most of the men and many of the women drink. In fact the only ones who do not drink are the teachers, and when they do they do not admit it to anyone. A teacher being found with alcohol gets a one way ticket out of the village at his own expense.
Once things are forbidden, they become desirable. Once desirability sets in, obtaining such becomes an obsession and once obsession grabs hold ignorance doesn't seem to be far behind.
A friend of mine, who shall remain nameless, said that when he first got here he thought it was unfair that the natives got by with drinking and he could not. He tried buying from the local bootlegger but at $150 a fifth it was too steep a price even for a teacher.
His dad was willing to send him alcohol in used after shave lotion bottles. "It worked in Korea," his dad told him. But that never came about. He turned to his mother for help, as all true men do when confronted with a problem, but she was doing penance in a convent and wouldn't be a party to such a thing. His brother, when told of his plight, was appalled and said he would supply all that was needed for $100 a fifth plus shipping and handling. Not a real close family I guess.
He flirted with the idea of mailing it to himself when he went home for Christmas and put his wife's former husband's return address on the package just in case postal inspectors decided to open the package or it broke in shipment. Plausible deniability I guess, but he chickened out.
Making his own was out of the question because he heard that the process smelled and would be a sure to attract attention. He told me that NyQuil on ice with a splash of seal oil was an urban myth and not to try it, it tasted terrible.
He was right. He eventually resigned himself to a life of sobriety, and so have I.
I asked one of my Eskimo friends that since most everyone in the village seemed to drink more often than not, why didn't they just vote prohibition out? They had that right; other villages had done so. Yes, my friend told me, they did have that right, but the elders were against legalizing alcohol and they respected the wishes of their elders.
There is logic somewhere there I guess.
Friday, November 5, 2010
Smoke Gets in Your Eyes
By Jim Sterner
We were building bridges across the Rhine River ( same time period as the last story I related) and on a daily basis the bridge builders would build sections of a float bridge and put them together, but never complete the bridge, because to do so would require closing the river to boat traffic. The Rhine is a major transportation route, so in order to close the river, the United States had to pay Germany around $100,000 an hour while the river was closed.
The plan was to practice for five days and then actually complete the bridge one time for an hour on Saturday. The Battalion Commander thought it would be a great idea to have the families bussed out to the site on Saturday and let them watch the bridge closure, and to that end, the battalion built bleachers for the families to sit and watch.
So when Saturday arrived, three buses brought the families out. There were snacks and drinks available and every one sat down in the bleachers ready for the bridge closing.
When everything was in place and it was time for closing the river by adding the last section of the bridge, someone decided that to make it authentic, they would lay down a smoke screen.
Everything was so obscured by the smoke screen, no one could see the closing. The battalion had brought everyone to the site to see the smokescreen it so happened. What a great day.
We were building bridges across the Rhine River ( same time period as the last story I related) and on a daily basis the bridge builders would build sections of a float bridge and put them together, but never complete the bridge, because to do so would require closing the river to boat traffic. The Rhine is a major transportation route, so in order to close the river, the United States had to pay Germany around $100,000 an hour while the river was closed.
The plan was to practice for five days and then actually complete the bridge one time for an hour on Saturday. The Battalion Commander thought it would be a great idea to have the families bussed out to the site on Saturday and let them watch the bridge closure, and to that end, the battalion built bleachers for the families to sit and watch.
So when Saturday arrived, three buses brought the families out. There were snacks and drinks available and every one sat down in the bleachers ready for the bridge closing.
When everything was in place and it was time for closing the river by adding the last section of the bridge, someone decided that to make it authentic, they would lay down a smoke screen.
Everything was so obscured by the smoke screen, no one could see the closing. The battalion had brought everyone to the site to see the smokescreen it so happened. What a great day.
From Russia With ....? - Alaska
Russia is closer to Hooper Bay than Anchorage. Russian influence is just around an Alaskan corner.
I had reason to travel to my first Eskimo village outside Hooper Bay one weekend. The settlement was, and still is I guess, called Russian Mission.
Russian Mission is about an hours plane ride just northeast of Hooper Bay. It hugs the side of a mountain and creeps toward the Yukon River. Russian Mission is home to about 350 Yup'ik Eskimos with a smattering of other than brown eyes. Names like Vaska, Kozev, Nikoff, Alexie, Nickoli, and Stafphanoff are proudly displayed on the school sports banner.
Promyshlenniki – Russian fur traders – established a trading post on the banks of the Yukon in 1830. The Russian Orthodox Church soon followed and started a mission, thus the name. Of course a thriving Eskimo village had been on the same spot for around 10,000 years but such technicalities have never stopped a Gussick from naming anything.
The first thing that struck me as we pulled up to the school, other than all the trees, was a strange-looking animal hanging from a drying rack. I found out it was an otter, caught and skinned by the students to feed the Lower Yukon School District board members who were meeting at the school that day. It was not ready for cooking, though, and the board had to be fed caribou and dried salmon instead. Life is hard sometimes in the Last Frontier.
The Russian Mission school had and I hope still have a subsistence curriculum. Besides learning the three R's, the kids ran trap lines twice a week, spent three weeks a couple of times each year at a fish and hunting camp and learned survival skills. The high school girls were just getting ready to go on their own three-day caribou hunt when I arrived, the boys having gone the previous week.
The Russian Orthodox Church still dominated the scenery with no less than two churches having seen use and a brand new one displaying the onion dome.
The school had 100 students K-12, about one-third of the village population, and nine certified staff including the principal a 17-year veteran of the district and responsible for developing many programs that could be a model for many an Alaskan bush school.
In addition to the subsistence curriculum the school raised enough money the previous year to send some students to Japan to environmental conference and were planning another trip.
I was there because I was the Academic Decathlon coach, and Russian Mission was sponsoring the tournament. The gym was too small to host athletic events and each village in the district was designated to hold at least one district wide event each year. It was Russian Mission's turn.
Forty students from around the district participated in the event. They gave speeches, wrote essays, gave interviews, and took tests in math, English, economics, science, and the Lewis and Clark Expedition.
The event lasted two days and, through superb coaching, Hooper Bay did just fine. Our five girls came in second, third, fourth, and fifth. Two will attend the state championship in Anchorage and our team tied for third with Russian Mission.
I would like to take the credit for our team's achievement but in reality I did very little. I could not get the girls to practice very much and the few times I was half way successful, they more than not did their research by checking and sending e-mails to the boys they met in Russian Mission.
I had reason to travel to my first Eskimo village outside Hooper Bay one weekend. The settlement was, and still is I guess, called Russian Mission.
Russian Mission is about an hours plane ride just northeast of Hooper Bay. It hugs the side of a mountain and creeps toward the Yukon River. Russian Mission is home to about 350 Yup'ik Eskimos with a smattering of other than brown eyes. Names like Vaska, Kozev, Nikoff, Alexie, Nickoli, and Stafphanoff are proudly displayed on the school sports banner.
Promyshlenniki – Russian fur traders – established a trading post on the banks of the Yukon in 1830. The Russian Orthodox Church soon followed and started a mission, thus the name. Of course a thriving Eskimo village had been on the same spot for around 10,000 years but such technicalities have never stopped a Gussick from naming anything.
The first thing that struck me as we pulled up to the school, other than all the trees, was a strange-looking animal hanging from a drying rack. I found out it was an otter, caught and skinned by the students to feed the Lower Yukon School District board members who were meeting at the school that day. It was not ready for cooking, though, and the board had to be fed caribou and dried salmon instead. Life is hard sometimes in the Last Frontier.
The Russian Mission school had and I hope still have a subsistence curriculum. Besides learning the three R's, the kids ran trap lines twice a week, spent three weeks a couple of times each year at a fish and hunting camp and learned survival skills. The high school girls were just getting ready to go on their own three-day caribou hunt when I arrived, the boys having gone the previous week.
The Russian Orthodox Church still dominated the scenery with no less than two churches having seen use and a brand new one displaying the onion dome.
The school had 100 students K-12, about one-third of the village population, and nine certified staff including the principal a 17-year veteran of the district and responsible for developing many programs that could be a model for many an Alaskan bush school.
In addition to the subsistence curriculum the school raised enough money the previous year to send some students to Japan to environmental conference and were planning another trip.
I was there because I was the Academic Decathlon coach, and Russian Mission was sponsoring the tournament. The gym was too small to host athletic events and each village in the district was designated to hold at least one district wide event each year. It was Russian Mission's turn.
Forty students from around the district participated in the event. They gave speeches, wrote essays, gave interviews, and took tests in math, English, economics, science, and the Lewis and Clark Expedition.
The event lasted two days and, through superb coaching, Hooper Bay did just fine. Our five girls came in second, third, fourth, and fifth. Two will attend the state championship in Anchorage and our team tied for third with Russian Mission.
I would like to take the credit for our team's achievement but in reality I did very little. I could not get the girls to practice very much and the few times I was half way successful, they more than not did their research by checking and sending e-mails to the boys they met in Russian Mission.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Log 4, Alaska
Continued from Log 3 posted in October.
9/1/02
My first full week of school. It went OK. Need to prepare more and better. The AM class is very good, the PM class is a challenge. We went for fresh baked salmon to a teachers house last night, yesterday afternoon we borrowed a four wheeler and drove to the beach. We heard they (Eskimos) had killed 2 whales yesterday and were butchering. We didn't go far enough down the beach because I was afraid I wouldn't be able to find my way back. We cruised along the surf, picked up a shell and stopped and examined a jelly fish that had been washed up on the shore.
The fly's are getting less numerous the cooler it gets. Still light at 11 PM.
The place we live is roomy, plain, but adequate. We will be ordering meat for the rest of the year but for odds and ends we are done spending money for food.
I keep the email going frequently.
My overall impression is that it is an experience and as of right now I am not inclined to return because I fear for my health. I have a back pain and being the hypochondriac that I am fear the worst, but don't really know what to do about it. Besides by doctor buddy Don said that if it hurt it is to late anyway. I don't want to up set everyone so I just suffer in silence.
Today my teaching partner George and I are having an open gym for the kids from 1 to 3 p. Tomorrow is Labor Day we are having people over for tacos. Our social life is full.
9/6/02
Another week of school has passed. Dad is in the hospital and not doing well. His kidneys and lungs aren't functioning well. He had gangrene in his intestines and they cut part of them out. I have talked to Brian and they all understand that I wont be coming home if and when dad dies, if soon.
The AM kids are great the PM kids still lack a little. I almost told them today they were acting like a bunch of wild Indians, but changed my mind at the last minute, good thing I guess. Wild Eskimos would be more appropriate, but I let it go.
We had Jodie and Katie over for dinner. Last night we went to our weekly pot luck at Marta's. It was Andy's birthday, Jodie and Katie's boy. Sweet Downs kid.
Paula has made friends with the vice principal. He is a good guy, all 350 pounds of him. He is from New Mexico and has always worked with Native Americans. He and Paula hit it off ever since she told him that this place is a $%#@& zoo. There is a job opening for a special ed assistant she applied for but probably wont get it being a non native. She does some house cleaning and volunteers in Katie's room.
It was Sean's birthday a couple of days ago, 30. I called but he wasn't home. I left a message.
http://www.amazon.com/Tales-Homer-Conley-Stone-McAnally/dp/0615779808/ref
9/1/02
My first full week of school. It went OK. Need to prepare more and better. The AM class is very good, the PM class is a challenge. We went for fresh baked salmon to a teachers house last night, yesterday afternoon we borrowed a four wheeler and drove to the beach. We heard they (Eskimos) had killed 2 whales yesterday and were butchering. We didn't go far enough down the beach because I was afraid I wouldn't be able to find my way back. We cruised along the surf, picked up a shell and stopped and examined a jelly fish that had been washed up on the shore.
The fly's are getting less numerous the cooler it gets. Still light at 11 PM.
The place we live is roomy, plain, but adequate. We will be ordering meat for the rest of the year but for odds and ends we are done spending money for food.
I keep the email going frequently.
My overall impression is that it is an experience and as of right now I am not inclined to return because I fear for my health. I have a back pain and being the hypochondriac that I am fear the worst, but don't really know what to do about it. Besides by doctor buddy Don said that if it hurt it is to late anyway. I don't want to up set everyone so I just suffer in silence.
Today my teaching partner George and I are having an open gym for the kids from 1 to 3 p. Tomorrow is Labor Day we are having people over for tacos. Our social life is full.
9/6/02
Another week of school has passed. Dad is in the hospital and not doing well. His kidneys and lungs aren't functioning well. He had gangrene in his intestines and they cut part of them out. I have talked to Brian and they all understand that I wont be coming home if and when dad dies, if soon.
The AM kids are great the PM kids still lack a little. I almost told them today they were acting like a bunch of wild Indians, but changed my mind at the last minute, good thing I guess. Wild Eskimos would be more appropriate, but I let it go.
We had Jodie and Katie over for dinner. Last night we went to our weekly pot luck at Marta's. It was Andy's birthday, Jodie and Katie's boy. Sweet Downs kid.
Paula has made friends with the vice principal. He is a good guy, all 350 pounds of him. He is from New Mexico and has always worked with Native Americans. He and Paula hit it off ever since she told him that this place is a $%#@& zoo. There is a job opening for a special ed assistant she applied for but probably wont get it being a non native. She does some house cleaning and volunteers in Katie's room.
It was Sean's birthday a couple of days ago, 30. I called but he wasn't home. I left a message.
http://www.amazon.com/Tales-Homer-Conley-Stone-McAnally/dp/0615779808/ref
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