River Falls – Jack Henderson, Take 5

‘Tis the Season

With Thanksgiving behind us, and Christmas bearing down like a category 5 hurricane, the holiday season is in full swing. Here in River Falls, a festival called River Dazzle officially ushered in the Christmas season.

Even before Thanksgiving, our little Happy Hour group of retirees had an fun gathering on November 17. On that day, I performed my first actual show in 35 years. Our friends, Dave and Nancy, offered their commodious garage—complete with fake chandelier—for the day’s entertainment. Daughter-in-law Amber joined us, and she had the school bus drop the grandkids off at our house rather than theirs, so they were able to be there as well. I love the fact that, in a small town, you can make that sort of change with a simple note or a phone call. One couple, David and Jan, brought some excellent homemade wine. The day before, David called to ask if he could bring a few bottles. I said of course and suggested that I would only sound better if the audience was lubricated with spirits. He replied, “I don’t have that much wine.” I had a blast singing some of my old songs as well as some I have never performed before. With two full years to practice, I slid back into the performing role fairly easily. Someone told me afterward that, when I finished, there was an attempted standing ovation. However, at our age, getting quickly out of those folding camping chairs is not an easy task, and the attempt fizzled. The only real difference I noticed was that my voice began to strain after about 75 minutes, whereas I held out for four hours in my last show in 1986. C’est donc avec la viellese (“So it is with old age.”)

After a Thanksgiving dinner that couldn’t be beat at Ben and Amber’s house, we planned to lie low the next day. About noon on Friday, however, I recalled that River Dazzle would be held downtown that day. River Dazzle is another annual event in River falls. (Have I mentioned that this town knows how to throw a party?) The town celebrates the official start of the Christmas season with trolley rides, hot chocolate, games, and face-painting for the kids, a parade featuring Mr. and Mrs. Claus, and it all culminates with the lighting of the Christmas lights in the trees along the median of Main Street. Like everything else, many of the usual activities associated with River Dazzle had been cancelled or reduced last year due to Covid, so two years of pent-up energy was waiting to be unleashed on the town this year.

The central event of the day is the “Chili Crawl.” This is a contest pitting 15-20 downtown businesses against each other in making the best batch of that cold-weather staple, chili. Groups of friends and families roam the 2-3 blocks of Main Street, ducking into the various businesses which are involved in the competition. The crawlers carry yellow scorecards and rate the various concoctions according to their own personal taste and criteria. At the end of the day, prizes are announced for both the cooks and the tasters.

What turns this simple contest into a wild event, however, is the fact that most of the contestants happen to be bars, pubs, bistros, saloons, and taverns along Main Street. Thus, many of the groups doing the judging taste their little samples of chili, mark their scorecards, and order something from the bar. Then they move to the next pub and repeat the process. That’s where the “crawl” part of the day comes in. There are perhaps a dozen drinking establishments along Main Street, and most of them participate in the Chili Crawl. You can purchase a special blue cup at the beginning of the day, and obtain refills at any participating bar for $2. For this day only, people are allowed to take their blue cups out of the bars and into the streets. The contest begins at 1:00 and runs until 5:00. By about 2:00, the downtown streets resound with merriment. Groups of happy revelers slip in and out of bars, blue cups and yellow scorecards in hand, with their plastic tasting spoons tucked behind their ears or into a head-band of some sort.

Kathleen and I arrived on the scene about 12:30, slightly ahead of the craziness. We had lunch and a beer in one of our favorite haunts, The Mainstreeter Bar and Grill. The scent of chili brewing in a large slow-cooker in the back of the room filled the air. About the time we finished, the tasters began to stream in. These initial groups were rather sedate and serious about their task, intending to taste and grade chili in every one of the participating businesses. We had already decided that we would eschew the tasting contest this year. Two years ago, in our only other River Dazzle experience, good intentions soon deteriorated into lethargy as we decided to skip the chili and simply find a comfortable barstool from which to enjoy the madness. This year, we didn’t even pick up a scorecard: we would be spectators and people-watchers, rather than actual participants.

Our next stop was Johnnie’s, a comfortable bar that we had discovered during the summer. It’s a bit of an “old school” type of place as they don’t take credit cards and no food is served. They do, however, encourage people to bring food in from outside or have it delivered. They also have a spacious back room that is lent to groups free of charge, making it a favorite spot for local groups to meet. As it was still early, we easily found a place at the bar, ordered drinks, and talked with a woman who had come from out of town just for River Dazzle. Soon after we arrived, the place began to fill up with crawlers in search of chili and others just looking for a party. They both found what they sought. While sipping our drinks, we decided that we should explore a bar that we had never before visited. You know me: always looking to broaden my horizons. As we left Johnnie’s we saw a group of high-school carolers dressed in Victorian clothes that looked straight out of a Dicken’s story. They are a great choir with excellent harmonies. During Covid, they came to our cul-de-sac and sang Christmas carols from the street, so it was nice to see them in full operation again.

Our next stop was Emma’s. From the street, Emma’s looks like a thousand dives I had seen in Chicago: about 30 feet wide and 100 feet deep, squeezed between two other businesses. In my mind, I pictured an apathetic old woman, cigarette dangling from her mouth, standing behind the bar, and coughing just often enough to let you know she was still alive. Instead, the place had a warm feel as soon as we entered. Actually, the first thing we noticed was an odd smell. We realized that, in order to distinguish themselves from all of the other chilis in the contest, they had added limburger or one of the other varieties of “stinky” cheeses to the mix. We soon adjusted to the odor, grabbed some beers and selected a table from which we could watch the parade of tasters as they came through the door. It was especially fun to watch the kids. As each one entered, they immediately covered up their noses or made a face that indicated they did not find the cheese odor pleasing. Many simply did an about face and left without tasting the chili. Even without the children, though, a steady stream of people came in, tasted the chili, and had a drink before leaving. People entered singing and laughing and left the same way, dressed in their holiday finery. We saw garish sweaters designed to test the boundaries of bad taste; there were gaudy green-and-red hats, some designed to look like Christmas trees; there were red tights and green lamé pants; many had battery packs that kept strings of brightly colored bulbs twinkling on and off; one had a shirt of bright red poinsettias festooned with green Christmas lights; some wore ornaments as earrings; one wore a fat strand of metallic garland as if it were a feather boa. And many of the women were also dressed up.

Eventually, feeling the effect of too many beers, we headed out. We ran into several friends and neighbors on the street, which added to the festive feel of the day. So, even though we didn’t stick around to see the parade or the lights, were able to nestle all snug in our bed that night, assured that Christmas was just around the corner.

Catching Up

I have had a great summer, but it was much busier than anticipated. As a result, this is not a typical blog entry, but more of an update on what Kathleen and I have been up to for the past few months. Think of it in terms of those annoying essays we had to write every fall upon returning to school. Much like those teachers completely lacking in imagination, I call this “How I Spent My Summer Vacation.”

I have been busy at the golf course, working several days a week and playing at least one round each week. Unfortunately, the more frequent golfing has not translated into better scores. Still, it is an enjoyable pastime, and walking the course just after dawn is one of life’s great pleasures. I have also been occupied with something I did not anticipate. Through no fault or desire of my own, I find myself serving as the president of our homeowner’s association. Our long-time president and property manager moved away recently due to health issues. Larry did an excellent job for many years, so he left big shoes to fill. I was already a board member, and we decided to change from a self-managed organization to one that was professionally managed. Finding and hiring a good company took a lot of effort, and half-a-dozen of my neighbors contributed considerable time to this endeavor. I agreed to take on the job of president, but I did so with such a lack of enthusiasm that they have begun referring to me as “The Reluctant President.” We are almost done with the transition process, so I am hoping that the heavy lifting is behind us at this point.

Meanwhile, our adopted home town of River Falls continues to delight and surprise us. After a year of being shut-down by Covid, many of the annual festivals and activities have started up again, albeit in somewhat reduced forms. River Falls Days was a four-day celebration with races, games, entertainment, food, beer tents, and excellent music being performed at various venues scattered around town. Recently, there was an art fair along the river downtown, and the Bacon Bash was revived after a year’s absence. Two years ago, the day after we arrived in town, we enjoyed our first Bacon Bash, and I wrote one of my first blogs to commemorate this odd celebration of sizzling pork. These were scheduled events, but I was also pleasantly surprised on a recent visit to the library by one I did not expect. From September 1 through October 26, our little town library is hosting a wonderful exhibit on the photography and journalism of Jacob Riis. Riis was active in the 1890s and 1900s writing stories and documenting the plight of recent immigrants in the tenements of New York City with photographs. His books, especially one called How the Other Half Lives, photos, and newspaper stories were instrumental in leading to reforms of slum areas in many US cities. This powerful exhibit is on loan curtesy of the National Endowment for the Humanities, the Museum of the City of New York, and the Library of Congress, and I was astounded to find it here in River Falls, if only for a short time.

A few weeks ago, Kathleen’s brother and his family visited us for a few days. Another friend drove over from Appleton, Wisconsin to join us on the last day. As he was leaving he asked if I had ever heard of Charlie Berens, also known as the Wisconsin comedian. I had not, but tucked his name away in my brain for future reference. An hour later, while out for a walk, I wandered past the ballpark on my way to some paths through the woods. I saw that they were setting up for a show that evening and asked what was going on. The man looked at me as if I had several extra heads and said, “Charlie Berens is performing tonight—I thought everyone knew that. But don’t try getting tickets; he sold out on the first day.” Berens is a graduate of the University of Wisconsin school of journalism who had trouble getting his footing in broadcasting in California. The problem was his Wisconsin accent, and he was encouraged to take vocal lessons that would help him lose that defect. He made those efforts, but at night, he would frequent the comedy clubs where he developed an act in which his accent was the centerpiece. He eventually decided that telling stories about life in the upper Midwest using the local vernacular was his ticket to success. He started doing a video show called the “Manitowoc Minute” and now has numerous short videos on youtube. Some consist of stand-up routines, some are sketches, and one is his commencement address at the Wisconsin journalism school. If you’re not from around here, and want to learn what people sound like or what the cultural values are in Wisconsin, Minnesota, or Michigan, you can do worse than listen to Charlie Berens.

The highlight of our summer was a much-delayed cruise from Seattle to Alaska. In a general sense, we have decided that, while the trips we take are always wonderful, getting there and getting home is becoming more onerous as we age. The trips to and from Seattle took ten-to-twelve hours, with most of that time spent in crowded and uncomfortable airports. The cruise itself, however, was wonderful: great scenery, fun times spent with good friends, and excellent service. Traveling still makes us a bit nervous because so many idiots refuse to get their shots. Everyone on the ship, however, was required to have been vaccinated, with a recent negative test to boot. As a result, we felt safer on board the ship than anywhere else in the US. We took the Inside Passage along the Canadian border south of the main part of Alaska, but the towns of Ketchikan, Juneau, and Skagway were small and charming, with direct ties to the Gold Rush of 1897-1899. I re-read Call of the Wild during the cruise to remind me of those days. The weather was surprisingly good, with sunshine and warm temperatures (high sixties) for most of our time on land. The highlight for me was actually at the end of the cruise. With time to kill before our flight, we visited the Seattle Space Needle and, right next door, the Dale Chihuly Gardens. For those who are not familiar with the colorful and imaginative glass works of Chihuly (see picture above), this in itself is worth a trip to Seattle. We have seen his pieces in other places, particularly on a huge ceiling in the Bellagio Casino in Vegas, but to see so many wonderful pieces in one place was really impressive.

As October arrives, many people start thinking of the holiday season. In all-too-quick succession comes Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s Day. To celebrate this part of the year, I leave you with Charlie Berens’ take on a Midwest Christmas Party. Enjoy.

The Call of the Wild

Growing up in a city, nature has always held a certain fascination for me. I realized this fact again on Sunday night and Monday morning when we had some serious rainstorms roll through the area. I didn’t realize how severe they had been until I ventured out for a walk right after the lightning stopped on Monday. There are four parks or fields where I go to hit golf balls on a rotating basis; three of them were under several feet of water, while the other looked like the Brad Pitt film, A River Runs Through It. The deepest one was in a grassy bowl officially known as the “Greenwood Detention Basin,” as if that’s where all recalcitrant waters have to go if they misbehave in school. The water in there was at least ten feet deep with more gushing in every second. (I guess I’ll never find those golf balls I lost). It turns out that River Falls received 7.25 inches of rain in about 12 hours, while neighboring towns had over 9 inches. After lunch, Kathleen and I went down to check out the Kinnickinnic River where it runs through the center of our town. It was eerie. We walked out on the downtown bridge and the water was only a few feet from the highest point of the arched overpass. The fluid was positively roiling just beneath our feet as it rushed by. It was moving so fast that we became a bit dizzy looking over the edge at the murky brown liquid. At the Swinging Bridge a few blocks away, the scene was equally impressive. The normally calm observation point was thunderous with noise as water cascaded down the South Fork of the river before colliding violently with the main river artery as it poured over the Junction Dam, spraying mist high into the air. I think we need this sort of unexpected weather outburst on occasion to remind us what a powerful force nature can be.

I’ve never been much of a nature lover. In Chicago, the cemetery across the street from my boyhood home offered the only substantial swatches of green in our neighborhood. Between my house and the cemetery was a narrow street and a 30-feet-wide, flat area of grass that gradually rose to an embankment for the Grand Trunk RR tracks. This strip of grass, rocks, and cinders provided fields for all sports. In the spring and summer, we played baseball or softball (Chicago style, with a 16-inch ball, of course) on an elongated diamond custom-tailored to the narrow shape of the field. In the fall, we played football there. The only problem was that most of the punts changed directions in unexpected ways after hitting the power lines above us. In January, it was usually cold enough for hockey, and the fireman on our block accommodated us by rigging a firehose to the hydrant and flooding the slightly recessed field for us. By blocking off the ends of our field with dirt and waiting for it to freeze, we created a reasonable facsimile of an ice rink.

Aside from that, we also played on the rapidly disappearing vacant lots scattered around Mt. Greenwood. Kathleen is always amused by the way my family refers to those postage-stamp lots as “prairies,” a word that, for her, conjured up images of pioneers, wagon trains, and vast expanses of tall grass. Even when developers starting building homes on those lots, we saw an opportunity for childhood games. Being less than two decades removed from WWII, “playing army” was always a favorite pastime. A dirt-hill that resulted from the digging of a foundation and basement could be converted quickly by our imaginations into a Japanese stronghold somewhere in the South Pacific. The newspaper clipping above is from 1964, when an Allied victory over such an entrenchment was memorialized by an intrepid, battlefield photographer. (I want it noted for the record that I was described as “virile,” despite the fact that I later got yelled at by my mom because I was still wearing my pajama top late in the afternoon.)

None of those places, however, offered much of an opportunity to encounter wildlife. My only clear recollection of meeting dangerous animals of any sort occurred when I was about seven years old. My best friend, Johnnie Rock (also depicted above) and I were coming home from school for lunch, and we cut through someone’s backyard. While running through the yard, Johnnie tripped over a chain, that unfortunately was attached to a large German Shepherd. The dog attacked and bit off part of Johnnie’s ear, an incident that traumatized me for life. Since that day, I’ve never been a person who likes to commune with nature in any significant way.

I do, however, enjoy running or hiking on trails in the woods. In Nashville, I learned to enjoy the beauty and solitude that trail-running afforded. Running on dirt or rock trails is great fun as you use the momentum of a downhill section to carry you up the next hill, or careen around downhill curves with reckless abandon. The Warner Parks in Nashville provided miles of isolated trails in the middle of the city. Fairly often, I would cross paths with a deer, and I once saw a timber rattler sunning itself on a trail, but I found few other animals in my sojourns through the park. River Falls, of course, is much smaller in size, but I have explored every state park trail within a ten-mile radius. Having been running or hiking on these trails through autumn, winter, spring, and now summer, I have been able to witness the dramatic changes of the seasons. Suddenly, I gained a new appreciation for the hundreds of paintings Claude Monet made of haystacks, cathedrals, or lily ponds. He would paint the same scene multiple times, at different times of the day or the year, to study the effect the altered angle of the sun had on the particular image. The paths on which I run every week or so at “The Mound,” a steep ridge near our home, have gone from leaf covered, to icy and slick, to muddy. The last time I was there, the summer foliage had grown so thick that many of the trails have narrowed from several feet across to a few inches. Running in the morning involves breaking through the many gossamer cobwebs that have been erected overnight.

Another thing I have discovered in recent months is that, in Northern Wisconsin, if you are in the woods, you stand a good chance of running into wild animals. As an addendum to that statement, I would add that, regardless of where you are, you are never far from the woods. Therefore wildlife often has the run of the place. While running, I have been startled by huge wild turkeys, I nearly stepped on a sizable snake of indeterminate species, and a few weeks ago, a deer nearly took me out as it bounded across my trail. I am currently reading a novel set in the UP (Upper Peninsula of Michigan, across the northern border of Wisconsin), and a cougar figures prominently in that story. I have discovered that, while bobcats are frequently seen in the area, their larger and more dangerous cousins, the cougar, are pretty rare. Still, there have been sightings of these predatory creatures along the Willow River near here, and some authorities believe there may be a breeding population in the state for the first time in over a century. I have become fascinated with these wildcats, and I am ever-vigilant on my hikes, hoping to catch a glimpse of one—albeit from a great distance.

A more realistic expectation of a dramatic encounter would involve black bears. The only bears I’ve ever known have been Chicago’s professional football team and the cute “Honeybear” mascot of Harpeth Hall School, where I taught for many years. According to the Department of Natural Resources, however, “Wisconsin is home to a thriving black bear population estimated at more than 24,000 bears.” I believe this is true, because one of the critters has apparently decided to call our neighborhood home. In recent days, there have been half-a-dozen sightings of a black bear on our street and elongated cul-de-sac, one just two doors down from us. There are woods and steep hills just behind our home and all around the horse-shoe-shaped cul-de-sac. This big guy has appeared from those woods in search of food and found the many bird-feeders in the area to his liking. On my last trip to “The Mound,” just a few blocks from here, I made as much noise as I could as I hiked through the thick foliage, hoping to scare away any lions, tigers, or bears that might be around. Every time a squirrel scurried through the underbrush, I pictured a bear the size of a Buick or a tawny cat that outweighed me by 20 pounds launching itself at my throat.

So if you happen to be walking through any woodsy paths around River Falls, and you hear a lot of coughing and throat-clearing, or perhaps someone rattling their car keys like Jacob Marley’s chains, don’t be alarmed. It’s just me trying to avoid a close encounter of the natural kind.

Conan the Librarian

“It’s a small world—but I wouldn’t want to paint it.”

–Steven Wright

I have always loved hanging out in libraries. When I was young, they offered a refuge from the chaos at home. Growing up in a Chicago home with 914 square feet of room, 5 children (We moved to a larger house when numbers six and seven were born), and two adults, the library was the place I went to get away. Reading at home was a risky proposition. My mom always expected the older kids to take care of the younger ones, so if I was reading, I was neglecting my duties. Many times, she would smack me and yell, “The house could burn down around your ears, and you’d still have your nose stuck in a book!” My dad also frowned on reading, regarding it as a feckless pursuit and any time spent not doing manual labor as “loafing.” If he caught me reading, he handed me a shovel and pointed to the back yard; there was always something that seemed to need digging out there. At the library, however, no one bothered me, and I could read to my heart’s content.

In high school, I was painfully shy. (No one believes me when I tell them that I was voted “Most Reserved” in my graduating class of 600 students.) Therefore, I often hid out in the school library, where I could avoid awkward social interactions. In college, I discovered girls and beer, but some of my favorite times were still spent sitting on the floor in the stacks working on a research paper. I also put in many hours behind the reference desk in the university library as part of my work-study program. I became a much more serious student in grad school, and I practically lived in the libraries at Southern Illinois and then the University of Florida. During most holiday breaks, when other students went home, I used the time do extra work in the library. When students headed for the beach during Spring Break, I stayed in town and worked on the pale complexion I called my “Library Tan.” My friends once joked that, over Thanksgiving Break, there was no one in the library “except Jack and the Asian students who couldn’t go home.” At UF, I had my own tiny room, called a study carrel, in the library. It was a little metal cage with a lock that was reserved just for me. To many, it looked like a jail cell in a prison, but, to me, it represented a sort of freedom. I kept books, school supplies, and extra clothes in there. I even decorated the place. When a fellow Ph.D. student, a budding communist, put up pictures of Karl Marx, Vladimir Lenin, and Leon Trotsky, I adorned my carrel with photos of Groucho Marx, John Lennon, and a baseball player from the 1930s called Hal Trosky. (I was too clever for words.)

Thus, as soon as the bulk of my painting and other work in our new home was completed, I headed to our River Falls library. On a day which was a relatively balmy 12 degrees, I walked the two miles to get a library card. This library is a warm, welcoming place that seems much larger than a town of this size would warrant. Also, I was quickly reminded of what a small town this is: the first person I saw was my grand-daughter, Abigail, checking out books at the counter. I guess her fourth-grade class walks next door from her Catholic School every week for “library time,” and I just happened to be there at that time. As I turned in my application for a card, the check-out person, who had seen me talking to Abigail, asked, “So, are you Ben or Amber’s parent?” When Kathleen went to the library a week or two later, the same woman recognized the name and said, “I met your husband earlier.”

As the world has moved into the digital age in recent years, libraries have had to re-invent themselves somewhat. The River Falls Public Library offers computer services, DVDs, video games, books on CD or Kindle, the ability to borrow books from dozens of other libraries, and an array of programs for all ages. There are classes, lectures, discussion groups, poetry readings, and story-times. For children, they also have programs for crafts, lego-building, a “Big Fun Lab,” and even mini golf in the winter (which, let’s face it, is most of the year). My step-son, Ben, believes that his family has paid for most of these programs with their numerous late fees over the past few years.

In a town such as River Falls, the library also serves as a sort of nerve center for many civic activities. Community meetings, displays of local art and history, and other events are all held in the library. So, when it came time for us to vote for the first time in Wisconsin, we knew where we had to go. This was just a small primary for a state judge—three candidates, and this election would eliminate one—but we wanted to vote against a candidate we found abhorrent. (I rarely vote “for” a candidate; instead, I usually find myself voting “against” someone.) There were four people working in the voting room when we walked in, and only one other person voting. Thus, the voting process was quick and easy.

That brings me to the Steven Wright quote at the top of this entry. When we were leaving, we ran into two friends from our Wednesday-night-happy-hour group, Larry and Jane. While chatting with them outside the library, our daughter-in-law, Amber, stopped to say hello on her way in to vote. Right there, it was more people than I ever ran into on a chance encounter in 22 years in Nashville.

And now, in order to ruin your day completely, I want to call to mind the “It’s a Small World” ride at Disney. I guarantee that that insipid song, “It’s a Small World, After All” will be implanted in your brain for the rest of the day.

You’re welcome.

Hooray for Hollywood

In these days of the mega-plex, 3D film houses, and soaring prices for the latest releases, a trip to the movies in River Falls constitutes a journey back in time. In recent years, Kathleen and I have rarely gone out to a movie because of the hassle of driving through traffic and the expensive cost. As you might guess, neither of those factors are an issue in River Falls. Last night, when we decided to go to see the Oscar-nominated film 1917, we were delighted to find that it was currently showing in our local movie house, the River Falls Theater. That theater is located right on Main Street, two miles from our house, directly across from the Nutty Squirrel.

The day before this, however, we watched a film at home that we found on On Demand with our Comcast package. The 2009 movie is called New in Town, and you will never find it on any lists of Oscar-Nominated films. It is formulaic and predictable, but I am a sucker for romantic comedies, so I enjoyed it. The plot is simple: a sophisticated Miami woman, played by Renee Zellweger, is sent to a small Minnesota town in order update a factory and downsize the workforce. It is a familiar, fish-out-of-water story, and, of course, there is a romantic interest in the form of the local union rep, played by Harry Connick, Jr. Much of the humor stems from the Miami girl trying to adjust to the foreign, upper-Midwest culture as well as the brutal weather. When she first arrives in the Minneapolis airport in the dead of winter, she is toting six matching suitcases on a cart while wearing five-inch heels, a short skirt, and a stylish, light jacket. Heading outdoors to retrieve her rent-a-car, she shrugs and mutters, “How bad can it be?” before stepping through the automatic doors. As they close behind her, she is stunned by the cold air and screams a muffled “Mother . . .!” There are a few other funny moments that resonated with us as we traverse a similar period of transition to small-town life.

We only saw one movie at the theater in 2019. That is about our usual average—one film per year. While our home in Nashville was being photographed by the realtors, and we had to be out of the house, we attended a matinee of Once Upon a Time . . . in Hollywood. Quentin Tarantino’s take on Hollywood in 1969 and the Manson murders was great fun in an absurd sort of way. I read a negative review of the film that accused Tarantino of racism toward Asians. The review said that “Bruce Lee wasn’t really like that.” I replied aloud to the inanimate internet review, “Perhaps not. But then again, the Manson followers were not destroyed with a flame-thrower either.”

With Academy Awards season upon us, we wanted to see two films in the same year that were nominated for best-picture Oscars (something I haven’t done for decades). We decided to venture into the cold to see Sam Mendes’s World War I film, 1917. The River Falls Theater is a throwback to earlier times. With a traditional marquee that hangs out over the street, the theater has been an iconic landmark on Main Street since it was first built in 1927. When it fell on hard times in the 1970s, it was purchased by the McCulloch family, and they have kept it going since then. As near as I can tell, the business has stayed alive by showing first-run films at bargain prices, and the town seems to have supported their efforts. A state grant in recent years enabled the family to update some things and expand to a second screen in an empty building next door. And when I say “bargain prices,” I’m not just blowing smoke. The cost is three dollars for senior citizens and kids, five dollars for everyone else. All the time. Moreover, on Tuesdays, it is three dollars for everyone. As Kathleen likes to say, “It’s a heckova deal.” Also, while many restored old theaters show classics, art films, or movies that have been out for a while, River Falls Theater manages to show current releases. Today, they are showing Doolittle along with 1917. (Perhaps they chose those two films because both names can fit on the tiny marquee.) Before the film started, in lieu of the usual 20 minutes of commercials for the latest corporate products or entertainment in your local multi-plex theater, our five-minute intro consisted entirely of short ads for mom-and-pop businesses from River Falls. Many of these businesses were by now familiar to us, and I believe we saw our daughter-in-law Amber in one of them. One of the ads, from the local waste disposal department, was a humorous, tongue-in-cheek, public service announcement about what NOT to flush down your toilet (“Wipes clog pipes” was the catch phrase). While our seats did not recline, and the sound system did not cause our internal organs to vibrate, the theater had everything we wanted for a movie-viewing experience.

The film itself lived up to its accolades. The story follows two British soldiers as they try to maneuver through the trenches and French countryside in order to deliver an urgent message to the front. There has been much discussion about the technical skill of the director, Mendes, in creating the impression that the entire film was one continuous camera shot without editing (as Hitchcock did in 1948 with Rope). The emotional impact was more important for me, though, as the viewer is drawn into the story and shares the fear, the constant tension, and the sense that the entire world has become some indecipherable maze in which there is no place to hide. We never learn much about the main characters, and I think that was on purpose. This tactic allows the messengers to appear as tiny pawns in a huge, bloody game being played out by the superpowers of the age. Ultimately, the film is a powerful statement about the futility and senselessness of war.

1917 is well worth seeing, so if you are in River Falls, look for the 1920s marquee on Main Street and stop in. The theater is a gem, and, after all, today it’s only three bucks.

Winter Wonderland

A lot of people like snow. I find it to be an unnecessary freezing of water.

-Carl Reiner

Low temperatures and snow are the realities of winter in River Falls. Today (Saturday, Jan. 18^th) we have about 7 inches of new snow on the ground with more coming. Temperatures will be falling all day, and they will end up in the single digits with wind chills about 10-below zero. Last night, we drove the half-mile to Ben’s house for dinner in white-out conditions, with winds whipping the snow around in swirling circles that reduced visibility to a short distance. It was beautiful. People have widely disparate views of cold weather, but most people dislike it. Recent polls show that only 10% of Americans indicate that winter is their favorite season.

I always liked snow—as long as I didn’t have to drive in it. One of the worst snow storms I ever encountered was in April in the early ‘80s while driving from Chicago to Stevens Point, Wisconsin to visit a girlfriend. I couldn’t see the front of my car, and I was scared to death for that entire drive. On the other hand, I always enjoyed shoveling snow for some reason. I think it is the peaceful nature of the activity. A fresh snowfall hides all of the dirt and muffles the noise of the world. It’s as if everything is cleansed or purified in some way. During my musician days in Chicago, I would often get home at 2:00 in the morning after a gig or from tending bar. That was my favorite time to shovel snow. At that time, I felt as if I was the only person in the world. Also, one of the fondest memories of my childhood was the record-setting blizzard that hit Chicago in January 1967. Twenty-three inches of snow fell in a few hours and effectively shut the city down. We received a rare snow day, and I remember walking through thigh-high snow down the middle of 111^th street with my siblings without a car in sight. Then, that night, an amazing thing happened. Snow plows were over-extended from trying to dig the city out from under 2 feet of snow, and our little side street was low on the list of priorities. Instead of waiting several days until the plows reached us, however, all of the neighbors on our block got together, and we dug a path down the entire block to the main street. These were neighbors who nursed petty grievances, bickered with each other, or otherwise had trouble getting along. But that day, they set their differences aside and worked together in common cause. Everyone—men, women, and children—got involved with that Herculean task and shoveled a path to 111^th Street. I still smile at the memory.

Winter must be cold for those with no warm memories.

-Anne Bradstreet

When we lived in Nashville, even a small snowfall of a few inches would create panic in the streets. All schools would have been closed the night before in anticipation of the impending calamity, and people would flock to grocery stores and empty the shelves, stocking up as if preparing for a zombie apocalypse. In Tennessee’s defense, though, there are several factors that make this a reasonable response. First, Nashville doesn’t get much snow; more often, they get freezing rain or ice which is much more difficult to navigate than snow. Second, they don’t have much snow removal equipment. They pay incredibly low taxes (about 1/3 of what we pay in Wisconsin), and it would not be economically feasible to buy a bunch of equipment that might not be used for years. Finally, Nashville is built on hilly terrain. Almost every stop-sign or traffic light is at the top or bottom of a hill. Add icy roads to that equation, and the city comes to a standstill. In River Falls and surrounding towns, the snow removal is excellent. Snow falls, they push it out of the way, and life goes on. Yesterday, I was out shoveling, and the operator of a city snow plow stopped to chat with me. He was cheerful and upbeat, despite the long hours that accompany dealing with a storm that would drop snow on us for about 20 hours. And that seems to be the thing that I have noticed most often about how people up here handle winter: they just shrug and deal with it.

Two days ago, I was driving downtown for breakfast and a quick trip to the Ace Hardware store. While driving, the disc jockey on the radio was giving the weather report. He said, “It’s five below zero today, and the wind-chill factor makes it feel like 27 below. Tomorrow, the low will be minus-one degree, so that’s not too bad. Then it will heat up to 23 degrees. That will feel pretty good.” Then, while at the hardware store to pick up paint supplies, I talked with the clerk at the register. As it always does around here, the subject of the cold came up. “Yeah,” he said, “it’s cold, but it’s sunny. That’s something.” I mentioned that we were supposed to get a sizable amount of snow on the weekend, and he said, “Who knows; yesterday they said we would get two inches, and all we got was some flurries. Now they’re saying that tomorrow we could get anywhere from 4 to 15 inches. What good is that info? They’re just covering their asses.”

One thing about cold weather: it brings out the statistician in everyone.

-Paul Theroux

Later that day, when discussing the weather, Tony, the plumber working on our bathroom re-model, told me “You just have to try new activities.” He added that his son loves ice fishing. I’d like to try that someday. Two other things I’d like to try, but have not tackled yet are cross-country skiing and snowshoeing. Ben and Amber have a set of snowshoes, so perhaps I’ll give it a crack later today. Kids around here simply don’t seem to pay any attention to the weather. They just put on another layer of clothes and go out and play. There is an old Norwegian aphorism that I have read in the paper at least three times since we moved up here. It says, “There’s no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothes.”

Well, it appears as if the snow has finally stopped. I guess I’ll layer-up and go shovel for the fourth and final time since yesterday. One final quote:

The cold never bothered me anyway.

-Elsa in Frozen

A Wonderful Life

On Sunday (Dec. 29), Kathleen’s daughter, Kristin, came to visit. Until she arrived, it felt as if something was missing from our holiday season. We spend some time every Christmas with her and her husband, Kevin, and this move to Wisconsin threatened a long-running streak. Unfortunately, Kevin was ill, so she flew in alone. We made the best of it, however, had a great time, watched a lot of football, and Kristin was able to spend some quality time with her niece and nephew.

The grandkids were a big part of the reason we moved up here, so being with them on the holidays was especially rewarding. On Christmas morning, I was terribly sick, but Kathleen pulled on her bathrobe and drove down the street to watch them open presents. Later that afternoon, I rallied long enough to spend an hour with them while we exchanged our presents. Six-year-old Lucas is probably at the peak of the childlike wonder I associate with Christmas. You could give that kid an empty shoebox, and he would squeal with delight, saying, “How did you know this is what I wanted! My old shoebox has a rip in it, so this is perfect!” We also played a spirited game of Pictionary with the kids. Abigail (nine years old) is quite good at drawing and guessing. What Lucas lacks in artistic talent, he makes up for with enthusiasm and creative thought. The night we played the game, we had had the kids staying with us for the day while their parents were at work. We also had our contractor over for an hour or two while we selected fixtures, etc. for a bathroom remodeling job. While we were upstairs looking at faucets and tile, the kids were downstairs watching Christmas movies and gorging on a stash of Halloween candy they had left at our house. When we went to dinner, perhaps inspired by Wil Farrell’s Elf character, they had pancakes and waffles smothered in syrup, ice cream, and whipped cream. In short, by the time we played the game, they were experiencing the mother of all sugar highs. We told Luke to just yell out the answer when he thought he recognized the picture, but he took it to extremes, racing through a stream-of-consciousness list of items that had us holding our sides with laughter. At one point, Abigail started by drawing a straight line or two. Lucas began spewing guesses at a rapid rate, sounding something like, “Hercules! A sunny day! A bicycle! Garfield the Cat! A tree!” The kids were still wired and bouncing off of the walls when we made a strategic exit. That’s the beauty of being grandparents.

Now to the title of this entry. On Monday, we took Kristin to the Nutty Squirrel to experience the Meat Raffle. The Gators were playing in a bowl game, so we had beer, football, and the chance of winning frozen meat—it was the best of all possible worlds. Almost immediately, I won something for the first time. I selected a T-bone steak that weighed in at over one-and-a-half pounds. A short while later, Kathleen was called and she selected another T-bone. Now the only suspense centered on Kristin.

It had been a day of constant snowfall. I had shoveled our driveway every time a new 3 inches or so of fresh snow came down—three times in all. Then, before we left for the bar, I had to shovel again to remove the 2-feet-deep pile of the while stuff that had been plowed up in front of our drive. Because of all of the snow, the crowd at the Squirrel was thin. Thus, we thought Kristin had a good chance of winning meat of her own. Just then, we saw a familiar face walking toward our table (You have to love the way this happens in a small town). Our son Ben had been next door at Freeman’s Drug Store. Freeman’s is an old-fashioned, mom-and-pop drug store reminiscent of Gower’s store at which a young George Bailey worked in It’s a Wonderful Life. Ben had been picking up a prescription next door when he happened to glance into the window at the Nutty Squirrel and saw our festive group celebrating our meat winnings. He joined us for a beer. Then Kristin’s name was called. She selected a 7 ½ pound pork roast that had been eschewed by the college students who were probably mystified about how to cook such a massive piece of meat.

By this point, all of us were winners on a number of levels, so we headed for the door with ten pounds of frozen meat. At we walked out onto Main Street, the snow was still falling heavily. The fluffy white powder was illuminated by the Christmas lights still decorating the trees up and down the town’s primary road. I swear I could see George Bailey running down the street yelling in a scratchy, Jimmy Stewart voice, “Merry Christmas, movie house! Merry Christmas, you wonderful old building and loan!” I felt like the richest man in town.

It was a magical moment and a fitting end to a great and eventful 2019 for us. I hope everyone has a wonderful 2020.

River Dazzle

After a Thanksgiving dinner that couldn’t be beat at Ben and Amber’s house on Thursday, we decided to venture out for another River Falls tradition on Friday. River Dazzle is a one-day festival that celebrates the start of winter or perhaps the beginning of the holiday season. I’m not exactly sure what its stated purpose was, but this town sure knows how to celebrate things.

There were special events all over town, from a free matinee film at the Falls Theater on Main Street to free ice skating at the hockey arena. Kids could make crafts, mail letters to Santa, have their faces painted, ride on a horse-drawn wagon, or eat cookies and drink hot chocolate. In the evening, a Christmas parade brought Santa to town and the festive lights along Main Street were lit. This year, the lighting had a special aspect to it, because, as of January 1^st, all of the municipal buildings and streetlights in town will be powered by 100% renewable energy, rather than fossil fuels of any sort. It’s nice to know that my adopted home, despite its diminutive size, has that sort of global awareness.

As the grand-kids were with their other grandparents that day, we approached the afternoon with a more adult-friendly attitude. The weather cooperated. After 6 inches of snow on Tuesday, and before another 6-8 inches over the weekend, Friday afternoon was relatively warm, albeit slushy and overcast. We decided to participate in the “Chili Crawl.” The Chili Crawl, another free event, was a contest to determine the best chili in River Falls. About 20 businesses participated, including 10 of the 11 bars in a two block portion of Main Street. From 1:00 to 5:00, each of the participating businesses offered a tiny cup of chili to anyone who wanted to taste it. You could vote on your favorite, but tasters were also eligible for cash prizes in a drawing if they obtained stamps on their card from at least ten businesses. Kathleen decided that her recent luck in the Meat Raffle would spill over into this drawing, so she was determined to taste at least ten chili samples, earn the stamps, and win cash at the drawing. She was on a mission. As for me, my ambition went only as far as sampling a beer from each of the bars we stopped at.

When we reached downtown, there was a definite party atmosphere in the air. Christmas music filled the street. The sidewalks on both sides of Main Street were packed. Groups of people hustled from business to business carrying their day-glow green cards covered with stamps from the various places they had already visited. Groups of college students, friends from town, and entire, three-generational families strolled together from place to place. Many teams had planned their route ahead of time, hoping that efficiency would aid them in their quest. Most people dressed for the occasion. I saw deliciously ugly Christmas sweaters, Santa hats, and clothing that contained battery packs to keep the Christmas lights they wore twinkling all day long.

Our first stop was the Lazy River Bar and Grill, which is situated along the Kinnickinnic River that runs through town and gives it its name. We had a beer, Kathleen tasted her first chili, and we talked with a guy who explained how the whole thing worked. He wore a Santa hat with a plastic spoon tucked under the edge. No sense in using multiple spoons, I guess. The first chili was very good, and we quickly learned that, in Wisconsin, no chili is complete without cheese scattered on the top. We moved around the corner to a realty office, but a sign said, “No chili this year, Rick.” I love the fact that he signs with his first name, and everyone knows who he is. Next door, Broz Bar and Grill was packed to the gills with no way to really get inside, so we exercised options and moved down the street to the Maverick Corner Saloon. It was crowded, but we were able to squeeze into seats at the bar. I had a Spotted Cow, which seems to be the signature beer of a Wisconsin brewery called New Glarus. Good stuff. People came and went as we sipped our beer, and the crowd in the room turned over several times in about 20 minutes.

As we sat at the bar, taking it all in, a dour-looking man sat down next to me and ordered two Busch Lights. I nodded hello, but he seemed disinclined to engage in conversation, so I left him alone. When the girl behind the bar returned with his two beers, he ordered two more. I saw my opening, so, in my wise-ass way, I gestured toward his four beers and asked, “Are you expecting friends, or are you planning on a big afternoon?” Without cracking a grin or even looking directly at me, he deadpanned, “Both.” End of conversation.

We heard a commotion at the door, and a crowd of wildly dressed men came in, singing and having a great time. These guys had apparently taken literally the directive to don ye now their gay apparel, as they were decked out from head to toe in Christmas regalia. Christmas-tree hats blinked on and off, faces were painted, and elf slippers adorned each foot. They all carried the special River Dazzle cup that allowed them to carry liquor outside the bar, so they had clearly not been deprived of their concoction of choice while walking eleven feet to the next bar. One guy wore an outfit that was, in French artistic terms, a trompe l’oeil, or trick of the eye. (I learned this term while listening in on Robert Womack’s art history class at Harpeth Hall) It’s hard to describe, but it appeared as if he were being carried around on the back of an aged Santa Claus. Very clever costume. Eventually they rolled on out and we followed.

We tried several other places, including our favorite, the Nutty Squirrel, but they proved to be too crowded for our taste. About that time, I caught a glimpse of a frightening sight. Moving toward us with relentless speed, cutting a wake through the throngs of people like a World War II destroyer, with a maniacal gleam of holiday spirit in their eyes and a song on their lips, came my worst nightmare: Christmas carolers. This group all wore Victorian outfits that looked like something out of a Charles Dickens story. I’m not sure why they terrified me so much. I have the same reaction to mariachi singers and those annoying violin players who show up at your table in a romantic restaurant. (Okay; that never actually happened to me, but I’ve seen it in movies, and I live in mortal fear that it might occur someday). It all comes down to my uncertainty about how to behave properly. I mean, do I applaud? Do I sing along? Am I supposed to tip them? If so how much? Or, do I simply stand there with a stupid grin on my face and silently pray for them to leave? I know not what course others may take, but as for me, I did what I always do in socially awkward situations: I looked for the nearest available exit. I grabbed Kathleen’s arm and dragged her into the first doorway I saw.

It happened to be a Mexican Restaurant that was not participating in the Chili Crawl, but offered margaritas for $1. To recover from our narrow escape from a traumatic encounter, I had a fish-bowl sized one for three dollars while Kathleen had a smaller one and announced that she had had enough chili and liquor for the day. So, rather than the ten places she had vowed to hit, we had made it to two. I was reminded of the scene near the end of the Godfather where an aged Don Corleone says, “I don’t drink as much wine as I used to.”

We didn’t make it to the lighting of Main Street, and we were home before it got dark (as we usually are these days), but we discovered another fun tradition here in River Falls.

River Dazzle rules.

Slow Progress & New Friends

I woke up the other morning to a beautiful, light dusting of snow on the ground. I’m guessing that I won’t think it’s all that wonderful in a few months. Last March, during spring break, we visited up here for a few days, and there were still six-feet-deep snow drifts surrounding Ben’s driveway. I went for a run yesterday morning with the wind-chill temperature about 20. The first thing I did when I got home was get on Amazon and order some better running gloves, socks, and a ski mask. The other adjustment we will have to make is the shorter days. We are far enough north that there is less daylight than we are used to having. In the winter, it stays dark until after 8:00 and gets dark earlier at night. Then again, we don’t plan on being here all winter. There are Caribbean cruises, friends in warm climates, and craps tables in Vegas all beckoning to us during the drab, grey days of January and February.

We are still settling into our new home in incremental stages. I have now painted the entire place except the kitchen and three bathrooms, which will require more thorough updating before I paint. Painting over an interior stairway was especially challenging, as it includes a drop of nearly 30 feet from the peak of the upstairs vaulted ceiling to the bottom of the stairway in the basement. Luckily, the movers cooperated by destroying a large desk of mine during the move. I was able to take pieces of the shattered desk and cobble together a scaffold over the stairs. Then I balanced a ladder on top of that and could reach most of the ceiling edges with a long stick. I completed that part of the task while Kathleen was out of the house so as not to induce a panic attack. We have also ordered new furniture and carpeting, which should arrive in the next week or two. We are waiting to put most of our books and other things on shelves and into cabinets that will have to be moved by the folks laying the carpet. Thus we still can’t find some stuff that might be hidden at the bottom of boxes in our storage room. One of my favorite folksingers is Loudon Wainwright. Back in the ‘80s, he captured the frustrations of moving from one home to another in a song called “Cardboard Boxes.” Here is a sample of the lyrics and a link to a YouTube video of the complete song.

We got the books and the records and the tapes and the pictures
And the pots and the pans and all the breakable glass
The living room couch and the dining room table
The washer and the dryer; what a pain in the ass

–Loudon Wainwright, 1985

Aside from that, we are slowly adjusting to our new town, meeting people, and finding our way around River Falls and the Twin Cities and its suburbs. Thank goodness for GPS, or we’d still be stuck on the various interstates weaving in and around Minneapolis and St. Paul. About once a week, I’ll go to a local restaurant in the morning to read and enjoy breakfast. “The Kinni Café” is my favorite for this, as they offer a discounted price for seniors along with friendly, personable service. The other day, I overheard a conversation there that captures the laid-back attitude we’ve seen among the people in this small town.

1st man: “Have you seen George lately?”

2^nd man: “Yeah, but, ya know, he’s had some health issues.”

1^st: “No kiddin’; what’s goin’ on?”

2^nd: “Well, his heart stopped.”

1^st: “Jeez, that’s too bad.”

2^nd: “Yeah. They had to, ya know, get it goin’ again.”

1^st: “Ah, well that’s good.”

Here they were, talking about a friend having a heart attack, and the tone sounded as if they were discussing a dodgy lawnmower engine that wouldn’t start on the first pull. I guess they don’t get excited easily up here.

In terms of friendships, we are slowly meeting new people. We went to another meet raffle and, once again, Kathleen won two massive T-Bones worth about $20. The bartenders, Greg and Sandy, now know her by name, as do Lisa and Kayli, two students who moonlight as waitresses. Last night, we stopped in for dinner and had a great conversation with a fun couple we had met on an earlier visit. We are older than the parents of Jake and Nina, but we enjoy talking to them whenever we cross paths. We have explored several other bars in town, but the Nutty Squirrel has become the one we stop at most frequently. The other night, grand-daughter Abigail (age 9) walked the half-mile to our house by herself to deliver some mail that had gone to their house. She called first, afraid that we might be out at “that Nutty Squirrel place.” Is it bad when your grandkids know what your favorite bar is?

Our duplex/condo is part of an elongated cul-du-sac at the end of a long street adjoining a golf course. I think there are 28 units in 14 pairs of buildings. Most of the people who live here are retired, and they have all proved to be helpful without being intrusive. They also hold periodic happy-hour gatherings on Wednesday afternoons for about an hour. It seems that 6 to 12 people attend each of these, although, the particular people might vary. The first one we attended was outdoors on the grassy common area, but lately we have been driven indoors by the cold temperatures. The people are all pleasant and bright, which makes for lively and enjoyable conversation. In particular, Jane and Larry taught English at UWRF before retiring. I had a great discussion with Larry last week about the history of mystery and detective stories, ranging from Edgar Allen Poe, to Sherlock Holmes, to Ross McDonald, to contemporary writers. While painting walls, I have been listening to a Great Courses lecture series on that very subject, so the timing was fortuitous for me.

In short, we have been impressed with the friendliness and intelligence of everyone we have met. DMV clerks, waitpersons, delivery men and women, cable installers, and everyone else with whom we have been involved have been helpful, competent, personable, and bright. Two factors play into this, I think. First, of course, is the public education system. We pay considerably higher property taxes up here than we did in Tennessee, but we are happy to pay it if it results in better education than the abysmal public schools of Tennessee. Another factor that affects the quality of the work force in Wisconsin is that they seem to pay higher wages. Every business we go into has a “Now Hiring” sign, and many of them mention the hourly wage, which is better than comparable jobs in Nashville. I suppose this all means they are able to attract smarter workers with a strong work ethic. This is all just impressionable evidence and a small sample size, but, so far, we have had pleasant interactions with almost everyone we have met in River Falls.

Raincoats and Tiaras: A River Falls Homecoming

As a small town, River Falls has a number of festivals, parades, and other events that provide continuity with the past and a sense of community for the present. In mid-October each year, they hold the homecoming weekend for the University of Wisconsin at River Falls and it is a region-wide affair. Homecoming parades used to be a staple for, not just small-towns, but for every suburb and big-city neighborhood in America. We were happy to see that River Falls continues this tradition even as it has disappeared in many other communities.

We had the grandkids for the weekend while Ben and Amber were out of town for a wedding. Homecoming weekend provided all of the entertainment we would need. On Friday night, the college showed the recent live-action re-make of the 1992 Disney cartoon, Aladdin. They also invited anyone in town to attend for free. We thought this would be perfect for both Abigail, age 9, and Lucas, age 6. The film was good, although less engaging than the original with Robin Williams as the genie, and the kids had a ball. I doubt that Lucas got all of the jokes, but he laughed whenever the audience did and added his own distinctive, infectious giggle when something tickled him. The students who hosted the event and handed out free popcorn were friendly, helpful, and welcoming. So far, I have seen none of the Town-versus-Gown tension that exists in many college towns. It may well occur, but it appears that the students and townspeople here seem to mix and mingle in an easy manner without conflict. Many of our favorite waitresses and bartenders have been students from UWRF, and we have found them in variably to be bright, outgoing, and helpful.

On Saturday morning, the kids were enticed to cease watching Garfield cartoons for a while by the promise of candy being tossed to the crowd by marchers in the parade. They brought plastic pumpkin containers with which to carry their anticipated bounty. The morning was cool (45-50 degrees) with light rain falling, but a two-block stretch of Main Street was already filled twenty minutes before the parade. Main Street in the downtown area is a wide thoroughfare with one lane in each direction and a median in the middle with benches, trees, and bike racks. Parallel parking is available for free on each side of the street, as well as on each side of the median. The street was blocked off for the parade. Unable to find a good spot to stand along the storefronts, we picked a location across the street on the median. As it turned out, this was a fortuitous decision, as Abigail and Lucas were the only children in the immediate area.

While waiting for the parade to begin, I noticed something else about River Falls: little kids don’t mind the cold. Adults talk about the weather all the time and speculate about the coming winter. Kids like Abigail and Lucas, however, love the snow and the cold. On Christmas vacation two years ago, the temperature was below zero, and the kids had a house full of new toys. All they wanted to do, though, was go outside and play. In the summer, Amber has to force them to go out, and she sets a timer for 30 minutes, encouraging them to do something—anything—that will get them out of the house for a while. So, as the adults shivered under umbrellas and waited for the parade, a bunch of kids were in the middle of the street dancing and playing in the puddles of water. It was heartening to see children in spontaneous play without toys or electronic devices.

Finally, we heard some commotion: the parade was beginning. A Scottish bagpipe unit came first. A relative of mine—one I don’t recall ever meeting—won a bagpipe scholarship to Maclester College in nearby St. Paul, so perhaps there were a lot of Scots who settled in the area along with all of the Scandinavians and Germans. The pipers were followed by the middle-school marching band. This band was impressively large for such a small town. After that, we saw a group of middle-aged men (or older) riding in tiny go-carts with fezzes carefully protected by specially made plastic coverings. These, I knew, were Shriners. They drove their undersized vehicles in figure eights and other interlocking formations for a few minutes before moving on. Then came . . . another Shriners group from another town nearby. Then another. And another. They came on miniature motorcycles, small cars, and other minute modes of transportation. They came on Harleys and firetrucks. There must have been 8 or 10 groups of Shriners from Wisconsin and Minnesota. I know that the Shriners are a fraternal group that raises money for Children’s hospitals and burn units. Aside from that, the clubs seem to be an excuse for middle-aged men (or older) to re-live their childhoods by riding around on cars and bikes better suited to young kids. And, somehow, I’ll bet beer is involved. That all sounds fine to me, and the show was entertaining, but our grandkids were growing impatient and wondering when the candy would arrive.

Finally, the girls’ soccer team from UWRF came down the street. Some were crammed into a pick-up truck, but others walked alongside or behind the truck tossing candy to the kids. This was the moment for which Lucas and Abigail had been waiting. After the soccer team came the volleyball girls and the track and cross-country team and the golf team. Every squad except the football team (which was probably getting ready for the game) was represented. There were cheerleaders and dance squads as well. And each group brought candy and plenty of it. About then, we noticed that Abigail and Lucas were the only kids in our area. The college kids invariably spotted them, came over, and put a handful of candy in their plastic pumpkins. It didn’t hurt that Lucas’s luminous yellow sweatshirt shone like a beacon of light on the gloomy day. Several people mentioned the brightness of his shirt.

The sports teams were followed by some monstrous, J. I. Case tractors representing various agricultural groups. These things had to be 10 feet high with double wheels all around. Truly impressive. Finally, the homecoming court arrived, but it wasn’t what we expected. I guess we thought it would be girls all dolled up, with beautiful gowns and half-a-pound of make-up. Instead, the girls wore practical, jeans-and-sweater outfits, sometimes covered by a clear raincoat. Make-up, which would run in the rain, was also absent, and, indeed, unnecessary on girls that young. The homecoming queen was easy to pick out because of the tiara on her head. The choice of clothing pointed out another difference that we have noticed between River Falls and Nashville. These people dress pragmatically, for the weather, rather than trying to impress anyone with their ensemble. After the college court, the homecoming queens and courts from several other local high schools followed. My guess is that many of the schools are from towns too small to have a parade of their own, so they consolidate them into the one at River Falls. The common link was that they all dressed in that same, unpretentious way, with raincoats and tiaras.

As we walked back to our car after the parade, the kids struggled to carry their bulging pumpkins and noted that they had hauled in more candy than they had all night last Halloween. Kathleen and I anticipated a sugar-high that would have them bouncing off of the walls at mid-night. As we got in the car, Abigail, who generally, at best, grudgingly tolerates her younger brother, said, “Next year, Lucas, you have to make sure you wear that sweatshirt again!”