Halvorsen Saga

Early morning, freezing temperatures, deep snow, and grumpy customers, that was my first job…a newspaper boy! I delivered the “Minneapolis Star” newspaper to about 35-40 houses six days a week. My paper route was a couple of miles away from home, I’d ride my bike to the route every day except Saturday. The Star was a morning paper from a big city and was popular with many folks because our local paper, the Huronite, did not have a great deal of national and international news. I didn’t mind the early hours, except in the winter. Most of the time, the quiet and solitude were perfect for me. I’d found the job because I wanted spending money and the pittance of an allowance I received from my parents certainly wasn’t enough to keep me in Snicker bars at Ravine Lake. The newspaper office was in downtown Huron, a small, run-down building in the 300 south block of Wisconsin Ave. The newspapers themselves were dropped off at a corner half a mile from my route. Several flat stacks of papers he...

That was the year my Grandpa Halvorsen died. In April. I was with him.  I had been home by myself, my parents were at the country club, I don't remember where my sister was, probably with friends. The phone rang, it was grandma, she was in a panic, crying, terrified. Grandpa had fallen and was not getting up, could I come. They lived about half a mile away, I could have run or ridden my bike but instead I jumped in my mom's 1956 Chrysler New Yorker and drove to their house. Only five minutes. My grandfather was laying on the bathroom floor, twitching violently. I went to touch him, to do something, I'm not sure what. My grandmother screamed to not touch him. All I could do was watch him shake. In 1964 in Huron, SD, there was no 911. When you called for an ambulance you were actually waiting for a doctor. Thirty minutes later the ambulance came, about the same time my parents arrived. I'd called them before I left home. By then, my grandfather had stopped shaking. Stoppe...

 I was 16 and definitely not sweet although working in a Coca-cola plant should have made me that way. I don't remember how I got the job, probably from asking at the Country Club. The owner of the plant was named Ellwein. He was a member of the club and quite vocal, hmmm loud. For some reason, he liked me. He had a daughter my age, Paula.  Back in those days all soda was sold in bottles or in fountain tanks. The plant I worked at bottled Coke and 7-Up, and maybe Fresca. I don't remember if we actually bottled Fresca but I do remember Ellwein saying that he thought Fresca would knock competitor Squirt off the map. Didn't happen. The bottles were reused, so a deposit was charged when you bought the product and when you returned the bottle you received your deposit back. The deposit on each bottle was two cents. As little kids, we would look for bottles in the ditch or the ballpark, take them to a grocery store, and get two cents each. Coca-cola "plant" is probably ...

  I found my first job more by accident than on purpose. I had just turned 14, full of the energy and hormones, and little common sense. The Huron County Club had a swimming pool, the only pool in town. Most of my swimming time had been with friends at Ravine Lake, a small swimming hole on the northeast side of town. We didn't belong to "The Club" until my dad was promoted and Armours started paying the dues. I’d go to the Club pool when my parents gave me a ride but didn’t spend a lot of time there except to play golf. The pool was relatively new at the Club and consequently the rules and procedures were still evolving. The country club staff was mostly volunteers, men helping with golf and the bar, women helping with pool and restaurant stuff.  The pool did not have a snack bar but did have a large coat closet with a door that opened onto the pool deck. Someone suggested that the door be changed to a Dutch Door and the room into a snack bar…no seating area, just shelves...