Chapter seven
Move to Battle Lake
In April 1948 we moved to Battle Lake and I finished the fifth grade there in a new school. Dad rented a house on a hill over looking Battle Lake and Silver Lake. He rented while looking for a house to buy. As summer arrived Dad bought me a new Schwin Bicycle. I got a paper route for the St. Paul Pioneer Press, a Sunday paper, and found enough customers to earn a trip to St. Paul. With 38 other boys I stayed in the YMCA, swam in a swimming pool for the first time, toured the paper plant, and watched a Minneapolis Lakers basketball game.
During that summer I mowed yards, delivered papers, drove a tractor on a side delivery rack and lugged bales for the Norman Gilbertson, saved money, joined the Boy Scouts, and swam in Battle Lake. With my paper and yard money I paid for a week scout summer camp on Lake Itasca. In the fall Neal and I and a dozen town boys helped Mister Gilbertson harvest his acre of potatoes and afterward Mister Gilbertson asked me to come down and wash milk bottles in the town bottling plant. I gave away my paper route and names I mowed for. Mister Gilbertson owned the plant and two farms, his boys Norman and Carl each farmed one. I started work at four A.M., worked to eight, and hurried to school starting at 8:45. If they needed me I went back after four. On Saturdays and Sundays I helped with town deliveries, house to house, restaurants, and stores.
In the Spring Mister Gilbertson sold out to the Battle Lake Creamery that was controlled by Cass Clay. They used bottled milk in paper containers and Bernie Roberts asked me to stay on. A week after my thirteen birthday, I started working seven days a week at four doing house to house until 8 and then school. On weekends and in the summer I worked full days doing restaurants, stores, resorts, and doing odd jobs in the Creamery. These included dumping milk cans, wrapping Land O Lakes butter, hamburger grinding, and slaughterhouse work.
The Hudson Hornet
As the decade came to a close in November 1949 Dad was thinking about a new car for a 1950 summer trip west through South Pass on to California and back the southern route. He thought that his 1947 Ford needed to be replaced and had saved $600 for a trade. On the way back Dad planned to stop in Missouri to visit with his oldest brother Clarence and in Iowa to visit Roy the next oldest.
Around the barbershop in Battle Lake the cribbage players and real customers talked about a new Hudson dealership in Fergus Falls. Weeks of this talk and reports from those that actually saw these new cars raved about the Hudson Hornet and turned Dad's usually sensible head. They talked about a car with an automatic transmission and once over 40 miles per hour an overdrive lever to pull. In overdrive Dad told me it would save gas and make the trip cheaper. Also, he was intrigued about the step down into feature that lowered the center of gravity that others told him made the Hudson safer on curvy roads. Dad talked for weeks across the supper table of all the curves in the hilly places before the Rockies. He talked about a place he wanted to drive through called Granite Pass and claimed one could see the top ten miles away before you started zigzagging up across the face of the mountain.
All of this promotional talk by lookers finally consumed Harry and he had to go see the Hudson Hornet. Mother and the kids were dropped off at the Dime store and we would pick them up Hergemeyer's Red Owl Store. I was proud that Dad let me go with him to look at the Hudson Hornet, the new marvel.
We walked into a lighted plate-glass showroom on two sides, offices behind, and a wall with a large double door to move new cars in and out. Father and I mixed in with half a dozen men looking at the new 1950 Hudsons. A Hudson Hornet took Dad fancy. It was blue and white one with lots of chrome and blue vinyl seat covers.
"You interested in that one? It was a special order." A salesman asked holding out his hand and introducing himself, "Bill Waterman."
"Yes that one," and Dad added, "Harry Peterman," as he shook the offered hand.
"Trade-in or purchase?"
"That green Ford," Dad said twisting around to point at our '47 Ford.
"Let's take a look at it," Bill Waterman offered and walked away with Dad following.
I stayed inside beside the blue and white Hornet as if guarding it. My eyes stared through the plate glass at them outside gesturing toward the Hornet and back at the '47 Ford. After a few minutes they returned. Dad looked dejected and Bill Waterman walked over to help another customer.
"Wants $800 to boot," Dad told me in a low tone so as not to share our situation with others in the room.
"That's not giving us much for ours." I replied.
"Practically nothing."
"Are we leaving," I asked Dad?
Looking around at the other customers he shook his head. "If they don't sell any to this crowd they might give me a better deal in a few minutes-better to sell one tonight than none."
A half hour passed while we walked around the room looking at the other cars and collecting a pamphlet about the new Hudsons. While we looked at a black four-door another customer walked in. The new customer, a reddish-brown whiskered husky-looking farmer right out of the barnyard, was unshaven for several days, belly pushing outward and wearing bib overalls unbuttoned down both sides. The man wore a red and black plaid wool shirt unbuttoned at the collar showing off faded red long johns. The farmer had come straight from milking from the smell of him and had managed get each boot in the gutter. His odor and rough dress pushed the other customers and salesmen away from him. The farmer looked at all the cars briefly and ended up standing in front of the blue and white Hudson Hornet that Dad wanted.
The salesmen ignored him until they had exhausted all the other customers. Only then did Bill Waterman smile that I want to sell you something smile and shook hands with the farmer.
"I'm Bill Waterman. How may I help you?"
"I want this one." The farmer tapped the hood of the blue and white Hornet to emphasis his choice, "How much?"
"Sixteen eighty-seven."
"I'll take it." The farmer unbuttoned his bib pocket, pulled out a fold of hundred dollar bills, and started counting out the price on the hood. "One, two, three ? Name's Otis Rosok ? fifteen ? sixteen, and seventeen," the farmer said scooping up the counted bills and handing them to the salesman. Bill Waterman was shocked and stared a moment at the bills in his hand while Rosok folded the remaining bills and returned them to his bib overall pocket. As Rosok snapped shut his pocket his comment got him Waterman with moving.
"I'll want to drive it home tonight."
Bill Waterman nodded and turned away to do the paper work.
Rosok stepped to the front door, opened it, and shouted, "Son ? Adrian take the truck home ? I'll drive the new one." A motor started outside, lights smeared across the glass, and slowly the vehicle noise faded.
As Rosok walked toward Bill Waterman's open office door to sign the paperwork, Dad whispered "Gene ? let's go."
I followed and knew from the look on my Dad's face that it hurt not to be able to buy the car he wanted and crushed over watching it being sold. It broke his heart but not his spirit and I learned a lot that night. The lesson of how a man handles disappointment.
In our old green '47 Ford as we waited for an oncoming car Dad smiled and grinned at me. "That Rosok saved me from making a fool of myself and throwing away $800 dollars. This old Ford's got a lot of miles left in it."
When an oncoming car passed Dad let out the clutch and ours jerked forward into traffic. As we moved down streetlights hung with Christmas decoration what could I reply but, "Yes it does."
We did not go on our trip to California the summer of 1950. In fact one thing, a temporary barber to work in the barbershop delayed it until the summer of 1952. By that time Richard in the new Air Force was stationed out there. Bud, Evonne, and the grandchildren lived in Oakland and our visit to them was important enough to get us moving in the old green '47 Ford. I had my driver's permit and was proud to be the second driver, but Dad drove up Granite Pass.
That day we drove as we had every day with all windows down for it was a warm summer day and the breeze felt good. Out
side of Sheridan Wyoming Dad turned west, following the Tongue River, and turned south at Burgess Junction on Route 14. Dad stopped at the bottom at a pull-out and we all stared at a twisting road up to the top- over 9 thousand feet.
All were quiet in our '47 Ford moving upslope twisting and turning on sharp curving switchbacks and moving higher and higher. As we moved upward the road seemed to narrow, especially on those switchbacks. More than halfway up the mountain, two laughing white-headed women squealed tires on a pink Cadillac convertible above us on every switchback. I sat in the front passenger seat, watched our front tire run along a foot or two of pavement before the drop off down the mountain, hoped we met them on an inside stretch, and hoped we did not meet them on a switchback curve. Five or six thousand feet up the face of that slope, those ladies roared toward us on a straight stretch waving and radio blaring. Our '47 Ford was on the outside. I looked and saw less than six inches of pavement alongside the front tire and closed my eyes as that Cadillac passed. I don't remember the song their radio played but when I looked at Dad he was sweating, in the backseat Mom still had her eyes closed, and I was breathing heavily. Harriet, Neal, and Janet were up on their knees laughing and looking back through the back window. All three pointed backward as we eased into the next upward curve. It was a moment you never forget.
Addspeak: Gradually my world returned to normal as the effects of the war seemed far away. Only our new plywood kitchen cabinet Grandpa Fred Lystrom made and the diving board platform out in West Battle Lake reminded me that things had changed. Dad bought the barbershop, rented the back rooms to Mrs. Hammond after Jim died, enjoyed managing the local baseball team, and took up horseshoes. I was planning to tryout for American Legion ball in the spring, got a paper route, saved my money to pay for Boy Scout camp on Lake Itasca in the summer, and played American Legion ball. The biggest new of the year in 1952 was being able to receive the signal of a Fargo station and in the fall of the year Dad bought a Television set. It was one of the first in the neighborhood and we had lots of evening visitors.
Part seven
Eight Grandpa Stories
Fourteen
Odd ends Page 25