How to Talk Minnesotan

by Howard Mohr

  Here is a sample dialogue. You can practice further by inventing other car-repair problems for yourself.

  DRIVER: “Warm, isn’t it?” (Or: “She’s cold, isn’t she?” Depending on the season.)

  MECHANIC: “You got that right. Humidity.”

  If the mechanic doesn’t say anything else immediately, don’t press him. This is the role he has been waiting to play since the last poor tourist rolled in. He may keep working on the car in front of him, he may go get a cold drink, he may seem to ignore you. He’ll get to you—just hold your horses. After what may seem to you like enough time has passed to drive to the cabin and have your first beer, the mechanic will finally make his move.

  MECHANIC: “Problems with the Buick?”

  DRIVER: “If it’s not too much trouble I thought maybe you could look at this thing. It’s a Ford.”

  M: “Right. Ford. So what’s it doing then?”

  You should offer an opinion to give the mechanic something to work from, but don’t act like a know-it-all.

  D: “I don’t know. Drive shaft, you think?”

  M: “Did she kinda squeak?”

  D: “Yeah, and shimmied sort of.”

  M: “I suppose a guy could check that drive shaft.”

  D: “Whatever. You’re the boss.”

  M: “Why don’t you run her in that second stall there.”

  D: “You bet.”

  If the mechanic mentions the word transmission or crankshaft, well, what can I say? You’re down to two choices—you can sell the car to him or you can start signing traveler’s checks.

  I’m not saying this problem is worse in Minnesota than it is anywhere else in the country—it’s just not any better.

  CARS IN CONVERSATION

  Nothing will label you a stranger here faster than a shyness or ignorance about cars. Always keep in mind that cars are not just a means of transportation in Minnesota, they’re a way of life and a top-rated subject of conversation among Minnesota men. You can talk to a Minnesota man about almost anything, but if you don’t talk cars, the dry spells will be longer than usual.

  Here’s a typical conversation between two Minnesota men.

  —“Read any good books lately?”

  —“You bet.”

  —“What was it?”

  —“A paperback.”

  —“Any particular paperback?”

  —“Yeah, it was.”

  —“Men’s fashions sure seem to be changing quite a bit, don’t they?”

  —“Not that I’ve noticed.”

  —“This acid rain business, I don’t know what to think.”

  —“Me either.”

  —“What are you driving these days?”

  —“Well, I still got that 1970 Chrysler Newport Special I bought used off a lot with 82,000 on it. She’s been a good runner. It’s broken in now with 164,000 actual miles on it. I ground the valves at 90,000, but otherwise I haven’t touched it, except for some minor bodywork, you know, stuffing rags in the trunk holes where it rusted out, screwing a little sheet metal on the fenders. The usual. She’s a little mushy in the brake area because of a slow leak in the vacuum booster—makes a noise like a whoopee cushion, but all you have to do is push harder on the brake pedal and it’ll stop. Pushed so hard once I broke the back off the driver’s seat. But I don’t need a backrest anyway; it weakens your concentration.

  “Back in August I took a wrong turn in the fog with the old Chrysler—I thought it was the road, but it was a farm lane and it headed right by the runoff area of this feedlot—must’ve been a hundred cattle in there. By the time my headlights reflected off that brown pool, I only had two choices: either gun it or skid to a halt in the middle and wade out. I gunned her and fishtailed through. Covered everything in the engine with about an inch of semi-liquid cow refuse—plug wires, distributor, fire wall. You name it. For about six weeks there until everything baked off, people would cup their hand over their nose when I drove by. A lot of cars couldn’t take that kind of abuse. It’s got that 386 V-8. The suspension system is hurting, though. I put heavy-duty shocks on her, but I’ve never been happy with the way it handles on the corners.

  “I don’t know what it is, but it’ll start good—if you keep that manual choke I put on it out about an inch and motorboat the footfeed, but then she’ll run ragged and then run good, and then cough and sputter for no reason I can figure. I’m guessing sticky valves, but it could be a bad plug wire. I can live with it. I just don’t go more than thirty miles from home so I can phone my wife to get me if it cashes in on me.

  “But it’s been one thing after the other this last week. Turn signals failed. Not failed exactly. The lights lit up, but they didn’t blink. So I have to blink them by flipping the lever with my left hand when I want to turn, which is okay, only for some reason that makes the radio go on and off in time with the turn signal. So I crawled under the dash, looking for a short, and it’s spaghetti under there, and I cut a few wires, and taped some wires, and ripped out a couple of things that didn’t look important. Turn signals work okay now, but when I turn on the radio, the windshield wipers go back and forth, unless the dome light is on. It’s a mystery. I’ve been out there in the cold shop almost continuously for five days, standing on my head, trying to get to the bottom of it.

  “But as I say, I can live with it, ’cause it’s so cheap to drive. When my wife drives it, she wears dark glasses and won’t wave at anybody. She says everybody knows that Chrysler and they laugh at her. But ever since I welded on that new homemade muffler at least it sounds like a truck now instead of a Boeing 727. She wishes we’d trade up to a ’75 maybe or even a ’78, she was saying. She calls the old Chrysler the prairie schooner, because it rides like a boat and steers like a raft. You gotta put up with a few inconveniences with an old car. That’s my feeling. And if I had a newer car, you think it wouldn’t have trouble? There’s not a car made that doesn’t require some creative maintenance.”

  If a Minnesotan asks you what you’re driving, at all costs avoid the following kind of reply.

  —“What? Are you kidding me? Who cares? I get in, I turn the key, I drive it. Period. That’s it. If it’s broke, I pay somebody to fix it. End of discussion. Let’s talk about the bond market or something.”

  Minnesota women will also talk cars, but they mainly talk about men and cars together. The conversations can last awhile, but they usually begin like this:

  —“Sometimes I wonder if he doesn’t think more of that car than he does of me. He spends more time with it. He also caresses it more.”

  —“I know what you mean. And if you go out to the shop he says ‘What?’ the way he does.”

  —“My mother said I should watch out for other women. She didn’t say anything at all about watching out for cars.”

  —“You bet. If Harold looked at another woman I’d take it as a sign of health.”

  —“You got that right.”

  THE MINNESOTA FELLOWSHIP FOR CAR MECHANICS

  It’s no secret that Minnesota is the hotbed of artistic endeavor and the national leader in awards, grants, gifts, and stipends given to those with a flair for the creative arts.

  But what is not so widely known is that self-made Minnesota millionaire and shade-tree mechanic, Orton Daily, is responsible for the world’s first (and only as of this printing) Fellowship for Car Mechanics. When Orton died a bachelor in early 1970 (he was found with his head under the hood of a ’49 Hudson, dipstick in hand and a smile on his face), his will directed that his entire fortune go to establish the Daily Oil, Gas, and Grease Foundation. He said he was “tired of seeing foundation money poured down a rathole” and he wanted some car mechanics to get in on the gravy train. “If it came to a choice, and your car was missing, would you want a poet to work on it or a mechanic?” To him the answer was obvious.

  I asked Donald L. Ballade, Duluth, the 1986 recipient of the Minnesota Fellowship for Car Mechanics, to write a few words about his award:

  It�
�s not the twenty-five grand, you know, even though it’s tax-free, that I was after. I wanted freedom to explore innovative ways to work on cars. When I was tied down to my 8-to-5 job—ha! I was lucky to get out of the shop by 7—I really didn’t have the time or the energy to experiment.

  So the first thing I did was travel to Europe for three months, where I studied foreign auto-repair techniques. When I got back I immediately started assimilating some of those ideas into my developing concept of the American tune-up. I meant to set the world of carburetion on its ear. I figured I could do that best by renting a beach house on Martha’s Vineyard. There was an attached garage where I did my work at night. During the day I did quite a bit of sailing to relax and to let my thoughts gel.

  It was a good year for me. I went deeper into myself. When I opened my shop doors again, the customers were the big winners—I had found my identity as a contemporary mechanic, and they could tell it and had no objections to my raised prices. Next month I’m speaking to a group of car mechanics in Brainerd about attitude. And in the summer, I’ll be leading a carburetor workshop at the car-repair retreat up on the North Shore.

  TALKING CARS: AN UPDATE

  The basic information for visitors to Minnesota about what to say to the mechanic if you have car trouble is still accurate, especially if you are driving a vintage car, that is, a vehicle from 1987 or before. But if you have hopped on the twenty-first-century bandwagon and now own a vehicle manufactured after 2002, your interface with any mechanic in Minnesota will be considerably different.

  MECHANIC: “So what can I do you for then?”

  OUT-OF-STATE VISITOR (OSV): “We’re heading up to the Lost Walleye Lodge for a couple of weeks, and all of a sudden there’s something’s wrong with this thing, because the engine light came on and it’s blinking.”

  MECHANIC: “You’re in for a good time, because Lost Walleye Lodge is one of my favorites. No frills but lots of good vibes, as we used to say in the sixties.”

  OSV: “Well, yeah, thanks for the tip, but what about the blinking engine light on the dash?”

  MECHANIC: “The deal is that engine light is not supposed to blink, so the first thing we know is that there’s a problem with the check-engine light. It shouldn’t blink.”

  OSV: “Big trouble?”

  MECHANIC: “Your check-engine warning light, blinking or not, covers engine problems from A to Z.”

  OSV: “Can you help me?”

  MECHANIC: “Pop the hood and I’ll plug in the computer and see what we got. Of course it could be anything, in my estimation.”

  OSV: “Do you think it’s something bad? You look worried.”

  MECHANIC: “A guy never knows. Here we go, here we go, the screen is coming up, take a look.”

  OSV: “Yeah, I see it says there’s a malfunction in the check-engine light. Can you fix that?”

  MECHANIC: “Nothing to fix the way I see it.”

  OSV: “Could it be the carburetor?”

  MECHANIC: (hearty laughter) “It could be anything except that. You’ve got a fuel injection engine.”

  OSV: “So what should I do?”

  MECHANIC: “You should get back in the car and continue on your way to the Lost Walleye Lodge.”

  OSV: “But is it safe to drive?”

  MECHANIC: “It’s safe to drive unless you keep obsessing about that blinking engine light and forget to pay attention to the road.”

  OSV: “Can you turn that light off for me?”

  MECHANIC: “I don’t have the codes for that, but I tell you what, I’ll put this attractive piece of gray duct tape over that blinking light so you can’t see it, and you’re good to go.”

  OSV: “How much do I owe you?”

  MECHANIC: “My professional consultation is on the house.”

  OSV: “Gosh, thanks.”

  MECHANIC: “You bet. Enjoy your stay.”

  Bob Humde Composto-Carb:

  An Update

  The COMPOSTO-CARB is one of Bob Humde’s most ambitious inventions. However, Bob’s description of the COMPOSTO-CARB implies that the car operates solely on waste products, when actually he should have mentioned that it also has a gas tank and uses some petroleum for the combustion process. The ratio of low lead to waste was a very fuel efficient one gallon to three bushels in 1986, when Bob did the drive from St. Paul to Duluth. In other words, Bob Humde created the first hybrid car in Minnesota, with a fossil fuel efficiency that has not been touched since.

  But as usual, Bob was a bit slack about consulting applicable regulations. It was soon after the Duluth run that Bob ran afoul of the Minnesota Pollution Control Agency (MPCA), two deputies of which dropped by his workshop west of Hanley Falls to test emissions on the hybrid Buick. The MPCA had been hearing complaints from several folks who had to follow behind Bob’s hybrid on his historic trip, and from homeowners who lived along Bob’s route.

  I was not able to get my hands on a copy of the MPCA test results, but it was widely known that the phrase “stunk to high heaven” was used liberally in the scientific report. That was that for Bob. It took the wind right out of his sails.

  The Minnesota Historical Society (MHS) acquired the hybrid Buick for an undisclosed sum in 1995. It had been sitting in the grove of trees behind Bob’s house since his censure by the MPCA. It was restored to its original condition and is displayed in the main lobby of the MHS inventor pavilion, where it continues to be one of the most popular permanent installations.

  Lutefisk

  [Note: I’m sorry that I have to mention lutefisk (lewd-uh-fisk) in this guidebook. Sorry for myself. If I don’t mention lutefisk the critics will jump me for the glaring omission, but if I do mention it, as I am doing right now, they’ll jump me anyway for stooping to such a thing. But my obligation is to you, the reader. How can I let you travel to Minnesota totally ignorant about lutefisk? —H.M.]

  lutefisk, n. [from OHG, fishlute, a banjo-like instrument played with the elbows.] 1. a translucent, rubbery food product with a profound odor, created by soaking dried cod in a solution of lye, although equivalent results are claimed for doing the same to gym socks. 2. lutefiskicuffs, an altercation between several Scandinavians over who gets the last slice. 3. [Rare] linear distance from the rock to the hard place. 4. [Slang] a two-door automobile with bald tires and no taillights. 5. [Poker] the biggest pot of the night, taken with a pair of deuces.

  —from The New Lutefisk Handbook

  ICE FISHING IN MINNESOTA

  Here are some answers to Frequently Asked Questions about ice fishing, with answers from the Minnesota Bureau of Tourism booklet meant to lure visitors from Texas, Florida, and Arizona to Minnesota in winter.

  1.1. Why should I spend my vacation in Minnesota in the winter instead of the summer?

  Ice fishing is the answer. You won’t get sunburn. The kids aren’t gonna hound you to go water skiing. No detours, no road construction. All the fancy restaurants will be closed. No mosquitoes. No waiting for a tee time. Ice fishing is fishing as Nature intended it. The only sounds will be the snapping of your nose hairs as they freeze and thaw with each breath and the distant whisper of traffic headed for the casino.

  1.2. I kind of like the idea of leaving Tampa in the winter and driving up to do some ice fishing for walleyes, but down here the TV people always call Minnesota the “Frozen Tundra of the North.”

  You must have seen that TV documentary about the town of Dunferg, Minnesota, a few years ago. Totally exaggerated. What happened was that an unexplained flash-freeze front went through the town and all seventy-three citizens of Dunferg were frozen stiff as boards. Unfortunate, yes, but we would rather focus on the positive aspects of the freak accident. The University of Minnesota’s celebrated Department of Ice came out immediately and revived the victims with their breakthrough slow-thawing technology. Not one citizen suffered any permanent effects from the experience, except the mayor of Dunferg, who periodically barks like a dog at council meetings and eats all the doughnuts.

&
nbsp; 1.3. What equipment do I need to get into ice fishing?

  At the basic level you need an ice auger for drilling the hole and a five-gallon plastic pail with a lid to sit on. The pail contains your beer, bait, and lunch. Tie the line to a short stick and attach your choices of sinker, bobber, and hook.

  1.4. How large should the ice hole be?

  Never bigger around than you are.

  1.5. I’m a fly fisherman. What special casting techniques should be used for ice fishing?

  Most guys lean over and drop the line in from about two feet above the hole. You will develop finesse after a day or two on the ice.

  1.6. Do I really have to sit outside?

  Personally, I prefer the pure form of ice fishing, but if you must have shelter, think small. If your fish house has upstairs bedrooms, fine art on the walls, flush toilets, attached garage, and you bought it through a realtor, you have sullied the sport.

  1.7. What should I look for when I buy a fish house?

  Make sure it has a door. Then make sure it has a window on the opposite side in case it tips over door-side down. For size, most guys like something that will seat five poker players.

  1.8. Is ice fishing dangerous?

  Driving your pickup in the dark onto a frozen lake thirty feet deep and parking it next to your fish house is statistically safer than watching three bowl games in a row on TV while eating junk food. Most guys make it a habit to drive only their oldest pickup onto the ice, and they keep the windows rolled down and don’t wear their seatbelts.

  1.9. Do Minnesotans really race their fish houses?

  Not if they can help it. What caused that rumor was that about twenty-five years ago Roger Swenson gained notoriety after he fell asleep inside his fish house on Leech Lake. When he woke up, he was sailing across the ice pushed by a Canadian clipper out of the northwest. The sheriff figured he reached a good forty-five miles per hour by mid-lake, a fish house speed record that still stands.