by Mimi Johnson
Every new wrinkle was met with skepticism. “But I never abandoned the personal service that made it the Corner Grocery Store,” Erickson says. “So they kept coming, shaking their heads and saying I was getting too big for my britches, and then heading to the deli or the salad bar or the seafood shop to get something quick for dinner.”
Erickson expanded into other towns, always insisting his managers provide the same personal service. He visited each store at least once a year, chatting up the customers, bagging groceries and making sandwiches.
The grocer became one of Iowa’s leading philanthropists, paying to build a new annex on the Lindsborg Lutheran Church, collecting clothes and food for the needy statewide every Christmas season in barrels at the entrances to his stores, and funding several scholarships at Iowa State.
His generosity was personal, too. When a fiery car crash killed his high school basketball coach, James Westphal, along with his wife, their older son, and young daughter, Erickson took the surviving son, an Iowa State freshman and basketball standout, under his wing.
“I was dealing with a lot of anger and grief,” says Jack Westphal, the orphaned youth who went on to become editor and publisher of the Lindsborg Journal. “Swede knew when I needed someone to listen, and he knew when I needed to be left alone, and he knew when I needed a kick in the pants.”
While Erickson was building his grocery empire, he became active in Republican politics, contributing to candidates, attending national conventions and serving on the state Board of Regents and Economic Development Commission.
Five years ago, Republican Gov. Allen Waldorf’s popularity was sagging, and Erickson decided to challenge him. Erickson’s charm and energetic campaign style, along with promises to reverse the state’s economic fortunes, overwhelmed Waldorf in the primary and Des Moines lawyer Robert Ryan in the general election.
Ryan remains bitter. “In a debate, I challenged Swede on his promise to strengthen our schools,” the Democrat recalls. “He responded with a lot of flowery, vague rhetoric about restoring pride in our schools. Maybe his plan was better than mine, but I was honest enough to tell voters what I wanted to do.”
Ryan admits Erickson has been an outstanding governor, reviving the economy, reorganizing the schools, and leading an aggressive disaster response and recovery program after the state was devastated by floods.
Ryan doubts that success will transfer to the national stage. “Swede needs to learn to trust someone. I’m sure he’s a hell of a poker player, but I don’t think you can lead the country playing that close to the vest.”
Erickson brushes aside such criticism: “I don’t believe in trial balloons. I was busy running for governor and didn’t have time to work out the details that were essential for the school plan to stand up and succeed. It wasn’t a matter of trust. I told the voters I wanted to restore respect in our schools, and I did it.”
The governor and his friends agree he is difficult to get to know. “Swedes are, by nature, very reserved. I’d never presume to think that I know everything about him,” says Westphal, who turned down an offer to be communications director for the presidential campaign after Erickson fired Patrick Donnelly.
“As outgoing as I am,” Erickson says, “I am protective of my private life. But the people of Lindsborg know me. Ask them. They’ll tell you everything about me. There are no secrets in a small town.”
But there are.
Longtime Erickson friends stated, when asked recently, that Rolf Olsen own The Pantry, the competing grocery store in town. Olsen does, in fact, run the store, as he has for 25 years.
But records at the Iowa Secretary of State’s office show that 11 years ago, Erickson Investments Inc., owned by the governor, became the majority owner of Pantry Foods Inc., which owns The Pantry.
Olsen, when interviewed for this story, claimed to own the store. When showed the state records, he declined comment.
Erickson said only, “I don’t discuss the competition.”
Other records indicate Erickson may have used his powerful position to secretly help friends and his own image.
Two years after his first election to the governorship, Erickson checked his ailing father into the Veterans Affairs Hospital in Knoxville, Iowa, where he remained until his death, nearly a year later. The elder Erickson was reported missing on an early April morning, and his body was found later that day in a maintenance shed.
The governor’s office announced that he had died of a heart attack, a finding echoed in news accounts and on Carl Erickson’s death certificate. But the autopsy report, obtained by the Tribune under a promise not to disclose who provided it, lists alcohol poisoning as the cause of death. At 0.34, his blood-alcohol level was more than four times the legal limit for driving.
Erickson said he had “no idea,” what might explain the discrepancy between the two documents (embedded below), but suggested that the drinking may have led to a heart attack.
A hospital spokeswoman’s only comment was, “The matter will be looked into.”
And then there are the rumors of personal favors for friends. Many letters to the editor in local papers over the last seven years accuse Erickson of cronyism regarding some appointments, especially naming Richard Webster to the State Supreme Court. And, according to many Lindsborg residents, it’s common knowledge that while Swede Erickson has been governor, Jack Westphal, long notorious for his fast driving, has never had to face his day in court.
“Writing that guy up is a waste of paper,” said an official within the Iowa State Patrol who spoke on condition that his name not be used. “Sometime between filing the charges and the court date, the paperwork just disappears.”
The account of the accident in which Westphal rolled his Jeep Cherokee off Interstate 35 in September of last year seems to bear the official out. News stories state that Westphal, who apparently fell asleep, was ticketed with failure to control his vehicle and excessive speed.
But there is no account of the fine being paid or Westphal appearing in court. The charges seem to have simply disappeared. Governor Erickson claimed no knowledge of what might have happened. Westphal, who suffered a head injury in the accident, only said, “I’ve got some pretty big blank spots about the whole thing.”
Westphal’s column in the Lindsborg Journal consistently supports the governor. A recent column dealt with Carl Erickson’s drinking, noting that his alcoholism would soon make the national news, and calling on the public to remember how the governor rose to triumph over it.
Swenson tried to explain his friend: “I think Swede is very protective of the people he cares about. Jack is like a son to him, and Jim Westphal was Swede’s coach in high school and his best friend as an adult. And that protective streak goes even deeper when it comes to his folks. Swede thought Carl’s problem was no one else’s business and always put up a brave front. You know as a kid he was suffering, but he never asked for help.
“That kind of life,” says Swenson, “produces a self-reliant man.
Chapter 23
It was different, spending Christmas in a Florida beach house. Jack had been to his father-in-law’s before, but not for the holidays. Used to snow outside and a cozy fire inside, with a turkey or standing rib roast for Christmas dinner, Jack found barefoot walks on the sand and Keith Benedict’s tradition of a shrimp boil on the beach extraordinary. And he was enjoying the change. With Tess’s brothers and sisters-in-law, along with their small children, the house was full. In their five-day visit, there’d been good conversations, sand volleyball, moonlit cocktails on the beach, card games and playing with the kids, all with lots of laughter and a little chaos. Jack liked being part of a bigger family again.
Early Christmas afternoon, he stood at the kitchen sink, helping Keith devein shrimp and glancing out the window from time to time. Tess walked along the shore, her brother Danny’s three-year-old son running ahead of her looking for treasures in the sand, while she carried his ten-month-old sister on her hip.
Will smiled. “Like a ton of bricks. That’s what comes of being up at five to see what Santa brought.” He gave Jack’s shoulder a clap as he went by, “Sorry about that, man.” His daughter, the oldest of the grandchildren, had run squealing to the Christmas tree before dawn, and since Uncle Jack and Auntie Tess were sleeping on the sofa bed in the living room, they were in the center of the action.
“No, it was great, seeing how excited the kids were,” Jack responded.
“Right,” Will snorted as he made his way toward the garage and the trash cans.
“Ignore him,” Kathy struggled to her feet, the due date for their second child, a boy, just three weeks away. “You’re great with the kids. Caitlin was wild when she heard you were going to be here.”
“Caitlin’s wild from the moment she opens her eyes every morning,” said Danny, the oldest of the Benedict children, coming in from the living room. “That apple didn’t fall far from the tree, eh, Dad?” The stories of Will’s childhood exploits were family legend, and still thoroughly discussed and laughed over when the family was together.
Keith nodded. “You know, I was just thinking about the time he flushed a potato down the toilet Christmas morning when he was three. I spent the rest of the day trying to snake out the plumbing. Your mother had to go to the neighbor’s to cook Christmas dinner.”
“Oh man, not the potato story,” Will groaned as he came back in. Jack and Kathy laughed.
“Dad, you got any soda crackers?” Danny was digging in the pantry closet. “Jen’s a little queasy.” Just that week, Danny’s wife had confirmed she was pregnant again.
“Over there,” Keith pointed to another cupboard. “Let her off with the clean-up, in there, huh? Tell her to have a nap while Tess has the kids. She’s been a little piqued ever since you got here.”
“I know,” Danny answered vaguely, opening the next door, but still not spotting what he wanted. “She’s been undone ever since she found out. Maddy’s not even a year yet. This new baby kind of snuck up on her.”
Keith pushed his son out of the way, pulling out the crackers from near the front of the cupboard. “That’s not what snuck up on her,” he commented dryly as he handed Danny the box.
“What about you and Tess, Jack?” Kathy asked as she waddled to the sink, and Jack turned to take the cutting board from her. “When are you two getting into the baby race?”
“Oh come on, Kath,” Will spoke before Jack could answer. “They just had their first anniversary. Let ‘em have some fun first.” She ignored her husband, nodding toward the window. “She looks awfully cute out there with those little ones, don’t you think?”
Jack smiled. “I don’t know, Kathy,” he turned to the room at large, “I’m a little intimidated. It looks to me like once the Benedicts start having kids, they get on quite a roll.” The fact was he wanted children. But he also wanted Tess to have some time to get her new career rolling.
Will laughed and took his wife’s arm. “Come on, put your feet up before Caitlin gets up and runs you off them.” He pulled Kathy toward the other room.
Danny snorted from the other end of the table, where he stood eating one of the crackers. “It’s hard to imagine Tess with kids. She’s not exactly the domestic type, and children have a habit of needing to be fed and clothed and bathed. But I suppose she’ll shoot fantastic baby pictures. Did you see the one she gave us of Maddy and Ian together? It was a great present. Jenny got all teary when she opened it. Is Tess still freelancing too?”
Jack nodded. “Some. She had a gig with Politifix a few weeks ago. It made for a nice Christmas.”
“The Swede Erickson piece, right?” Jack nodded again, and Danny said, “I saw your picture on the site, and knew it had to be hers. What happened to the photo credit?”
“She took all the photos for that profile. I don’t know what happened. I said she should call the reporter and ask him to put the credit up on the site, but she didn’t seem to care.”
“That was quite a coincidence, wasn’t it?” Keith spoke while he added the last few shrimp to the huge pile, “Sam Waterman writing that profile and interviewing you for it? Fate seems to have a way of connecting him and Tess. First all those stories they worked together at the Trib, and now they end up together again for Politifix.”
Jack was surprised that Keith noticed the byline and recognized the name. “They worked that many stories together?”
Keith nodded. “Quite a lot, yes. And then there was the plane crash.”
“The crash?” Jack stopped chopping the andouille sausage to look at him.
Keith turned as Will came back into the room. “It was Sam Waterman, remember Will? On that Cessna Tess rode down in South Dakota?”
Will said, “Sure,” and looked at Jack. “About my height, slim with dark hair?” Jack nodded. “He was in the back seat. Gashed up his mouth, and didn’t he have a couple of broken ribs, Dad?”
“Uh-huh,” Keith began washing a pile of new potatoes. “He was pretty bummed up, but she looked worse, remember? The whole left side of her face was black and blue from her forehead to her chin.” Keith shook his head. “But Waterman was really hurting. You could tell from the way he moved.”
“You saw them right after?” Jack had no idea how the ordeal had played out.
Keith nodded. “Will and I flew up there and brought them back East. We left Waterman in D.C., but Tess was here for a week recovering. Then she went up to Vancouver Island for bit. She just needed a little time.”
“She’s never said much about the accident,” Jack said softly.
“Well, she probably doesn’t like to think about it,” Keith said. “They were pretty damn lucky to get out of the thing.”
“It was pretty damn stupid, if you ask me,” Danny’s voice roughened at the memory, “Flying right into a spring storm in a plane that small. You’d think Tess would have known better. And the pilot sure as shit should have.”
Keith sighed. “The weather didn’t have a thing to do with it. It was engine failure. Sometimes things go wrong, no matter how well you check it out before you go up. Besides, he must have had something on the ball because they all lived to tell the tale.”
“What went wrong?” Jack asked, and he saw his father-in-law glance at him, clearly understanding that he wanted to find out what he could now that the subject had come up.
“Sounded like a valve blew, oil blowing back and all. They lost power about 2,000 feet up.” Keith explained, talking while he worked. “That’s awful low. They had the good luck to set down onto a closed stretch of highway. The camera was the only thing she got out of the plane with. She took a hell of a picture of it while it was burning.”
“I’ve seen it,” Jack said, trying to remember the conversation at Tess’s house the night of their first date. He knew there were others on that plane. But she’d never said one of them was Sam Waterman. And he wondered, especially with Waterman having been to Lindsborg twice, why she had never mentioned it.
"We've all seen it," Danny said. "It ran with Waterman's magazine story about the pilot's recovery. He got a prize, but I always thought Tess should have had one too for that picture."
"The story? The one on Wally …" Jack couldn't remember the last name.
"Pinser," Keith supplied. "Yeah, Wally Pinser was the kid flying the plane. Waterman wrote the story about his recovery. For some reason, they both call him Opie."
Jack looked out the window to see his wife coming up the beach toward the house, niece and nephew in tow. Waterman had deliberately evaded explaining the details as well.
“Going back to that Politifix piece, fess up, Jack,” Danny spoke with his mouth full. “Swede Erickson’s dicking those speeding tickets for you, isn’t he?”
Waterman’s profile was a
sore spot for Jack, but he turned back to his brother-in-law with a forced grin, saying. “Come on, Danny. You know better than to ask me that.” Tess and the kids came in the back door to the sound of their laughter, and Danny choked on cracker crumbs as he inhaled.
Will took a cracker, still chuckling as he said, “I always wondered how my sister roped you into getting married. Must have been that ‘head injury,’ huh?”
Jack’s smile stiffened.
“Uncle Jack,” Ian, the little boy, piped up, “Look what I got.” He held up a white feather. “I think it’s from a pelican.”
“Could be,” Jack dropped to one knee, and as they looked at it together, Kathy came back into the room, squeezing around the two of them and rumpling Ian’s red hair.
“For heaven’s sake, you two,” she grabbed the box of crackers. “Jenny’s retching in the bathroom, and you’re out here eating her crackers.”
“No more crackers for anyone,” Keith barked. “We’re eating shrimp boil in about 20 minutes.” He took an enormous platter of ingredients out back where a huge pot of seasoned, boiling water stood over a propane flame on the beach.
Ian ran through to show his mommy his feather, and Jack rose, taking the baby from Tess’s arms, asking, “Good walk?”
She nodded, “It’s nice out.” And at her husband’s searching look, asked, “What?”
He shook his head as Kathy went by with the crackers, saying loudly, “Look how sweet they are with Maddy. They need a baby too.”
Jack had expected to take some heat about his disappearing speeding tickets when Waterman’s profile came out. He would have used it if he’d been Sam. And he weathered the razzing over the “head injury” comment with as much resigned grace as he could muster.
But it was the other things, the things he should have known but didn’t, that stayed with him, like a deep muscle bruise, aching every time he reached to his keyboard to write a new story. He’d told Waterman himself that he’d never presume to think he knew everything about Swede Erickson. But it wasn’t until Jack read Sam’s story that he realized what he didn’t know were also things the Journal’s readers should know. And it didn’t help that Waterman had found it all so quickly.