Saturday Essay
Beautiful Days
So many things are happening around our city and the country that are confusing, difficult to understand and often display a certain degree of ugliness about our world. There are more people on the streets who are homeless, mass shootings, a rise in Nazi and fascist groups, the East Wing of the White House has been torn down, and ICE agents continue threatening and arresting our neighbors.
And from around the world, we’re dealing with climate change, wars in such places as Gaza and the Ukraine, and pandemics.
In times like these, how do we create and embrace beauty? How can you and I uplift the beautiful spirit that flickers in all of us, even in those darkest moments? How do we represent our better angels and bring beauty to our city by the lake?
Maybe, it begins by asking a simple question. How do I stay human? In a world of angry rhetoric, divisive politics, impatience, noise, growing disparity, self-absorption, and isolation, how do I stay human? The first steps could be embracing our humility, a search for meaning beyond our personal lives, and the resilience to find a moral compass that guides and directs us. (more…)
The Most Read Saturday Essays of 2025
Perfect Duluth Day’s “Saturday Essay” series has now run for ten years. The second half of that decade has seen Jim Richardson dominate the annual list of most-read compositions. Since 2020, Google Analytics stats show Richardon’s essays have landed in 21 of the 25 top-five slots. Long live Lake Superior Aquaman! (more…)
Ripped at Tyomies in 2000
[Editor’s note: For this week’s essay we’ve once again pulled out a relic from the archive of Slim Goodbuzz, who served as Duluth’s “booze connoisseur” from 1999 to 2009. Twenty-five years ago the Sultan of Sot paid a visit to Tyomies, 601 Tower Ave. in Superior, and composed this article for the Dec. 12, 2000 edition of the Ripsaw newspaper. Tyomies closed at some point prior to 2014, when Sweeden Sweets took over the space.]
This restroom is huge! And everything is squeaky clean, but already there’s a dude in here christening the place with a bleeeeeeeee yyyyyyyyyy aaaaaaaaa kkkkkkkkkkk. He’s paying homage to the porcelain god, and the porcelain god is shiny new and still has a sticker on it. When he finishes, he positively springs back up on his feet — happy as can be — then flushes and gives me a wink and a thumbs-up before heading out the door.
I love when a new bar opens in town. For one thing, there are usually a lot of drink specials to attract new clientele. Also, unlike in every other bar in this rat-ass city, no one there knows me, so the staff is usually pretty friendly to me. In addition to that, new places are usually pretty empty, so there’s little chance of someone there ruining my buzz for me. I try to hit a new bar a couple of times before all of you losers discover it and wreck the place by making me deal with you. (more…)
Become the Dark
It took me 25 years to acclimatize to Duluth, and the big hurdle was these long winter nights. Here’s how I did it.
One day I thought, as long as I’m hopelessly depressed and dysfunctional, maybe I should dig a crawlspace under my all-time low and sort of, you know, make it cozy in there?
Step one: Uncouple your mood from the weather, to the greatest extent possible.
This took me two decades to get the hang of, but it can be done. Duluth is going to give you some ass weather. Conversely, when Duluth is nice, it’s God’s country. But if you let Duluth’s ass weather get to you, you’re effed. It’s a bad place to be sensitive to gray days and one of the coldest, longest winters anywhere in the country, the world even. Duluth in February — when winter is more than half over! — may be compared to the ice moons of Jupiter. And then you might get a chilly summer. So, welcome to town, buckle up, get ahold of yourself, and appreciate the city for what it is besides the weather.
We’re so far north, the path of the sun weaves dramatically across the sky as the seasons progress. You can feel the wobble of the globe. Don’t let it dizzy you or give you motion sickness as the sun stays out a different number of minutes per day. We can have extreme and long winters, and short summers of varying quality. It’s not personal.
Ripped at the Saloon in 2000
[Editor’s note: For this week’s essay we’ve once again pulled out a relic from the archive of Slim Goodbuzz, who served as Duluth’s “booze connoisseur” from 1999 to 2009. Twenty-five years ago the Sultan of Sot paid a visit to the Saloon, 1807 N. 11th St., in Superior, and composed this article for the Nov. 1, 2000 edition of the Ripsaw newspaper. The Saloon later became Temple Bar and then Mike’s Place.]
I was just about ready to sit down to a drink a six-pack of Old Peculiar, devour a carton of grade-D chop suey and watch the USA cable network movie, when it happened. Now, I’m no psychic, but I could feel — I just knew — someone in this town was giving away beer. You can’t just ignore a feeling like that. I stuck my untouched food and drink in the fridge, jammed a tape in the VCR to record the Addams Family double-feature and headed off into the night to seek my destiny.
I remembered that the Bayfront Blues Saloon had recently closed and reopened as, simply, the Saloon. The blues version of the saloon was always a mediocre experience waiting to happen, so I thought I’d check out the new and improved action. (more…)
The True Story of the 1963 Duluth Third Place Little League World Series Champions
The 1963 Little League World Series was played Aug. 24 in South Williamsport, Pennsylvania, at the Howard J. Lamade Stadium to 10,000 spectators. The series has since been given a cover story by the deep state, including the first-ever little league television footage, which was faked to keep America calm. The true story of the Duluth All-Stars is so explosive that it could not be told until now, more than half a century later.
A Midwest ring of Soviet spies developed a signaling mechanism invisible to the CIA, or so they thought. Eschewing radio and microfilm dead drops as vulnerable to interception, the Russians infiltrated the global little league ecosystem, and used manipulated game statistics to convey coded messages to agents in the field. One or two closet communist coaches in prime positions, a handful of greedy assistant coaches tactically placed, and a blackmailed umpire were enough to communicate covert instructions to sleeper assassins from Missouri to Manitoba, printed in every regional paper in the local sports stats. (more…)
North Country Trail in Wisconsin: Returning to the Border
During a group hike in spring 2024, I covered a new section of the North Country Trail in Wrenshall. At the time I didn’t think much about how my essay series is about the trail “in Wisconsin,” yet almost all of that hike was in Minnesota.
A few years ago, the Wisconsin section of the North Country Trail was all in Wisconsin, because it hadn’t been built yet near the Minnesota state line. The Minnesota side of the trail ended in the woods at the border, and the only way to start the trail at the Wisconsin side was to hike various highways to get to the parts of the trail that had been built.
Now that an official border route through the woods exists, however, the trail enters Wisconsin and runs for about a mile, slants over into Minnesota for about two miles, then swings back into Wisconsin.
There was a small part of that new section in Wrenshall I didn’t see on that group hike, because there was snow on the ground, groups move slower than individuals, and the rest of the group didn’t share my quest to cover every single bit of the trail. So I went back in the fall. (more…)
Mittens
This mitten thing started when I sent The Maker a message asking about scraps. Pretty sure it was sometime in 2022, which I’m also pretty sure was last year. He and I didn’t really know each other. I had admired his work for a while. Maybe we had already sold some bicycle parts back and forth. But maybe that came after. I know and I don’t. Time gets weird as it piles up and evaporates, and I am a partially reliable narrator at best about these and a lot of other things.
My message asked if his work, which includes cutting up wool blankets to make remarkably nice anoraks and jackets for winter expeditions, ever leaves him with leftovers. I was hoping he could give me a piece of fabric just big enough for patching a couple buttonholes and a pocket corner on a plaid wool shirt I’d worn ungently since paying $7 for it at Savers. He sent back something like, “I’ve got a couple garbage bags full. You can have it all if you want it.” I said I did without knowing why. My only use for wool scraps was fixing those small spots on that one shirt, and Ms. LaCount (my wife) and I try hard to minimize our clutter. (more…)
Ripped at the Pickwick in 2000
[Editor’s note: For this week’s essay we’ve once again pulled out a relic from the archive of Slim Goodbuzz, who served as Duluth’s “booze connoisseur” from 1999 to 2009. Twenty-five years ago the Sultan of Sot paid a visit to Duluth’s venerable Pickwick, and composed this article for the Oct. 4, 2000 edition of the Ripsaw newspaper. The Pickwick’s bar underwent significant renovations in 2010 and now features televisions.]
Call me romantic, but when my special lady friend said she was growing tired of seedy dives, I decided to treat her to a classy night at the Pickwick, where the two of us could get ripped in style.
It shouldn’t really be that difficult to make a bar a comfortable place to imbibe, yet it’s surprising how many truly annoying bars there are in this area. The Pickwick has it just right: extremely dim lighting, dark wood paneling, good furniture, no neon beer lights, no tacky antique signs, no TVs. And even though the room is decorated with taxidermy, it’s as tasteful and interesting as taxidermy can be. The only things lacking are a good sound system and a room full of couches and armchairs. But since the bar serves mainly as an area for diners to wait for tables on busy nights, it’s extremely unlikely that the Pickwick will be booking live music or ordering La-Z-Boys anytime soon. (more…)
The Days That Sustain Us
It’s about nine in the morning. I’m sitting on a bench at the Rose Garden. Enjoying the sun, slight breeze and expecting the temperature to reach the mid-seventies. Truly a beautiful day. Days like this, when I can be outside, definitely sustain me.
About a month ago, on Aug. 17, Mayor Roger Reinert wrote a commentary for the Minnesota Star Tribune entitled “We’re actively shaping our city’s future.” In that commentary, Reinert stated, “Duluth is growing and thriving exactly because we are taking the deliberate and measurable action steps necessary to secure the future of our beloved Zenith City.”
Within several weeks of that piece coming out, I heard and confirmed that the mayor had decided not to hire a full-time sustainability officer to replace the former officer, Mindy Granley, who resigned in February. In fact, Reinart announced that the city was no longer looking for anyone to fill that position and the sustainability initiative was not a top priority.
In reflecting upon the mayor’s decision, I thought of something I read in Jordan Peterson’s book Beyond Order: 12 More Rules For Life. Jordan wrote, “It appears that the meaning that most effectively sustains life is to be found in the adoption of responsibility.” So I had to ask myself, was Reinert being a responsible mayor and public servant when he decided to not hire a sustainability officer. (more…)
Duluth 75 Years Later
[Editor’s note: Duluth was featured in The Saturday Evening Post in a 1949 article written by Arthur W. Baum. Seventy-five years later, in 2024, Baum’s great-great nephew, Jordan Haedtler, began gathering his thoughts for an update, which appears below. Haedtler has recently printed both essays, as well as another essay about Duluth and climate change, in a book that can be ordered through Google Forms.]
The citizens of nearly every hub city or port city or twin city must look at this moment of rapid planetary warming ponderously. Many seaside cities worry anxiously at their fate amidst rising oceans, while tourist destinations fret about the damage to their core infrastructure, and bustling business hubs nervously eye the economic forecasts. This makes the case of gritty and resilient Duluth — with its aging housing stock dotting a hillside overlooking the western terminus of the Great Lakes — unique.
For Duluth has not had to wonder about its role in the climate crisis or desire outside attention on the subject since April 15, 2019. That was the day Harvard professor Jesse Keenan came to the city to deliver a lecture called “Destination Duluth,” in which Keenan emphasized the potential for Duluth, sitting as it does on the edge of all that fresh water, to rebrand itself as “Climate Proof,” attracting new residents after decades of economic stagnation. (more…)
Adrift in the Duluth Triangle
[Author’s note: This originally ran in the 2024 Boubville zine. My title does not refer to the “Bar-muda Triangle” promotions of the West Duluth bar scene. This story was intended to be the start of a novella, a roman-à-clef about a barfly surviving depression. Each chapter was going to take place in a different establishment and be based on actual events, a “hero’s journey” bar crawl through the underworld one night. But after writing this first chapter, it seemed complete in itself as a short story, so I am calling it done. Borges wrote, “It is a laborious madness and an impoverishing one, the madness of composing vast books — setting out in 500 pages an idea that can be perfectly related in five minutes.” That said, this story of life before Covid could be a prequel to this essay about when Covid hit.]
2019. From Sir Benedict’s Tavern on the Lake, to Vikre Distillery, to the Pizza Lucé bar, then back to Sir Ben’s: This is the Duluth Triangle. Stranded in its vortex for five years, between myself and my hillside home lies a gauntlet of the finest distilleries, tap rooms, and bars in the world. It is a puzzle solved differently every night. Like the doctor in Nightwood said to Djuna Barnes: “The night is not premeditated.” (more…)
Ripped at the North Pole Bar in 2000
[Editor’s note: For this week’s essay we’ve once again pulled out a relic from the archive of Slim Goodbuzz, who served as Duluth’s “booze connoisseur” from 1999 to 2009. Twenty-five years ago the Sultan of Sot paid a visit to the North Pole Bar in West Duluth, and composed this article for the Aug. 23, 2000 edition of the Ripsaw newspaper. The North Pole Bar went out of business in 2014.]
Reeking of Kentucky bourbon and tuna-fish sandwiches, Walter stepped out of the fog and into my life. “I’ve been drinking since 4:30,” he told me. “My old lady passed out already, but I’m still goin’ strong. I’m heading to the North Pole.”
“So am I,” I said.
I had not heard of the North Pole Bar until I got an email tip from the commander of the West Duluth VFW. “I don’t know if you’ve ever been down on Raleigh Street,” he wrote, “but my main hang out is the North Pole Bar.” When the commander of the West Duluth VFW talks, I listen. (more…)
These Summer Days
On July 27, Northern News Now reported that Duluth had a heat index of 101 degrees, with Eveleth hitting 104 and Two Harbors reaching 106. Three days earlier, the lead story on NNN was about Minnesota having another air-quality alert due to the Canadian wildfires. It was also the 27th day that Duluth had been under an air-quality alert since May.
And then three days before that, on July 21, Wisconsin Public Radio ran a story about the Great Lakes region warming up about 3 degrees and precipitation increasing by 15%. A study by the Environmental Law and Policy Center showed that summer water temperatures on Lake Superior warmed up by 4.8 degrees between 1979 and 2023. Also, the region would likely see more extreme weather patterns, including 30 to 60 days of temperatures over 90 degrees.
Also, on July 21, there was an article in the New York Times headlined “Climate change is making fire weather worse for world’s forests.” According to a study in the journal Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, the area of forests lost to fire in 2023 and 2024 was at least two times greater than the annual average of the previous two decades. It reported that climate change is making severe fire weather more common around the world. (more…)
Sir Duluth Historical Timeline
Daniel Greysolon, Sieur du Luht, was an influential French explorer whose name anglicizes to Sir Duluth. He signed his letters “Dulhut,” participating in his own casual anglicization despite the constant conflict his nation had with England. I call him Duluth, synonymous with our present-day, American city, whose name he inspired.
1639: Duluth is born in Saint-Germain-Laval, France.
1650: Duluth is 11 when the first modern philosopher René Descartes dies age 53 in Stockholm, Sweden. A letter from the young Duluth lies on the bedside table, offering a common-sense critique of Descartes’ notion that animals are automatons who may be vivisected. “I guess you’ve never owned a pet,” the boy’s careful handwriting says. The letter continues, “‘I think therefore I am’ is meaningless since grounds for doubting existence do not exist. You torture language like you torture dogs.” It has been suggested that Descartes was so distressed to have his life’s work effortlessly eviscerated by a child that he quickly succumbed to pneumonia and died.
A View from Montreal Pier: The R/V Blue Heron
Not long after I disembarked from the research vessel Blue Heron in June, it was announced that a new form of life had been discovered inside the propeller shaft. A life form, hidden inside the extreme environment of the engine, cold and dark — it feels like how the Venom movies started. It feels maybe a little Lovecraftian, maybe, this shapeless life form, in the black goo.
My colleagues laugh at me for thinking in such melodramatic terms. But really, ever since that ride, I just keep learning how cripplingly limited my understanding of Lake Superior, and of our relationship to it, really was. I’m still trying to wrap my brain around it.
Finding the Blue Heron
The Blue Heron is docked in Superior on Montreal Pier, a research facility maintained by the University of Wisconsin-Superior. The site itself is a weird mishmash of history. The Montreal Pier, Quebec Pier and Allouez Bay are all a reminder of the deep affect French Jesuits and fur traders had on the Superior region.
By the early twentieth century, these piers were incredible sites of commerce. Superior was in competition with the Minneapolis area as the center of wheat and grain production, and several major companies built grain elevators and mills on the piers — Lake Superior Mills, Anchor, Listman, Cargill, and Belt Line. Most of these structures were destroyed in fires. (more…)
Ripped in Toronto in 2000
[Editor’s note: For this week’s essay we’ve once again pulled out a relic from the archive of Slim Goodbuzz, who served as Duluth’s “booze connoisseur” from 1999 to 2009. Twenty-five years ago the Sultan of Sot hit the road for a visit to Toronto, Canada, and composed this article for the July 12, 2000 edition of the Ripsaw newspaper.]
“Nobody helps you with your cup
No one could ever fill it up.”
—The Sadies
Prelude: Detroit Metro
It was 11:15 a.m. and I was sitting in one of the many cafes at the Detroit Metropolitan Airport, waiting for my connecting flight to Toronto. Everybody else drank coffee and ate pastries. My flight had been delayed two hours. I needed whiskey.
The Price is Right was on the TV above the espresso machine. Bob Barker put his arm around a gaunt middle-aged woman while they watched a cardboard mountain climber ascend a cardboard mountain, singing:
Laaa dee doody
Laaa dee doody
Laaa dee doody dooooo … (more…)
Ice Racing Getaway Driver
1983 St. Louis County jailhouse interview with “Turbo” Ted Van Brunt
Interviewer: Tell me about your escape from Duluth.
Turbo Ted: Escaping Duluth is a coin flip. Half my friends tried and couldn’t reach the velocity, came back after two or three years of getting kicked around out there. I tried a couple times.
What you’re really asking about started a couple springs ago, when it rained then the temperature plunged. The city woke up with a coating of clear ice on every surface. Branches falling in the road. Whole city shut down, nothing could move.
Except my black, street stock, ice racing stud car, a 1976 Chevette with a roll cage and 500 spikes on each tire — sheet metal screws we screwed in ourselves. Fender all chewed up. Commonly called the worst car of all time but it did everything we asked. And Johnny said it was go time. He was the brains, had it all worked, how to disarm the system at the Superior Street jewelers there. He got that with a bribe. It was only a question of when, and this was our crisis of opportunity. “The cops won’t stand a chance,” he said, and they didn’t. They even had chains on but they still didn’t know how to drive. Anyway so Johnny robbed it, but he didn’t get all the alarms. And I was the getaway driver but I still get half. Which wasn’t much — a couple display cases worth of diamond jewelry. Pulled him behind the car on a tether as we blew down Superior through deserted intersections, cross-training for frozen lake ice races at the same time we’re robbing a jewelry store. Just on his feet — no skis, just boots. And of course the cop shop is right there. But their interceptors fell behind. It was beautiful. (more…)
What Does William S. Burroughs Owe Djuna Barnes?
A lot of William S. Burroughs kind of sounds like Djuna Barnes. The prime example: Barnes created the character Doctor Matthew O’Connor in her 1936 novel Nightwood, and Dr. O’Connor could easily be confused with the 1938 Burroughs character, Dr. Benway (no first name). Each fictional physician is a comically amoral addict abortionist. I think it’s likely Burroughs created Dr. Benway within a year of reading Nightwood. Burroughs owes Barnes a debt of inspiration, and not just in the creation of Benway — many of his other characters could also be walk-ons in Nightwood, fitting in well among Barnes’ cast of liars, pretenders, and cheats. So it’s safe to say Barnes influenced the characters Burroughs created. I will also show her influence on his voice, style, and themes.
Since the 1980s, a Burroughs blurb appears on the back of every Nightwood edition, saying in its entirety, “I read Nightwood back in the 1930s and was very taken with it. I consider it one of the great books of the twentieth century.” That’s all he ever said about it; it says it all. It is commonly acknowledged that he admired her work, but I think Barnes had a larger influence. I think Burroughs took what he learned from Nightwood and then, in 1959, he wrote the actual number-one greatest book of the twentieth century, Naked Lunch. Barnes’ influence is found there, and throughout Burroughs’ work. (more…)
Kill the Spider
When I stepped into the shower, I didn’t see the spider. Once the water was running, I looked down and there it was at my feet, floating near the drain.
They don’t struggle when they’re fully soaked. Instead, they ball up and wait for the tide to take them to a surface they can latch on to.
There will be no escape for this spider, however, because I won’t let it happen. This spider is in my shower, and that kind of disrespect demands an execution.
There are plenty of spider sanctuaries — the utility room, the garage, the shed, the attic — where I’ll look the other way. I don’t enjoy killing them, and would rather not, so I let them be when they know their place.
Although spiders are creepy, they have some positive attributes. Most notably, they eat a lot of insects. It’s probably not intelligent for me to kill something that’s doing so much killing on my behalf. (more…)
Ripped at Eagles Aerie 80 in 2005
[Editor’s note: For this week’s essay we’ve once again pulled out a relic from the archive of Slim Goodbuzz, who served as Duluth’s “booze connoisseur” from 1999 to 2009. Twenty years ago the Sultan of Sot paid a visit to Eagles Aerie 80 at 1710 N. 12th St. in Superior, and composed this article for the May 2005 edition of the Ripsaw newspaper.]
So, what is the Fraternal Order of the Eagles? Well, according to the group’s motto, “Eagles are people helping people.” How do they help people? Well, who cares? They help me by selling 34-ounce mugs of beer for $2.50 during “late-night happy hour” from 10 p.m. to midnight. Thank you, Eagles Aerie 80. “People helping people,” indeed.
The Eagles are also big on disaster relief. For example, all this cheap beer is causing a 9+ magnitude gutquake in my stomach, but, this being a Saturday, I can count on a wholesome breakfast to be served tomorrow, right here, hopefully in time to prevent a reverse tsunami.
Right now, however, I’m so fucktarded drunk that, despite being surrounded by philanthropists, I’m seriously thinking about stealing an old guy’s jacket. It’s a Rusty Nail jacket, advertising my favorite South Superior bar, and I think it will look good on me. (more…)
Avant Garde Women: Elsa the Dada Baroness, Djuna Barnes and Margaret Anderson
Introduction
The story of Elsa the Dada Baroness transpired in a milieu of literary queer feminist icons circa World War I. This story was best told in 1930, in the book My Thirty Years’ War by Margaret Anderson. Anderson was the radical publisher (with Jane Heap) of the Little Review, the international modernist-Dadaist-anarchist magazine that punched above its weight and first serialized Joyce’s Ulysses. I bought my copy of My Thirty Years’ War hoping for a great first-person account of the landmark obscenity trial that ensued over Ulysses, but Anderson barely mentions it. However she does say a lot about the Baroness. Anderson got to know the Baroness by publishing her poems; every history of the Baroness goes through Margaret Anderson.
My Thirty Years’ War is in the public domain and, as evidence of that, my copy has a typo in the title on the front cover, and a couple pages are in the wrong order. But it has the goods. I also read Baroness Elsa: Gender, Dada, and Everyday Modernity — A Cultural Biography by Irene Gammel. My copy of that has no typos and a hundred pages of footnotes, and it’s where I found accounts of the Baroness by another writer Anderson was publishing: Djuna Barnes. Like Anderson, Barnes became a supporting character in the Baroness’ story. (more…)
What About Today?
Today is the day. The day to do something. To do anything. Because there is no better day than today.
This is the day you think about more than yourself. You think about your family, neighbors, friends, others around the city, and the vulnerable populations who are struggling with such challenges as poverty and being homeless.
And no matter what time it is when you read this, it’s the right moment to respond and get physical. To stand up. To step up. To speak up. If you wait for another time or day, it will be too late.
Too many of us have never felt a greater sense of angst and urgency. With all the disturbing news, it would be very easy and understandable to distance ourselves, to distract ourselves, to even disconnect ourselves from the harsh reality which surrounds us. But we can’t keep closing the door behind us and walking away from what’s happening out there.
This is not just a bad dream or nightmare. It’s definitely more than that. It’s real. It’s painful. It’s inevitable. (more…)
The FBI Paid for My Co-op Membership: Minnesota Food War 1975
Transcript of interview with former co-op volunteer / FBI confidential informant
Interviewer: How did you become an FBI informant during the Minnesota food co-op wars of 1975?
Name redacted: Well, when co-ops started forming in the late ‘60s, the FBI thought it was a communist plot. That theory got a lot of traction because many early co-op’ers were actual, literal Communists, mimeographing typewritten Leninist newsletters. You would’ve thought downtown Minneapolis was the Red Square. So it was a case of “let’s just keep an eye on these people.” But since there was a cooperative warehouse in Wisconsin serving as a distribution hub, when co-op-related violence broke out, it crossed state lines. So the FBI went from passive surveillance to active infiltration. When the Minneapolis co-op wars spread to the North Shore in ’75, I was on the short list to infiltrate the Duluth one. A native Duluthian, I had worked undercover before, and I was already a Co-op shopper. I was not a member, but knew some of the early Co-op’ers from church. I wasn’t on the anarcho-communist continuum, and I wasn’t a hippie — I just wanted better food. This made my handlers a little nervous. They started thinking I was a pinko. But I told them, “You couldn’t find a loaf of whole wheat bread in Duluth until the Co-op opened in 1970.” They were eating Wonder Bread baloney sandwiches with mayonnaise, but that convinced them. So the FBI paid for my Co-op membership. Then I signed up for member volunteer work shifts to get on the inside. I stirred buckets of nut butter with a drill attachment, but I heard stuff. I wasn’t the only one, the Feds had an informant in Grand Marais too, and some as far south as Iowa. Minneapolis was the hub, of course; the co-ops down there were popping off like popcorn. (more…)
Christian Boarding School Texas Football
I still have bitter high school football recriminations. My 1980s Episcopal boarding school in Texas glorified football above other sports. I attended on a scholarship from family connections, not through any academic or athletic merit. And I learned the wrong lesson about authority from the sports program.
A recent obituary in the alumni newsletter helped spur me to write this, although I’ve been kicking it around for 40 years. Nothing personal against Coach P who I don’t have to name. For the purposes of this story he is the universal coach. This is not to disrespect his essential personhood or whatever. But I learned things I did not want to learn about society and all the rest of it — universal things I never forgot.
Coach P’s obituary said he was the decades-long athletics director, had coached thousands of games and taught thousands of history classes, too. He is fondly remembered by nearly everyone, including myself. He was a real Texas character. His knees were busted up and it crabbed his walk. I assumed it had happened on a football field in his younger days, a brutal hit or series of hits marking him, claiming him for the sport. You knew he was committed. He was gray and had the hairy ears of an old man if he let it go, something I noticed sitting behind him in chapel once or twice, and it made me swear to never get old or sentiments to that effect. He wasn’t really that old but he was weathered. He was not without warmth or humor, and he bonded with his players particularly. Like in the Lou Reed song, they “wanted to play football for the coach.” They liked how, when he was consternated at you, he would exclaim “Hellfire, son!” (more…)