Boys of the Lough, Butch Thompson Trio. Vern Sutton, Third Generation,
[undocumented]
Chatterbox Cafe Father Emil Order of Saint Ed Our Lady of Perpetual Responsibility
It's been a quiet week in Lake Wobegon, though of course with the 4th of July weekend upon us one does have the sense of ammunition being stored up in that little town and missiles and bombs and rockets being moved up to the front. Major arms shipments coming in from the Dakotas where fireworks are legal. They're illegal in Minnesota and in Lake Wobegon, so 4th of July it turns out to be a sort of a running skirmish between the town constables Gary and Leroy in the 1972 Chrysler police cruiser- and the insurgent forces, mostly boys whose aim is to set off their charges as close to the cruiser as possible under cover of darkness. Cruiser cruises down the alley at about four knots- the long white beam of the spotlights sweeping back and forth looking for suspicious figures by the garages. Gary and Leroy looking out the windows trying to see you as you huddle down behind the garbage cans with your pals- your no-good friends.
And just as they go by your pal Larry- Larry, the kid who put the frog in the teacher's desk drawer- Larry, who can play taps on his armpit- runs out into the alley and sends off a gigantic bottle rocket that loops just over the cruiser and explodes right over the front window with a bang that makes your ears ache. And a great shower of purple sparks- and suddenly you see the white tail lights as Gary puts her into reverse and you get out of there “run! Hurry! they're coming” and you take off through the dark across the lawn, hoping nobody left a rake lying there. Hoping you don't hit the birdbath in mid stride.
It's all illegal, of course, and all disrespectful of authority. So was the revolution if you care to look at it that way. We didn't think about that though we- we just like to make noise. Set off the charge that breaks the peace and quiet of town for the one thousandth time that day, and demolish quiet and demolish boredom. And create a new order in which children are endowed by their creator with the inalienable right to make a great deal of noise. Fireworks are dangerous. I wish kids wouldn't fool with them. We did. Somehow we escaped with our hands intact and for some reason I remember it as having been enjoyable.
And fireworks were used once by Father Emil to a good purpose. I remember I think it was about three years ago- of a Wednesday night when attendance at the Wednesday night Rosary was getting down to just a handful of the old stalwarts. Father took three large rockets to church and set them off from the front steps. And as people ran up to find out what was happening, he said “you're just in time. We're just about to start. Come on in.”
Somebody figured out the other week that July marks the 40th anniversary of his pastorate in Lake Wobegon, 1942 he came in the month of July. Father Emil arrived on the bus from Chicago, got off, looked around- looked around to get back on the bus but it had gone. And stayed because they needed him.
Almost all of the Catholics in Lake Wobegon are German, and 1942 was a bad time for them- the second time in the lifetimes of most of them when it was considered wrong to be German, and when some of them, particularly the younger ones, tried so hard not to be.
They needed him. There's so little that remains in that town of what the immigrants brought from Germany, just a few little things. A few little scraps. But all the more precious for their having survived those bad times. Like a few photographs that you might have rescued from a burning building, and for that reason- treasure them all the more. Most of them are children things, little rhymes, little songs. The Little Christmas Carol- Ihr Minderlain Kommet- that’s sung every Christmas by the children's choir, though they don't understand the words. The little verse that said to wake up children in the morning probably has been said by someone in Lake Wobegon every morning for 100 years.
Up up my little rabbits can't you hear the hunters blowing their horns?
Most of them- most of these little scraps. These little bits that are left of the old life in Germany are passed on from very old people to very small children. Skipping the middle generation. The generation of people who would like to get rid of their accents and who have no use for those stories brought over from Germany- of dwarves and fairies, and princesses and angels and animals who talked and sang and had magical powers. But passed on from grandparents to tiny children there is a mysterious bond between old people and young people that I don't know why. It may be a sort of bond of weakness, or it may be just that old people and young people have a lot of time to sit around and talk about this stuff.
Little scraps of food your grandma make for you. Little dumplings, little sausage bits, little cakes and cookies and say “eat, eat mine kind you're so thin eat, eat.” And your grandpa bounced you up and down on his knee and say a little rhyme how old it is. Who knows.
[German poem]
A few years ago, there were two bishops from Germany who came to visit Saint Johns and as part of their trip were taken out to Lake Wobegon where Father Emil put on a big do for them in the basement of the church. A banquet with paper tablecloths and candles and as part of the entertainment for the two bishops- He got the six graders to learn two folk songs in German and to memorize the 23rd Psalm and everybody came. And the two old bishops sat up behind the Deus. Everybody was very quiet when it came time for the 6th graders to get up and sing and to recite. But when they stood up and looked and saw Bishops, they were too afraid. They forgot the words. There was a terrible silence. And then somebody had to do something. And it was one of the Krebsbach girls who stepped forward. And she said, in a quiet and trembling voice.
Yes, she said [German poem]
Ohh the bishops loved it. They had not heard that since there were little tiny children. When their grandpa bounced them as little tiny bishops on his knee. There were tears in their eyes. What a lovely thing. And then she went on to sing that love song that grandparents have rocked grandchildren to sleep with in Lake Wobegon for years:
[German song]
You live in my heart, you live in my thoughts. You bring me joy and pain. Don't you know how much I love you?
When the grandparents really get to talking German though, that means there are some things that are not to be shared with children. When Grandpa starts talking German, maybe he's telling a dirty joke. Or maybe he's telling some deep, dark, terrible secret not meant for you to hear- more delicious and more terrible for the fact you have no idea what it is.
Of course, those Norwegian Lutherans in Lake Wobegon have always believed that the Germans were full of deep, dark, terrible secrets. The Norwegian imagination always ran quite free when it came to the Catholic Church. I won't get into it in detail, not here and now. But a lot of those Norwegians believed everything that they dreamt up about what went on there at the feast day of Saint Martins, when the women would get their grandmas dirndls out of the trunk and some of the men had put on lederhosen. They'd go up and dance and make some noise up at the school. Drink some beer, sing Ach Du Lieber Augustin.
See to a lot of those old Norwegians, there's a missing commandment out of the 10, the 11th Commandment left out for some reason,” thou shalt be quiet.” They believe that quiet is a sign of holiness, so when they hear people making noise, they assume that they're breaking all the other commandments at the same time.
Now there is one festival day in Lake Wobegon that is loud and noisy. That's Guhsoofa Day. Guhsoofa Day is kind of low German dialect for let's go out and drink a lot. And they do it. That's the day when they drink a whole lot of beer. They dance up on the tops of the tables. They sing different versions of Ach Du Lieber Augustin. So loud that it's only observed in Lake Wobegon about once every four or five years. It's kind of a cycle, you see. The one year you'll have Guhsoofa Day. And the next day people will say, “Oh my God, the terrible things we did yesterday. We're never going to do that again.”
Then a year passes and the next year people say, “you know it was kind of a loud party at Guhsoofa Day, but half the things people thought went on went on there. It wasn't as bad as what they said it was.”
A third year, another year passes and they say “gee remembered Guhsoofa Day what was that now three years ago or so? Gee, that was a lot of fun. We have to do that again sometime.”
So the next year they say, “alright, we're going to have Guhsoofa Day this year, but we're going to not let things get out of hand.” And and they have Guhsoofa Day. And then the day after they say, “Oh my God, the terrible things we did, we're never going to do that again.”
Well to all of this Father Emil looks with an experienced eye and says “It's beyond me. Why every four years you have to reinvent the hangover. I hope you know.”
He looks on them all as children. He looks on them all as children.
You live in my heart. And you live in my thoughts, you bring me joy and pain. Don't you know how much I love you, you and you and you and you. Don't you know how much I love?
That's the news from Lake Wobegon, Minnesota, where all the women are strong and all the men are good looking. And all the children are above average. You betcha.
St Cloud Times Jul 5 1982 St Cloud Times Jun 30 1982
Photos by Steve Wolt. 1982.06.27 Star Tribune / Audio of the News available as a digital download.