Heroes in Uniform: Brother and Father as told to my Storytelling Group

The Two were pictured as part of our family picture, dressed in a real military uniform, my dad, and in a little boy's military uniform, my brother, Kendall.

My dad. Albin Fortney, was known in his agricultural family of ten for entertaining them with hypnosis and interpreting their drawings of trees. He grew up speaking Norwegian and later, English.  He and his older brother, Henry, could converse in both languages.

Farming didn't really much interest him, though he did go to ag school, because he thought he had to.  I figured that was where he attained his chemistry ability, while still having an artistic flair.  Against his own father's will, he chose to go to college, and got a scholarship to Concordia College, and sang in the choir. He had a very deep baritone voice, much like his speaking voice.

His desire was to become a teacher, where he'd also been a basketball coach, and soon, principal.  He had that kind of size and charisma.

Since teaching wasn't high paying, he boarded at the house of a couple called, the Rostads and their son.  He was impressed with their meaningful Christian faith, which was the catalyst for his becoming a minister, and so was ordained in 1935.  

He became Chief Chaplain of the Liberation Army, liberating Norway and receiving the Norwegian Medal of Honor by King Haakon.  I witnessed him being given the Valley Forge Medal for preaching at 1st Lutheran Church on Whitehall Road in North Muskegon, Michigan, whose building he facilitated.  He attributed his rich speaking voice to the use of his vowels.

My youngest brother, Kendall, six years my senior was an artist and a good writer. He came by it naturally, as Mom and Dad both engaged in oil painting. He drew cartoons for me and told tall tales of Paul Bunyan concurrently when I was young, But his artistry was more obvious to me when we lived in Northern Wisconsin, where his bedroom, adjacent to mine, became his art studio.

Instead of resembling his father, he resembled his grandfather, also a minister and professor at the Lutheran Bible Institute in Minneapolis.  

When we lived in Stoughton, Wisconsin, I attended a play, "Caligula", cast with two of my brothers and was surprised to see that my more extroverted brother, Alan, was not as good an actor as Kendall, who was more reserved.  Acting seemed to come more naturally to Kendall, and his movements were more fluid, as well.  Perhaps, he and I could have been emulating our grandfather whom, my dad called, "an actor in the pulpit".  Kendall, like my other brothers, became a University of Wisconsin graduate.  

One college summer at home, my dad also told me about the attack at Pearl Harbor, where he was in a white Chaplain's military uniform, wondering why they were doing target practice on Sunday morning, in the distance.  He became an almost perfect target, getting "strafed".  Having survived that, he became graves registration officer, identifying the casualties.

I wrote to Kendall, of course, when he was sent to Viet Nam, and reread the letter much later, where he told me he'd passed my picture around to the guys and to "keep those letters coming".

I am back in college.  I begin to receive the envelopes back, "return to sender", and I begin to suspect something is wrong  This suspicion is clinched when the chief advisor and campus minister, want to talk to me, to tell me that Kendall is Missing in Action.  

I am already cast in a play about someone missing in action, called, "All My Sons" by Arthur Miller, and have to go through that.  But by performance time, where my parents are in attendance, Kendall is already identified as a casualty.

Apparently, at home, and concurrently, the family is getting edgy at not hearing from Kendall and write letters regarding their concerns.  But the officer arrives to inform my mother, and my dad is also informed at work in Madison and drives home all alone with that dire news.  My parents, later, when Kendall's death is confirmed, visit my eldest brother, Steven, at his classroom where he has been teaching, and he embraces them silently.

When I arrive home, and my brother's casket is delivered, I watch as my parents kneel by it, at the funeral home.

My father gets cancer and dies two months later.

So, these two, pictured in uniform, are those who have made the ultimate sacrifice, one almost killed by strafing, at Pearl Harbor, and the other directly, in the TET offensive, as a medic and conscientious objector, in Viet Nam.

My mother observed that those who had direct experience in war, oftentimes didn't live very long, thereafter. 

Those were the Days?

 I read an article about a woman being a trad wife or really wishing she had been. She was trying to advance all the time, and eventually, the marriage died and the children grew up and lived elsewhere. (I think trying to advance was always something men did, but not necessarily, women. It's always a surprise ending when you realize you haven't really gone anywhere, and it's time to put your trophies on the shelf.)

But it got me to thinking about the 50's and 60's "illusions" we had, like the milkman would always come before your milk soured, (we didn't have to do that when we moved, as the dairy was right next store.) and marriage was a permanent state.

This was silly even then, as I remember a Christian Science lady living next door, fostering a half native American friend of mine. Her mom had gone through four husbands, who all died. Finally, she did, as she decided her faith would bring her out of illness, but of course, without medical intervention, it didn't. So, ALL the foster children came to the rescue of my friend.

There were a few divorcees. When another friend of mine and I asked a nurse aid at work, about marriage, she said she heard the married couple upstairs, and the wife yelling, "Get out! Out! Out!" (with some thrown objects). So, that was hardly secure.

I so miss large LP records and players and more people dressing nicely instead of wearing torn jeans.

But now that I'm learning how to be a domestic, it's a lot more complicated, like making sure you clip coupons online and claim your points; cleaning, because you notice it's there, etc. The role wasn't all it was cracked up to be, and on top of that, very few women played it, because a lot more worked than I realized.

There was one advantage. My mother calling workers in extra, often got the reply, "my husband won't let me". These days, a supervisor would say, "WHAT?!! Are you a child?"

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Scariest Halloween Ever

 I had gone to the Orthopoedic Administration to get fitted with a mid-calf boot for plantar fasciitus. So, I thought my grocery store adventures would be that this was my first experience riding around on a go cart through the store (due to my, hopefully, temporary foot problem). But instead, it was a clerk screwing up on my credit card that had me waiting and waiting and waiting to be treated fairly. It got to the point where my emoting was about to have me removed from the store, so I said, "Do it then!" I kept calling Bill and having them explain to him all this mess on the speaker phone. Long story short, they figured out a way, finally, to resolve the issue. On the way home, I thought, I'd seen my dad in action a few times, and I wondered if I'd inherited his persistence. I don't have the advantage of being a large 6 foot 2 like he was, with a deep voice. In fact, I was still sitting down. But all's well that ends well, at least, for then.

So, on Halloween, I look out the window and see white. Snow? On Halloween? It appeared to be a day like all days, except it was Halloween...with snow. As usual, I decide to check the internet news, but my computer goes blank. "Uh Oh!" Because it's not just the computer, it's everything. And I'm informed that it wouldn't be so bad, except the heat will be affected.

My friend Wendy wishes me a "Happy Halloween!", and "how are you?" "Not good. The power went out." This starts a long conversation. She begins by offering her house if the power continued to be out. I start packing my overnight bag.

I notice that Bill made two mistakes, briefly opening the refrigerator and insisting we run out to the car to rescue our gran-dog. When we try to get into the car, me wearing my boot with a hole in the front, we get warned by the street plow guy that our travels would be futile, as cars are stuck in the snow all over. So, I insist we call the other grandma, since they're geographically closer to the dog. When we get back to the house, I'm back to packing, while Bill is warning me the temperature is going to drop more.

Then, we proceed to drive around, possibly for a place to eat. My stomach is in knots, so I can't anyway. I'm dropped off on Seminole, so he can find a place to park. I'm still wearing my mid-calf boot and attempting to cross a busy street in the slush. It's time for prayer like, "Oh God, I'm so scared!" which isn't very effective when it comes to focusing on the positive. We thought only the dog would be there, but our daughter is and too fatigued to know what's going on until figuring it out the next day.

So, we go back to the house, because the energy company is still saying power will be back by 11. We find battery lanterns, and four of five actually work. Bill hears conversation while on the porch that gives him hope that the power will return. Instead, the workers leave. So, we get under many covers with clothes and coats on (even hats) and freeze.

The next day, we drive around again, this time, with packed bags. The heat in the car is so fierce, I tell Bill to please turn it down. By this time, even Wendy's power had gone out. Finally, he could think and calls friends who'd had people staying in their basement before.

We're greeted with warm soup. Bill's still checking as to when the power returns. Wendy even has hopes for our location. Later, we enjoy home-made tacos with our friends.

We enjoy our somewhat fitful but warmer night. He complains about my snoring, when I'm merely breathing. So, I'm relieved when I hear him snore, and I drift off to sleep. For a moment, in the morning in the bathroom, I see the lights go out and say, "Uh oh!" Fortunately, it's only out for 15 minutes.

We enjoy bean soup the next day.

Finally, Wendy figures out we'd have our power back, and I say, maybe by 5, though I'm skeptical. But actually, when we check back, the power is restored by 2:15, about the time it went out two days ago.

When I get back, I pick up the grandaughters, telling them the whole story, and dog sit, as originally planned.

In the process, I have acquired a new affinity for cats, as one circled around my head near the end of my taking a nap. Another cuddled up to me, and I was surprised, as I told the cat, "You LIKE me, I didn't know cats liked people!" Another cat sabotaged Bill's bed making by refusing to move. There were a couple dogs there, whom we already enjoy, but my animal appreciation has expanded.

Bill goes to get stuff for us to eat to tied us over, since after the power outage, there's virtually no food in the fridge or freezer. He brings me a can of lasagna, and I start salivating over the garlic toast in the freezer. I keep checking the internet to make sure it's safe. This time, I bought it with no cheese, so it should be. But there's this nagging feeling that maybe the butter sauce might not be okay. Meanwhile, he's insisting I throw it out, and don't take any chances. So, I get some regular wheat bread, butter it, sprinkle garlic powder on it, and put it in the microwave. I succumb to his pressure and throw out the garlic bread. Sniff! 😭

After this long outage, I tell Bill I'm cutting up an onion that survived it, because it's a vegetable that wasn't cut into. He's skeptical. So, he tells me that I'm the tester. I eat some slices first, then, he does. When I mention it later, he says he doesn't remember having any onions. I remind him that I was the tester, and that's so, if I should pass, he can claim my millions. I also tell him that condiments are okay, even after the outage. He says how do you know if something is a condiment? I admit, I don't know for sure.

We lost most of the groceries I'd fought for, and it didn't matter that the refrigerator door had been opened. It had been, not 4, but 48 hours.

Self Esteem Assault Revisited

 Imagine, carrying around someone's criticism for 55 years. This incident was in college in the dorm tower. We had house parents in the persons of a professor and his wife, located near the office. I was seldom there, but happened to be seated on a couch when some other student rolled a large hard ball toward their door. It "clunked", of course. So, the professor came out and glared at whoever it was, not being able to figure it out. Being me, and young, I burst into giggles. His wife declared, "I don't know what you're going to do when you get out in the world, Anita." Well, she didn't know me that well. I think I was rooming on about the 5th floor. And so, having been an impressionable student age, I carried that evaluation around for probably the rest of my life. How did this person who knew very little about me, barring my name, have such prophetic powers to predict my entire future? When I told my cousin about it, she didn't get what the lady meant by "out in the world", since I was obviously not on another planet at the time. It took today to figure out that I may have been mistaken as the "ball culprit", and the statement leveled at me was bull@&/%.

An Ode to Road (Construction)

 Clif Walter Martin inspired a song in me to the tune of the Kingston Trio song about the MTA: (Metropolitan Transit Authority) with credit to them.

"All I wanted to do was to go to Meijer,

to pick up some groceries,

But all I could do was get lost in the detours,

Crying what will become of me?

Chorus: But will I ever return? No, I'll never return,

and my fate is still unlearned,

I will ride forever through the streets of Muskegon,

I'm a gal, who'll never return.

Well, all I did was to take the wrong U-Turn..

And now, it's a quarter past 3.

I'll never afford to see my brother in Stoton,

nor my cousin in Eau Clairee.

Chorus: But will I ever return? No, I'll never return,

and my fate is still unlearned,

I will ride forever through the streets of Muskegon,

I'm a gal, who'll never return.

All night long, I've been following detours,

Neither store nor home, I see.

The only way out of this construction,

is to head for Michigan City.

New chorus.

But will I ever return?

No, I'll never return,

and my fate is still unlearned,

I will drive forever,

Through Michigan City,

through Chicago, and never return!"

(This is what little old ladies at grocery stores are really doing when they seem deep in thought.)

Temper, Temper

 I confess I had an altercation with somebody I didn't even know recently. So, I tried to consult with one of my psychology books, a chapter on anger, trying to clear my head about it. I believe that from time to time, you can find it beneficial to analyze your erroneous thoughts. After I got done with the chapter, I could see things a little more clearly.

 But then, I thought of that loose cannon down in Maralago and wondered if he EVER did any self examination, particularly about anger. Perhaps his niece, Mary, might be able to answer this, but it might be pretty simple, like, no.

Observe, Only More Deeply

 Observation from a take-out line:

First, I spotted a bike,

and I thought, "It's good I'm stopped for awhile, because I could have

run over it."

Second, I noticed a "student" carrying a large back pack on his back, sitting on a curb just in front of the bike, probably eating his take-out. I thought, "I'm glad they're taking awhile, because I might have run over his foot on the way out." Then, I noticed the bike was loaded with trash bags full of stuff.

So, third, I saw him get up, was gray bearded and not a student. And I thought, "I'm glad they're taking their sweet time, because I might have collided into a homeless senior about to mount his bike with all his earthly belongings."