by Howard Mohr
My wife and I moved to the country because we wanted to live the life we read about in Little House on the Prairie and Bambi. But living in somebody else’s house on their land and paying for their fuel oil made it pretty hard to smell the flowers and become one with nature. It was even getting difficult to become one with ourselves.
But we knew that if anything happened in a small town it happened very slowly or not at all.
About six or seven years ago I called the Co-op to order some number-one fuel oil, identifying myself by name, which was still Harold Mire, although I developed a nervous tic whenever I said it.
“This is Harold Mire. I need some number-one fuel oil.”
“You bet,” the guy at the Co-op said.
You bet. I suppose I should have put it in the local news section of the Hornet Eagle. “The Harold Mire family of rural Hornet recently began ordering fuel oil under their own name.”
A couple of years ago when I examined the deed and title to the Mire bump, I found out the Fletchers and the Prindels were interlopers like me, and it made me feel a little better. The St. Peter Railroad owned it before them, and the state of Minnesota before that, and the United States government before that. It wasn’t mentioned in the title, but of course the U.S. government got the place from France. France, I assume, got it from the Sioux Indians, but I don’t think they worked through a realtor.
It’s probably our destiny to stay where we are—you know where, two doglegs north past the Methodist cemetery on County 12. But if we ever do have to sell the Mire bump and move away, I hope the new owners aren’t strangers coming to the country to find out who they are in the large scheme of things. They’ll be lucky if the world’s second co-op oil station finds out who they are.
Twenty-five years ago the Lutherans were strong in Minnesota, and the parishioners were a good source for talking Minnesotan and remain so to this day. Back in 1987, when the Star Tribune interviewed me about How to Talk Minnesotan, I suggested that in addition to using the visitor’s guide, out-of-state visitors could pick a Lutheran church and participate as best they could, going to basement suppers, playing basketball on sports night, signing up for the canoe retreat in the north country (men only) or the quilting group (women only), and as a last resort listen to the sermon. Minnesota’s Lutheran pastors are trained in Greek and Hebrew, but their first language is Minnesotan. Luther Seminary in St. Paul, Minnesota, has a special course in Minnesotan for pastors from other states who wish to be called to a Lutheran church in Minnesota; otherwise, they would not have a prayer.
In 1987 church basement coffee (CBC) was served at wedding receptions, at funeral lunches, and during the various church festivals. Church basement coffee was a staple, and easily identified. When one was served a cup of coffee in a Lutheran church, for it to be true CBC, one needed to see the bottom of the cup clearly through the lightly colored liquid. Few parishioners ever get the jitters from church basement coffee.
In greater Minnesota, which means rural, most Lutheran churches stick to tradition and serve CBC only at church events, including upstairs before the church service with doughnut holes and selected bars. In 2003 Gary (not his real name) was assigned coffee duties for Sunday morning at a Lutheran church in a southwestern Minnesota village and thought maybe a guy should give everybody a treat. He bought two pounds of Caribou’s Colombian Full City Roast and dumped it into the big V-2 rocket–shaped aluminum percolator. “There’s something wrong with this coffee” was whispered around the fellowship room so as not to hurt Gary’s feelings. Gary heard some of the men, even a deacon, making references to crankcase oil and other petrochemicals.
But I would be remiss if I did not talk about the unfortunate conflict among Lutherans that erupted slowly beginning about 2006, though some say there were signs of discontent as far back as 2002 in the larger parishes of the Twin Cities. The media referred to it as the “Coffee Wars.” In 2008 YouTube went nuts on it, and lots of very fine parishioners were made to look like dopes, which seems to be the primary purpose of YouTube. The “Coffee Wars” were all over Facebook, where friends became frenemies over a cup of coffee. Trouble was brewing.
The shot heard round the Twin Cities area came from Church X when it installed a streaming digitized outdoor sign that announced times for services and sermon titles. It was not long before X’s streaming sign began providing time and temperature, a practical addition from the newly hired IT pastor. Some parishioners, living as they did in the Twin Cities, and quite accustomed to a solid cup of coffee from Starbucks, began asking for better coffee during the preservice fellowship. Starbucks provided Church X with pump containers and two Sunday morning blends. The IT pastor streamed “Starbucks served here, today’s blend, Waker Upper.”
A parishioner and his wife on their way to Church Y saw the sign, slowed down, looked at each other, and whipped into X’s lot. They were welcomed with open arms and a good cup of Waker Upper, room for cream, no sugar. The couple later notified their pastor at Church Y that they were thinking about changing their membership.
I don’t wish to take sides, though I will say that when Church X started streaming the Minnesota Lottery numbers for the Saturday drawing, it seemed a bit on the tacky side. But who am I to judge.
This conflict made its rounds on Facebook and e-mail. Google “Coffee Wars” if you have a strong stomach.
It was not long until many churches upped the ante and began offering mochas, lattes, and espresso for Sunday fellowship, trying to outdo each other, which, pardon me, does seem a trifle inappropriate.
During the highly competitive Advent season in 2011, Lutheran Church R advertised cappuccino and maple scones on their Web page. Parishioners from Church Z, Church J, and several couples from the Presbyterian Church around the corner showed up. But they didn’t stay for the sermon.
Doctors and Patients in Minnesota
VISITING THE DOCTOR
The following is an actual conversation between a Minnesota doctor and a Minnesota patient, recorded by hidden microphones in the examining room. Nothing has been deleted. What’s to hide?
DOCTOR: “So, how’re you feeling then?”
PATIENT: “Oh, not too bad, really, Doc. I hate to bother you.”
D: “No problem. Any discomfort?”
P: “Oh, yeah, a little. Nothing to get excited about, I don’t think. I was down in this area anyway, so I thought I’d check with you, just in case it’s something. But if you’re busy, I could always come back. It’s not like it’s a big deal.”
D: “You don’t look all that bad, professionally speaking.”
P: “It could be worse. I can live with it. What do you think it could be?”
D: “It could be anything.”
P: “That’s kinda what I thought, too.”
D: “On the other hand, it could be what’s going around. I been seeing a lot of that lately. Let me feel your forehead.”
P: “Have I got a fever?”
D: “She’s a little warm, but then my hand’s cold. Have you been taking any medication?”
P: “Dry toast is all.”
D: “Would you say you’re worse than you were or better?”
P: “Better, today, I’d say.”
D: “Well, then, just keep doing whatever it is you’re doing to get better.”
P: “I haven’t been doing too much at all, really. Mostly lying on the davenport watching TV.”
D: “Sounds good to me. Anything else I can help you with then?”
P: “No, Doc, that should do her. I thought, well, better safe than sorry. Should I come back in a week or so to see how I’m doing then?”
D: “Whatever. You know how you feel better than I do.”
TWO COMMON MINNESOTA DISEASES
Chances are if you get anything while you’re in Minnesota you’ll get what’s going around. It’s epidemic most of the year. Ninety-five percent of the people who call in sick to work have what’s going around.
—“I can’t mak
e it to work today. I could barely get out of bed to drink liquids. I don’t have any energy. I’m pretty sure it’s what’s going around.”
What’s going around is often brought on by going outside with wet hair and getting chilled. If you suspect you have what’s going around, you’re probably right, but if you want a second opinion, have somebody’s mother feel your forehead.
If it’s not what’s going around, it could be Hotdish Revenge. Hotdish Revenge is caused by eating warmed-up hotdish on the third day. Something about hotdish makes it a playground for microbes after a while. If you don’t know how long it’s been in the refrigerator, you’d better feed it to the cats. Cats are immune to hotdish that’s over the hill.
—“Do you want to go drive around the Metrodome and see if it’s still inflated for the Vikings game?”
—“Boy, it’s tempting—that Metrodome is so beautiful—and I got over what’s going around—but now I think I’ve got a case of Hotdish Revenge. I’m gonna stay in the house and do a little light trotting from room to room.”
A few hints for non-Minnesotans thinking about practicing medicine in Minnesota:
1. If you went to an out-of-state medical school, just clean instruments and recorded music won’t do the trick for you. Unless you study Minnesotans and their language, you could be the one out there in your waiting room all day reading old magazines and listening for your name to be called.
2. Don’t talk too much. Nothing scares a Minnesotan more than a doctor who rattles on and on, and that includes saying too much about what you’re doing to the patients or for them.
3. Minnesotans figure it’s less trouble all the way around if they never get sick. This can have an economic impact on those in the health-care-delivery field.
You see, our aim in life is to have nothing wrong with us when we buy the farm. Jogging probably helps toward that end. That’s why we jog here. We don’t experience the highs from running claimed in other states (it’s mostly lows) and we don’t have any illusions that running down a road every day will necessarily make us live longer than anybody else. But it might keep us healthy until we die.
Take the newspaper story of one Minnesota jogger’s last run. He was putting his miles in on a gravel road—the same road he had used for nearly twenty years—and although there weren’t any witnesses, the evidence indicates that his number was up: his body stopped and he just pitched forward, skidded a little on his right shoulder and lay there dead until his neighbor drove by and slung him in the back of his pickup and drove him home. He was the picture of health when he died. He should have been proud of himself.
4. We do get sick in Minnesota, but we pretend that we aren’t sick until our symptoms are unmistakable. In some ways this makes the practice of medicine easier in Minnesota: anybody could diagnose what’s wrong by the time most of us make an appointment. On the other hand, if we know what’s wrong, why go to the doctor?
GET-WELL CARDS
The quilted cards with flowers and cheerful messages in rhyme are fine for people in other states. But here we prefer something a little less direct. When I was in the hospital for some tests—they thought it was gonna be my gallbladder, but it turned out to be nothing, which is what I figured—I got a cheerful card from my brother: it had a picture of a John Deere combine on the front going through wheat. Inside was a picture of a loaf of bread. My brother added a personal message: “We got about 4/10ths last night.” I appreciated the sentiments.
WHERE TO GO IN MINNESOTA
Pageants
[Note: Going to a lake and fishing is the most popular tourist activity in Minnesota. Going to a lake and thinking about fishing while you sit in the shade in front of the cabin and drink beer is the second most popular tourist activity. They’re both hard to beat. What’s in third place is a toss-up, depending on who you talk to. For my money, it’s Minnesota’s pageants. Myself, I got the pageant bug when I used to watch the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade on TV with my grandpa. Every time I see a large figure blown up with gas, I think of him. That’s why I consider myself lucky to live in Minnesota—we’ve got pageantry coming out our ears. It’s an institution here. I asked M. Sam Johnson, director of the Minnesota Pageant Council, if he wouldn’t write a few words about Minnesota’s rich tradition of pageantry. —H.M.]
Dear Harold:
Glad to take time out from my busy schedule and help you beef up your book. I’m always happy to talk about pageants, as you know. When I replaced Rick Borg at the helm of the Minnesota Pageant Council (after Rick was appointed Peat Moss Development Officer by the governor) I knew that the pageantry industry was burgeoning and I felt very strongly that pageants would someday rival Minnesota’s lakes in vacation clout. So when an independent study placed Minnesota number one in pageantry among the fifty states this year, I was gratified. A personal goal for next year is to get “Pageant Capital of the Western Hemisphere” on our license plates. The flying loon and the pocket gopher with its head sticking out of a hole don’t do us justice.
There are 793 pageants currently registered with the Pageant Council and 300-plus others actively seeking our endorsement. A pageant qualifies for certification if it achieves thirty-two spectacle units on its maiden outing. The MPC spectacle team evaluates it in the areas of concept, costuming, music, gross revenue, scene design, parade, coronation, impact, and overall sincerity. If a pageant has followed our guidelines but still falls short of the thirty-two-point target, we send a task force out.
A case in point was the Composting Pageant in Borstarck. Borstarck, as you know, has since put itself on the map with their pageant, but the first year it looked like a loser and received only sixteen spectacle units. But we thought it had potential. So I assigned Gordon Pinto—our best troubleshooter—to the Borstarck job. Gordy, as you maybe recall, got a lot of press attention when he singlehandedly turned Garsinia’s Corn Cob Days around. Gordy saw immediately that the problem with the Composting Pageant was 95 percent conceptual. It’s a damn good three-star pageant now.
But I won’t pretend it’s all been a bed of roses, Harold. I refer to Swipton’s so-called Wet T-Shirt Pageant. The town council and the American Legion in Swipton went through proper channels with their Sugar Beet Pageant. It was certified with a four-star rating. It was a fine, family-oriented pageant, with barbershop quartets, a beet opera, and the “endless procession of beets.” Something or somebody must’ve snapped up there, because we started getting letters from shocked and disappointed travelers who said if they wanted that kind of disgusting entertainment they’d stay home and watch cable TV. There’s no telling how many tourists we lost to Wisconsin and South Dakota over that pageant. We censured Swipton immediately and finally had no choice but to withdraw certification when they refused to clean up their act. We can play hardball when we have to.
Maybe this isn’t the place to mention it, but another thorn in my side was the Poetry Pageant in Sedgely. I knew exactly where that one went wrong, and I righted it. When I began getting complaints from tourists that the poetry didn’t sound like poetry, it sounded like newspaper articles, I went out to Sedgely. I could not believe what I found. Most of the “poems” they had been foisting on the crowds were indeed prose. I showed the incriminating evidence to the Poetry Pageant president and he said those were prose poems. That’s what he said, prose poems. I laughed in his face and informed him that poetry rhymed and had lines of a certain length and went da-dum, da-dum, de-de-da, da-dum, and so forth, and anybody with a third-grade education knew that.
But enough of the negative. I’m going to let you in on something, but I have to ask you not to use it in your book. The MPC is working on a major pageant of its own that will celebrate the subject of Minnesota pageantry itself. It will be a superb entertainment vehicle, but also educational. We expect it to raise pageant consciousness tremendously. We’re pretty darned excited about it.
Well, Harold, I hope this is what you wanted, or close. Drop by MPC headquarters sometime when you’re
in town. I slipped in a copy of our latest guide for you. Feel free to reprint anything you want from it.
Vive la Pageants,
M. Sam Johnson
Selections from Pageants Galore!!—the official MPC guide to Minnesota Pageants:
Exposed-Rock Pageant
Hardstone, Minnesota, June 2. First pageant certified by the MPC, first to receive five-star rating. The enormous slabs of granite dotting the landscape around Hardstone were only stumbling blocks to the early settlers, who had no suspicion they were dynamiting full basements out of the world’s oldest exposed rock, as later determined by a team of scientists. The Exposed-Rock Pageant is the exuberant celebration of this geological fact.
The carnival of delights includes the lively acrobatics of the Wizard of Stone (Hardstone’s mayor), the hilarious mock-rock auction, and the dancing Shetlands. Some travelers to Minnesota are said to return each year for the tasty Nugget Dogs alone, a patented novelty food of hot dog chunks wrapped in lefse and deep-fat fried to look like tiny boulders.
Running-Water Pageant
Bellabeut, August 23. A spectacle of the first order, this pageant commemorates the construction of the new water tower in 1971 and again in 1972. (The footings for the legs weren’t deep enough on the first one and it tipped over during a blizzard on a Sunday in December of ’72. It crushed the municipal liquor store and knocked the bank off its foundation and washed the drive-in facility down the street almost to the railroad tracks. But nobody was hurt.) The pageant starts at dawn and features twenty pumper trucks and 5,000 feet of fire hose. Good local acting and plenty of laughs. Bring a raincoat and a change of clothes.
