A Pair of Guys It's Nice to Know

By CHARLES M. GUTHRIE

of the editorial page staff

published by the StarTribune

November 8, 1958

   JIM AND MIKE are a couple of pals of mine who are worth knowing.  Luckily, I'm their neighbor.  Jim lives next door and Mike four houses south.  I see them regularly on Saturday.  They come over then to give me a hand with the chores.

   To some people I'm too old to be interesting.  To others I'm too stuffy and reserved.  But Mike and Jim think I'm okay.  I appreciate this.  They lift my ego.  Three-year-olds are generous that way.  If they accept you at all they do so without reservations.

   LAST Saturday I backed the car out of the garage to do a wash job and rotate the tires.  Jim joined me in a matter of seconds, asked a few hundred questions to get himself squared away, and then grabbed the lug wrench.  By the time we had one wheel off Mike had joined us.

   I had a bucket of water and a brush at the scene.  Both kids wanted the brush.  I went inside and got a couple of rags, gave one to each, and we all started bathing the tire and wheel.

   THERE WAS considerable contention for use of the garden hose, jack and white-wall tire cleaner, and neither kid hesitated to boss me around.  But things went very well, with no blows or tears.  I had to settle repeated disputes as to which rag belonged to which boy, and endeavored with little success to keep their shirt sleeves dry, but by lunchtime we had the job almost done and nobody was soaking wet.

   Both promised to return in the afternoon.  Neither did.  One confessed rather shamefacedly that he'd taken a two-hour nap.  Maybe the other one did, too.  Or maybe his mother wished to be spared getting him into dry clothes a second time.

   JIM AND MIKE are great at mowing lawns and raking leaves.  Jim's folks found him a block away from home one afternoon this summer working on the lawn of someone they didn't know.  But Jim knew him.  He and Mike know everyone in the neighborhood.

   Their mothers evidence considerable concern for the boys' free-wheeling way of getting acquainted. They are downright chummy with any adult who gives them a scrap of attention.  They stand constantly ready to case your garage for shovels, ladders and carts and insist on being helpful.

   AS FAR AS I'm concerned, the mothers can quit stewing.  While irritability is not beyond me and I can get a lot more done alone than with the aid of a couple of moppets, I covet their company.

   I've reached that plateau on which I find no particular urgency.  If a job isn't finished this morning it can be done this afternoon--or next week.  And if it isn't done at all it probably won't matter.

   Anyhow, why all the rush?  Why not have time to enjoy the fun that fate puts in your lap?  The day may come when I wish to avoid children or, more to the point, when they avoid me.  As long as the mutual admiration holds I'll take advantage of it.

    THAT Saturday in the back yard Jim's mother remarked that my patience amazed her.  Come to think of it, it amazed me some, too.  I recalled that many a time, in similar circumstances when my own children were small, I was waspish and irascible, acting in a way that called for later apologies.  Perhaps patience, understanding and appreciation of childhood are among the boons of middle-age.

   There also must be taken into account the fact, regrettable but undeniable, that we use more courtesy and forbearance with outsiders than with members of the family.

   A fragment of verse comes to mind: "But for our own, the bitter tone, though we love our own the best."

   Not that much forbearance is required in my relationship with Jim and Mike.  Given the chance, I'd steal either or both of them.

Copyright 2014 StarTribune.  Republished here with the permission of the StarTribune.  No further  republication or redistribution is permitted without the express approval of the StarTribune.

   

Losing Old Neighbors is No Fun

By CHARLES M. GUTHRIE

of the editorial page staff

published by the StarTribune

June 7, 1958

   THE FAMILY next door moved out the other day.  When the van pulled away it hauled along a lot of roots that had been nourished by 14 years of enriching association.  Two generations of Browns had lived there, dating back to 1912 when house and neighborhood were new.  We felt somehow deserted.

   The incident drove home an old truth, that most of life's blessings, if enjoyed long enough, come to be taken for granted and are only missed when snatched away--comfortable living, good food, good health and good fellowship, the kind born of binding incidents, common problems, shared laughs and close proximity.

   WE'VE ALWAYS had good neighbors and fully expect our luck to hold.  Because people are fundamentally considerate, neighbors usually are good, and despite the wails and dire prophecies anent the younger generation, we've found neighborhood kids more boon than bane.

   None of our neighbors ever was nosey, fussy or crabby.  We've never had one who made a habit of dropping in for coffee and conversation at wrong times.  None ever seemed compelled to alert us to the fact that Hortense Wintergreen down the block would get into trouble if she continued stepping out with that no-good Beeler boy.  None ever tried to mind our business or let their young barge through the door without knocking.

   We've had no more than the normal neighborhood dog nuisances.  Whenever I've fumed at having to tidy up the lawn after a pooch's call I've been reminded that we also once had a dog which wasn't particularly fastidious.

   NEIGHBORS are a definite asset.  It is comforting to know there is someone to call on in time of crisis, such as when you run out of eggs or your pride and joy has made an unannounced raid on the refrigerator, going south with all the milk.

   And when some demanding errand takes you suddenly away for an hour at night and you can't track down a sitter, it's wonderful to have a neighbor willing to keep vigil over Junior.

   THE BROWNS measured up on all counts.  They'd take in the mail when we were on vacation.  They'd tend the parakeets.  They'd lend us what we were out of and always gave more than they received.

   These are not uncommon courtesies, you may say.  Most neighbors will do the same.  But what made the Browns especially nice to live near was that nobody in the clan was a do-it-yourself wizard.  It borders on libel to say it, but I suspect that none of them ever knew any more about the mysteries of plumbing, wiring and carpentry than I know.

   This hasn't always been my privilege.  I have had neighbors who, though kind and generous, were such expert and willing helpers they made me uncomfortable.  Not only did they know what to do before the electrician came, they knew so much he seldom had to come.  They knew instinctively when I had been over-diligent with a pipe wrench and would charge in, push me aside, and take over.

   You quickly feel under too great obligation to such neighbors.  You also feel a cringing inadequacy.

   DURING the years the Browns were neighbors I painted the garage twice.  None of them ever came over to kibitz the job or to grab the brush and say,"Here, do it this way."  They never told me I should have scraped the structure before painting, never said I should have first applied a primer coat.  A small thing, perhaps, but inattention that I appreciated.

   I also was glad I got only sympathy when the furnace went haywire.  Over the long pull, I prefer sympathy to help.

   I hope that their attitude was the same.  About the only help they ever got from me was the loan of a shovel.  Perhaps after noting my garage jobs they knew my capacity for assistance was small.  How right they were.

Copyright 2014 StarTribune.  Republished here with the permission of the StarTribune.  No further republication or redistribution is permitted without the express approval of the StarTribune.

   

Grandma, 87, Too Busy Cutting Meat to Quit

By CHARLES M. GUTHRIE

Of the editorial/opinion page staff

published by the StarTribune

March 10, 1968

                   Jeffers, Minn.

   BUTCH WESSELL is 67 and retired.  His mother is 87 and still working.

   What's more, she has no intentions of quitting work and it would surprise nobody in this town of 500, located in the corn and soybean flatlands of Cottonwood County, if she still were on the job a decade hence.

   Her mane is Laura Wessell, but nobody calls her Laura, just as nobody calls her son Alfred.  She is Grandma and he is Butch, and so it has been these many years.  

   GRANDMA lives in an apartment above the store of her grandson-in-law, Loy Storey, and she works in the store six days a week and asks no favors of anybody.  The meat department is her special love and most of the time she's there in the back cutting and trimming meat, making bologna and sausage, and wrapping beef for the lockers.

   If work is a  hobby she has one.  She enjoys her unique role as a lady butcher.  She also enjoys cooking--and counts no calories.  "I like to make stuff rich," she chortles.

   She also likes to come out front and chat with the customers.  This helps keep her abreast of what's going on in the community.  One of her chief interests is the Jeffers school, where her daughter, Mrs. Maybelle Bigbee, is secretary.  Grandma reads the papers and watches television but her enjoyment of the latter is dimmed by partial deafness. 

   THE LONGER you're around this unusual woman the more you wonder at her strength and agility.  She can lift a box of meat as easily as a young housewife can lift a pork roast, and she wants no help in getting in and out of a car.  She is short and stocky, with a sense of humor, a merry eye, a big smile and limitless energy.

   From the store to her apartment is 22 steps up.  She makes the trip without breathing hard.  "When she has bread in the oven," Loy Storey laughs, "Grandma goes up there every 15 minutes."  Currently she also is caring for an ailing sister, Ella Schall, who lives with her.

   Grandma was married at age 20 in Windom to Henry Wessell.  They started in the meat business at nearby Bingham Lake.  All they had going for them at the time, Grandma recalls, "was a cleaver, a block, a saw and a knife."  Her husband did the butchering in farm pastures.  She helped process the meat.

   When they moved to Jeffers in 1918 they branched out into groceries and soon Butch, 18 at the time, became a partner.  Some time after his father died in 1948, Butch sold out to a partnership which included Storey.  Later Butch bought out Storey's partner and went into business with his son-in-law.

   IN ALL THOSE years Grandma Wessell kept whomping up sausage and hamburger, sawing and cutting meat and otherwise making herself indispensable.  This left no time for bridge, fancy luncheons and other functions so dear to most female hearts but Grandma has no regrets.  

   She has five grandchildren, 14 great grandchildren and one great-great grandchild.  And she's confident that she'll live long enough to see the tribe of great-great grandchildren increased substantially.

   WHAT motivates this woman who never takes a vacation and who works six days a week when she could sit back and take it easy?  Why does she push herself so when it isn't necessary?

   "But it is necessary," says Butch, who retired in 1966.  "Work is her life and it keeps her going.  She couldn't live without the job, the store and the apartment.  They're home."

   And she'll only leave home, says Grandma, "when they carry me out."

Copyright 2014 StarTribune.  Republished here with the permission of the  StarTribune.  No further republication or redistribution is permitted without the express approval of the StarTribune.