St. John Memorial Day ramblings

I got overextended physically on Saturday, again. The 20 mile bike ride for the first ride of the year probably did it. Running at 9 – 12 mph. So I dehydrated a little and got déjà vu, all over again.
So Sunday was a do nothing day until four o’clock when we went over to see Pat and Arlin and their family that was up at the lake.
We were over there when the tornado hit Hugo.
Today we watched Christmas shoes, a movie with Rob Lowe and other big names, which was great and made me cry and think about the dash of my life, which brought me to St. John. As a result of that movie Arly just asked me if I was doing what I want with my life, or was I just doing what I had to do to pay the bills. She is encouraging me to think in a way I haven’t since college.

So I started thinking of St. John, North Dakota, where I did really grow up. I adapted to change. I never thought of myself as a white man until age 14. That realization was rough on me. My culture in me is Metis/Ojibway. The culture around Danbury, for the oldtimers, is Ojibway/logger. Flavel Merton Ray French had a lot of Ojibway in him, though not by blood. Arda Roy was my scoutmaster when I started Boy Scouts. But Dad was there a lot. We met in the Izaak Walton League building. They called it a Cabin, but it was really a conventional built building that was a club house for grown up men. It was right across the street from the elementary school. There was a Mounted Moose Head over the door as you walked in.
St. John had a history of development. We had a tennis court with a basketball hoop across the street. Then there was the MBA Hall where the community activities were held, with Dances every Friday night. Dad was the cop who had to keep all in order. That was tough when the “toughs” from Belcourt and Rolla would meet to duke it out on Main Street in St. John.
We had a Veteran’s memorial park where every year on Memorial day until I was 16, I would play taps. When Chuck got old enough he would play, and I would echo. Then Gussie got in on the act too.
The WWII and Korean Vets would be there in uniform, proud of their country, and missing the fallen comrades.
All the Boy Scouts would be there too, and would parade with the Vets to the memorial.

Last night on TV WCCO replayed “The Last Flagraiser”, the story of Chuck Lindberg from Grand Forks, North Dakota, who along with his company of Marines were tasked with raising a flag on the mountain on Iwo Jima. 70,000 marines started to take that island. Over 7,000 died, over 20,000 injured, was the human cost directly, but none of them ever forgot. Chuck was one of the people who raised the first flag. The famous picture, and the Marine memorial, are the second flag raising. Chuck is the last surviving flag raiser. That happened on February 18, 1945, slightly more than five years before I was born.

Joe Jeannotte is a real marine from St. John, North Dakota, now a police investigator in Chicago. Maybe retired in the last couple of years. He was my hero as a kid. He was a Sea Scout in St. John. Think of it. Mike Wanschaffe, Commander, started a Sea Scout group in St. John, North Dakota, 1500 miles from the Pacific, 1500 miles from the Atlantic, 1500 miles from the Gulf of Mexico, and about 1400 miles from Hudson Bay. But they were shipshape.

We salute all Veterans and service men and women. Including Jacob Flavel French.