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Class of
1965
Barron Area High School
Barron, Wisconsin
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Remembering our Deceased
Classmates
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Patricia (Gilbertson) Rich
July 31, 2003
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Bobbie (Greenwold) Mann
January 15, 2009
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Dwayne E. Humphrey
March 23, 2010
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Virginia L. Jensen
June 19, 1965
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Roger A. Knutson
September 2, 2005
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Patty Kay (Kuehndorf) Johnson
October 7, 2007
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Rodger A. Mickelson
May 25, 1986
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Michael S. Miller
December 24, 1987
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Rodney A. Peterson
March 16, 2005
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Russell C. Tabor
January 22, 2011
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John R. Willis
June 15, 2010
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The Buddy Plan |
Russ and I go back a ways. We played ball together at Barron Senior High, and going back to junior high we played against each other, being from different schools at the time.
Back in the day he and I had some ‘tandem’ experiences we can call them now. There was the time, about 1964, when a bunch of us packed into a Tabor vehicle with Russ at the wheel. There must have been half a dozen of us in that car. Russ and I were the only guys, as I recall. The purpose of our venture was to check out the National Farmers’ Organization gathering or demonstration, or whatever the heck it was, just outside of town. It turned out to be a rough crowd by our experience.
Russ turned off old Highway 8 at County Trunk O where NFO cars and trucks were lined up on both sides of the road as far as the eye could see. “Is this a good idea, Russ?” Too late. An angry crowd of men in well worn Red Wings and overalls crowded the road. They stopped us. Then they began shaking the car from side to side, threatening to roll us over. We did not double dare them. Then these guys explained how they were going to drag us out of the car and beat the crap out of us, or something along those lines. It was a surreal moment—why us? We were there and we weren’t them was pretty much the answer. One of the men finally pointed out that we were minors so there would be legal trouble if we got pulverized. But then some younger guys squeezed out of the crowd, and passionately begged to beat us up because they too were minors and that would make it OK. Russ was Russ and maintained cool and calm. Laurie Mac was Laurie Mac and told the bad-asses to kiss off. Russ and I didn’t think that was such a good idea, especially since we were the token guys who were about to be the pulverize-ees. Russ and I were definitely in tandem on that. But Laurie’s heartfelt comment may have broken the spell. The guys rocked us and cursed us a while longer but then allowed us to motor on down the road in relative peace and, best of all, totally intact. I can’t recall Russ and I ever talking about that incident since, but there is no doubt we both held that memory. Do Laurie and the girls share this experience? Could be interesting.
Good at connecting with everybody, everybody was comfortable around Russ. He always displayed a sincere interest in people, and wanted to know what was going on in our lives, and then he would tell us about others we knew; where they were, what they were doing, and how he had last connected with them. That was especially true with guys we had both known from Army days. Russ would tell me something like how he stopped at some gas station three years ago in a dinky North Dakota berg while driving through because he remembered that somebody from basic training came from there, and how he looked up the guy in a phone book or tried a couple of numbers that might have a connection. Russ was the real deal that way.
Russ had some spunk. He was athletic too and enjoyed the give and take of football, basketball, and baseball. In a conference baseball game our senior year, the Rice Lake first baseman, who probably had seven inches and 70 pounds on Russ, got a little rough. Russ didn’t care for the treatment he got crossing first base, and in knee-jerk reaction Russ stuck his chin in the guy’s chest and firmly made the point “don’t mess with us, man.” From the bench we couldn’t have been more proud, and hardly more amused. But we sucked it up and didn’t laugh in Russ’ presence. We got no more crap at first base. |
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After high school Russ and I shared the soldier bond. For a time we were soldiers in tandem—together pretty much all the time for a few months. We were in basic training together and then off to specialized training after that. That was enough to cement the tandem deal. It started when we shared the bus ride to Minneapolis from Leroy’s City Service on the northeast corner of Division Avenue and 7th Street, Barron, Wisconsin. Russ and I slogged through the same all-day tests and the thorough physical exam the next day, and we stayed at the same Andrews Hotel, long gone now, where the bathroom was down the hall.
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We ate breakfast the next morning with another couple dozen guys all headed for the same army as we. At the communal hotel breakfast table in the morning we all discovered for the very first time little wiener-like things we came to know as sausage links. Strange things. We were like the cautious crow making the first wary peck at fresh road kill. Is it OK? Whaddaya think? One guy finally took a bite and they were OK. But we still didn’t know what we were working with. Then, through our nervous-nelly anticipation of the day and an enigmatic Army adventure now upon us, one guy came up with the answer. Can’t recall who, although Russ probably does. The guy had his epiphany and then proudly identified these little sausage wieners to be--“pygmy cock!” Nothing could have broken the tension more, or brought us all together more, or caused deeper or more memorable belly laughs.
Later that day, after the surreal experience of being sworn in as honest to gosh Army troops, we clambered aboard a train to Kansas City. Kansas City here we come. Russ and I met our first authentic wino with a paper-bagged bottle who had camped out next to the ‘head’ with his plain brown sack and a worn deck of cards. We were so naïve we weren’t even good rubes for the old guy; we turned down the offer to make some “social” card bets. We slept in our first and last berth that night, and jived with the first ‘colored’ guy we got to know; our porter, and who was also a short-term but memorable and appreciated world mentor. It was a long but exciting ride with all these guys from different places: Minneapolis, St. Paul, the Iron Range, the Dakotas, and elsewhere. Smart talk, sports talk, hometown stories, and trying to inhale cigarette smoke consumed most of our time. From K.C. we boarded buses to finish the trip on to Fort “Lost in the Woods” Leonard Wood, Missouri. Arriving at an odd hour, we bunked for a couple hours in an empty barracks while our fate was being determined. One of us fell asleep on a top bunk, and another of us tied together the shoelaces of the sleeper. Oh boy. Dirty trick, but we were young and resilient then. When the sergeant burst through the door and screamed our first “ON YOUR FEET,” it was a crash landing off the top bunk and sure death and/or court-martial had the shoelace finagler been fingered.
After eleven weeks at Fort Leonard Wood and 15 days leave back home during the World Series (Twins vs. Dodgers) it was on to Fort Devens, Massachusetts for A.I.T. (Advanced Individual Training). It took another first for us, a Boeing 707 jet airplane ride to get there. What else can you say? Wow!
I’m not sure we knew what the flight schedule was. We rookies just showed up at MSP International to catch a flight to Boston. The reality was no direct flights and the next departure hours away. OK, I guess. But wait, there’s something taking off NOW? It’s literally on the tarmac with rolling stairs set to roll. No checking luggage; Russ and I grab our oversize carry-ons and haul ass for Gate 39. Man, we got 18 years of Barron County Wisconsin experience and don’t git in r way. Man. And remember, this is when flying was really cool and stewardesses were really stewardesses. Cannot recall doing any hurdles like in the O.J. commercials to catch the plane, but we were stretching ‘em out, and with people pointing the way and opening doors for us. True story. This for a couple of Private E-1’s making $75 a month and on their way to meet their grown up destiny. People smiled and we smiled back. The rolling stairs had started to roll, as I recall, but our smiles held and we hustled up and on. The door closed, we scrambled for the last two seats, and the next thing we knew, the ‘stew’ was serving us drinks—Whiskey Ol’ Fashion. Wow. By the way, Whiskey Old Fashions suck. Did then. Do now. But at 18 that’s what we could think of that sounded manly. We were in tandem and we were on our way. Russ and I.
So much more, you understand, but this will have to do for now. When you have one of those tandem connections and can speak a common language with or without words, it is too often we don’t realize just how special it is. Until it is gone. God loves ya, buddy. So do I. See ya soon. Soon enough.
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"One thousand words
won't bring you back.
I know because
I've tried.
Neither will one
million tears.
I know because
I've cried.
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'I never saw you close
your eyes.
I never saw you die.
But the part that hurts
the most
Was I never said goodbye."
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"He who binds
himself to knowledge
Steals the key to
heaven."
...Class Motto
This page updated: 1/23/11
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