Brave, good man

The former Sears historic building on Lake Street, with the global market on the main floor, was involved in the police-killing inspired riots last night. We have sold the condo we once owned there, the home of Kathleen’s brother before he died. He loved his place on the tenth floor.

According to residents, two windows were smashed in the Global Market, site of many small businesses, but looters were kept away by an unarmed security guard who bravely posted himself in the broken window. Residents are grateful for his actions, and have started a fund for the family of this courageous black man who did not desert his post.

The search for his father's killer

The meanest, nastiest son-of-a-bitch in our Army Brigade was the chief of staff. We boys in headquarters company feared him and made sure our paths didn’t cross. We avoided him like the, er, plague. Best to stay safe.

Not Ken. He befriended the old bastard.

Ken relished running errands to the head shed, with all its potential for chance encounters with the legendary beast. He’d hope to engage him and bring back exaggerated stories to entertain his section comrades. We called Ken a brown nose and worse, secretly envied him, and mocked him for kissing up to his “Daddy.” Ken loved it.

Ironically, we didn’t know it then, but Ken had no Dad.

Ken had signed up for flight school, but his eyesight betrayed him, so the Army re-assigned him to a burial detail and he comforted grieving widows for a time. Ken knew grief. Then he moved on to the Army happy news department, where we met.

A good ol’ boy with a slight drawl, his fearless, somewhat pugnacious attitude would serve throughout his life as a cheerful fighting country publisher, once taking on a corrupt sheriff who threatened to burn his house down or something; then his segment on 60 Minutes, and a book exposing dirty doings.

He is nothing if not courageous, dogged and persistent.

Today Amazon delivered my copy of Flight 7 is Missing; the Search for My Father’s Killer by Ken H. Fortenberry. It’s his lifelong project researching the circumstances of the 1957 crash into the Pacific of a Pan American World Airways flight returning from Hawaii. The co-pilot and navigator was also the father of six year old Kenny.

Dubbed by The New York Times as one of the "most vexing and unexplained" mysteries in aviation history, the tragedy resulted in 44 deaths and remains officially unsolved to this day.

My wife unwrapped the book when it finally came and “forgot” to tell me. She had completed 14 pages before I said “Aha!” Unfortunately, it’s her birthday weekend so, after a quick scan, I indulged her until she nods off tonight. But I could see from the reviews and a brief look that his meticulous unraveling reveals a willingness to go where others have not. His persistence has drawn a conclusion that’s undeniable: It was murder.

His “Daddy” would have admired him— and so would his Father.

I know I do.

Now if I could just get my hands on the book.

In a mock ceremony upon his discharge in 1971, Spec. 4 Ken Fortenberry (right) turns in his mighty weapon. (That’s not actually a Brigadier General wearing the stars.) Ken would pick up another pen as a civilian, and never put it down again. By the way, the spartan office was air-conditioned. Not for our personal comfort, mind you. But the photographic film and chemistry unit therein had to be climate controlled. :)

First one ever

Here's the first water lily in our new Hotel California pond:

How she always meets her budget

My fellow retired publisher friend and his wife were buying flowers for the cabin properties she owns and manages near International Falls. They had a discussion about her flower budget, he confided to me.

For 35 years, Wayne and I had diligently prepared annual budgets and then religiously stuck to them.
I chatted hands-free this morning with my wife, as she drove from an errand. I told her about Mary Ann’s flower budget.

“She has the same budget as you have, my dear.”

Long pause.

“What budget is that,” Kathleen finally asked, curious.

“Mary Ann says ‘when I am done spending, that’s what the budget is.’”

We laughed so hard, Kathleen almost drove off the road.

MOM!!!

My big sister Becky watched this chick hatch from a tiny egg this Spring. Boldly tucked against the front door welcome wreath, we believe the messy nest is a good omen, despite the homeowners being on strict quarantine.

The Cookie Monster's Mother

Wearing her official Golden Goose apron procured by her sister-in-law, Solveig, Kathleen produced a fine batch of Mother's Day Chocolate Chippers, the first of which are displayed here, still warm for the photographer. The Golden Goose is a charity thrift store near Tucson, frequently visited by all the Rolfsrud clan, featuring well-priced cast-offs from the retirement neighborhood and staffed by grey haired volunteers.

For All You Mothers Out There

So proud of my little sister Solveig. She's an inveterate gardener and today she shared some of the bounty, and lightened her load of vases to boot. No contact at her Sunol, California booth, of course. Just help yourself. Should brighten some days.

Filling in.

Vegetation around the pond is filling in at Hotel California. Note Jennifer's memorial tree in the back is in full bottle brush bloom.

Gone virtual!

Cousin Harold often shows one of his antique cars at his granddaughter's third grade Watford City classroom. The pandemic almost put a halt to all that. Out came the video camera and 21st Century Tech, and Harold was again ready for the informative unit on inventors and such. The outfit looks a bit fresh, but the gloves are obviously well-used. Harold maintains Model Ts, Model As and a 1927 Buick. His father's (my uncle Halvor's), work pants of choice was the bib overall modeled here. Harold not so much.

Talk about distance

I asked my little brother what he was doing to socially distance and still enjoy himself. He responded with no words, just this. Have fun Chris! Be safe, it's tempting to speed when there's nobody out there!