He dragged me across the goal line

 We loved the unsupervised play periods when teacher would turn us loose for a half hour or more to exercise in any which way we wanted on the rural playground. She doubtless needed the time out as well, responsible she was for eight grades of restless, yet strictly disciplined grade schoolers. The Oak Grove School at District 460 had no gymnasium, no jungle bars, no slides or swings, but we had imagination.

Steal the sticks, Bear by the pump, Goose goose, kick ball. Somebody would choose an activity and we’d all join. And then there was pom pom tackle. Yep, tackle. Unsupervised, the object was to break down the opponent as he tried to make a run for the goal line. Enthusiastically, the top four grades would participate in the rough and tumble. No refs, no rulers.

That’s when I broke my front incisor on Tommy Navratil’s heel. He was tough and strong, a trim farm boy with muscles of steel. Two years older than me, but I was sure I could get him down. He dragged me across the goal line, with me clinging fiercely to his leg. 

My tooth was lost forever, first a partial plate, then a permanent bridge. Things are different now on the nation’s playgrounds, I am told. A lot fewer broken teeth.

Tom lost his mother to cancer the day of the Christmas pageant. Nevertheless, he gamely played the role of Jacob Marley, before a stunned and grieving crowd of neighbors, jammed into the little one room school house. The men waited and smoked outside, not enough room for everyone.

Tom dreamed of some day having nice clothes, cutting out samples from the Sears and Roebuck catalog and bringing the clippings to school to share. His widowed father did his best, but.

Tom’s memory will linger, he died recently, but will never to leave the thoughts of so many. Always kind and giving, my younger brother remembers him as his protector from the bullies, putting his power to good use. Tom was mother-less for 70 years, making us truly grateful for the time we had with our own.

His presence endures, whenever my tongue occasionally checks out the condition of that permanent bridge, cemented tightly inside my head these many years. 

Rest in peace, Tom.

Head trauma drama

 Kathleen took a backwards fall on March 15, 2026. Beware the Ides of March. A loud crash had brought Stan down from upstairs to find his bride, her back against the dishwasher, and a bit confused about what had just happened.

“What happened,” he asked. She wasn’t sure. Apparently she had been preparing a bite when she fell back and struck a metal protrusion with her skull. She was conscious, but felt a wetness against her back. It was blood.

Stan grabbed her beneath the armpits and hoisted his lightweight bride onto her walker/chair, then stepped into the hall to see if Emergency Tech Jerod in 600 was available. He wasn’t. But Maria and Teresa were chatting down the hall and were waved into service.

Maria, who once sold medical supplies and was thus deemed the most qualified, donned gloves and tried to stop the bleeding, by now soaking the house dress, floor and chair. Preparations were being made to drive her for some stitches at Urgent Care, but with slight lapses now, the three decided it was best to just call 911 and let the professionals take over.

While still talking with the dispatcher on the phone, we could hear the distant fire and police scrambling up the street, and soon Unit 601 was swarmed with uniforms, about six, joined shortly by a couple of paramedics with questions about blood thinners. And then a stretcher. 

Because of the head blow, the crew decided to transport her to Hennepin County Medical Center, a trauma one facility, the very best care presently available in the Twin Cities.

Kindly, Maria drove Stan downtown where he watched them cut-away the blood stained dress and make sensible decisions, again swarmed by confident, knowing types.

 

Scans would reveal a slight brain bleed, which was more concerning than the scalp laceration that required Dr. Dowd to close it with nine of her finest stitches, while Stan filmed her. (The photos were so graphic, they won’t be shown here) Kathleen was then held for two days for observation. Thank you Medicare.

We do have before and after photos of the brain bleed, which satisfactorily disappeared after two weeks.

A home nurse, physical therapist and administrator, have made subsequent Medicare calls, pleasant folks all, as we gently get back to normal, following recommendations as best we can.

The bloody house dress has been discarded, and the wound is fast disappearing. We’re grateful for the outcome.

________________

While Kathleen was being wheeled through the lobby, a startled neighbor spotted her, and then informed a mutual friend and former neighbor now in Amman, Jordan, of what he had just seen. So Stan’s immediate first panicked call inquiring about Kathleen’s condition came from the Mideast, miles from the Strait of Hormuz. . Huh? A strange world we live in.

Memories

 My buddy Wayne, fellow publisher and International Falls fishing guru, stumbled across some old photos today, and sent me a a few for posterity. Thanks Wayne, we flew into Canada many times in our years together. . . and always caught fish. This was taken from Lake Outukomomoan (sp) in the fall of 2019. Little did we know what the coming decade would bring.