Amendment

 

Melissa did not appreciate the previously selected Thanksgiving historical photo. It put her in a bad light, and she has since submitted photos that she finds more pleasing to her taste. In the interest of fairness, they are presented here, not to correct the record, but to improve it. 

She's right, you know.

Happy Thanksgiving!

 

Stan, Emily, Max, Marcy, Missy, Hoi and Kathleen.

The Godfather reminisces

The very best party the three bachelors ever threw at Parklawn Court in Edina was catered by Alex and Marian Vitali.

It was the fall of 1973, and brothers Virg, Steve and Stan had hosted their share of wine-women-and-song Saturday night events. It was time for something different. "The Godfather" had won Best Picture the previous year, spaghetti and lasagna is cheap and everybody likes it, so the brothers figured a sit-down Italian dinner with a mobster theme would be just the thing to impress dates and entertain invited guests.

"Mama" and her stallion.

Alex and Marian ran a photo business out of their Chaska home and had a contract with Stan's newspaper company for darkroom  services.  Always up for a good time, they were easily volunteered as a cook and a waiter for a fun fake formal dinner. It helped that Marian was a for-real great Italian cook and that Alex loved to be called "The Italian Stallion." Both grew up in traditional Italian families on the Iron Range.
When the dozen invitees arrived, they were told that dinner was being prepared in the kitchen by two recent Italian immigrants, Alex and Mama Vitali. They were a poor uneducated couple, but did know authentic cooking and the hosts were just trying to help them get a start in the new country.
Mama still spoke only Italian, though her husband did speak a bit of broken English. The guests bought it.
"She no speeka da Inglish," Alex confirmed, right on cue. This muted role suited Marian just fine, being very shy anyway, unlike her jocular, outgoing husband.
At the head of the table, Stan took on the role of Godfather, dressed in a black tuxedo rented from the basement of a vintage Dinkytown clothier, Al Johnson's. As the dinner progressed, from time to time a subservient waiter would consult with the Godfather in a fake Italian. The Godfather responded discreetly in fake Italian, to the amazement of those within earshot.

Heaping platters of pasta and tomato paste and bottles of chilled wine were delivered to the huge makeshift table, with a busy red-vested waiter constantly urging guests: "Mange, Mange!" The hoax was working. But the hosts had no idea how completely Alex and Marian had fooled the guests. They figured the diners all got the joke and were just playing along in the spirit of the evening. They were wrong.
After a sumptuous banquet finished with scoops of spumoni, it was time to confirm the joke and honor Alex and Marian for their superb acting and contribution to a fun evening.
The reveal set-up called for a heated Alex to repeatedly whisper to the Godfather that Mama Vitali was upset and insulted that people were not eating, despite urgings. He needed satisfaction for his wife's honor.
The Godfather encouraged the guests to please eat more, because, goodness, this is customary to gorge and if you are not gorging, there must be something wrong with the food and it was insulting to these immigrants. The guests were stuffed, so no one complied, of course. The back and forth continued until an enraged waiter returned for the last time to the head of the table, this time with a three-foot baguette in hand.
According to the script, Alex would break the bread over the Godfather's scalp in a fit of feigned anger. Our guests would then burst out laughing at this over-the-top slapstick performance, and the true identities of Alex and Marian would then be confirmed, as the good friends and good sports that they were.
That was not to be.
Right on cue, Alex smashed the loaf on the Godfather's head. But there was no outburst of laughter. You could hear a pin drop as the guests froze, stunned at this ugly, unseemly turn of events. It was now up to the Godfather to hurriedly explain, "Hey, we're just kidding. Really, Alex isn't mad. Mama isn't insulted. It's a joke. Get it? This is just Alex and Marian from Chaska. They've lived in Minnesota all their lives. They're just good friends helping out."
Most of the guests now got it, laughing with relief, but not all of them got it.
Later, as the happy crowd departed the festive mobster venue, a grateful but still confused guest approached Alex, who was standing beside Marian, and slowly and clearly asked just when she had left Italy and how did she like her new country.

Veteran's Day 2025

 My annual photo proving I still fit in the uniform issued to me on July 8, 1970.

First time voter, and mom

 The Blethen ladies got to the polls Tuesday.

 Our granddaughter cast her first vote, and we're so proud!

Korea

 Our world travelers are taking a swing through Southeast Asia. Their group is skipping Vietnam this time, but taking in three weeks or so of Taiwan, Korea and Japan.

He kept me at school

 For me, he is unforgettable.

John Helgeson played Casper, one of three wisemen in our small-town Christmas production of “Amahl and the Night Visitors.” I was the African wiseman, done up in blackface by the drama coach, perhaps killing any chance I would ever have at a future political career.

Earlier, Helgie had appeared as an out-of-place eighth grader on a local kiddie program. KCMT, boasting the tallest television tower in the Midwest, featured Jim Syrdal as Captain Space who, along with sidekick Monk Mooney, thrilled local kindergarteners and tykes with weekly hijinks and cartoons. John and his grinning buddy, Mark, sat amongst the dozen or so kiddie audience one week, sacrificing their dignity for dollars, and thus collected on a plethora of wagers from classmates, who foolishly bet that they would never dare do it.

A chance meeting years later at a Metrodome preview changed my life. I was struggling to stay in college to keep my student deferment until the Vietnam War would hopefully end. (Never did) I bumped into John, we chatted, and I shared that I needed a better job while I kept a required full load at the U. He steered me to a job he was quitting at the Minneapolis War Memorial Blood Bank. I quickly got the job as night attendant, moved into the basement, got paid, and dispatched emergency blood supplies to the city’s 17 area hospitals. Yeah, there were 17 metro hospitals back then and they included General Hospital, where gun shot victims and car accidents didn’t wait for business hours. My days were free for class. 

It was a legacy job. I lived there, got my friends and relatives jobs there. Expanded our roles. Ate all the donor pop and cookies my teenage friends and I could consume, and held fun parties in the absence of authorities. Eventually I graduated, got drafted, but when my service was over, I returned to the blood bank. Little had changed and my friends were still running the place at night. We celebrated. I don’t recall that we toasted John, probably not, but we should have.

John died near his home in Hawaii recently, where he and his wife of 44 years enjoyed restoring and tending six acres of dry-land native forest, not a surprising enterprise for a good man who did so much for others. He joins a growing list of important people in my life who never got a proper thank you from me for their critical impact on it. 

God bless you, Helgie.

Cantilever to Canada

A famous operable railroad bridge linking the U.S. to Canada was swathed in a morning mist as the Rainy River cooled in the lengthening night. Photo by Wayne's friend, who lives nearby.

Pumpkin tree at the Arboretum

A couple of 80 somethings took a fall tour through the nearby Minnesota Landscape Arboretum recently. Kathleen and Bonnie have been pals for decades. The day included a stop at the gift shop where, it is said, a secret purchase was made and set aside for Christmas giving. But that's just a rumor. This pumpkin tree was the perfect background for this souvenir photo.