Tom, Part 4- Minnesota Memories
A trip to Yellowstone wouldn’t be complete without Tom.
We met Tom last year. He shared salsa and stories with us while frost settled on the pine trees outside. Almost immediately, our friendship was cemented into reality. Now, we try to visit Tom whenever we journey to Yellowstone. Every time we do, he has new stories to share. Somebody recently asked me if my Tom stories were fictional. Honestly, I don’t have the creativity to fabricate Tom’s tales! These stories come straight from the horse’s mouth. And, like all good stories, that’s what makes them remarkable. We hope you enjoy them as much as we do!
“So tell me about Mr. Vance,” Tom said. He was looking at us expectantly. I recognized the name of the politician but knew no more. Tom, a man without television or Internet, was hoping for an intelligent discourse on Ohio politicians. We had nothing to offer him. Thankfully Tom didn’t let this sway him. He stepped comfortably into a political discussion on his own, dropping us lines to continue the conversation where appropriate. I liked that about Tom. He never let another person’s awkwardness make him stumble. He was confident in his knowledge, engaging in his stories, and always interested in other people. Perhaps the key to his good conversation was a lack of regard for others’ opinions. He wasn’t rude. He just didn’t care much about indulging sensitivities. Nonetheless, he reined himself back in after a couple of minutes.
“I shouldn’t talk about those things here,” his raspy voice grumbled. “I gotta keep my mouth shut.”
“Why, because of work?” Tyler asked.
Tom lifted his head with a twinkle in his eyes. “I am a daisy in a sea of alfalfa,” he declared. He gave us a moment for that to sink in. “If you haven’t figured that out by now…” he raised his eyebrows significantly.
We laughed, endlessly entertained by his turns of phrase. One of Tom’s favorite insults was to say, “You might say that you’re from Ohio, but I say you’re from North Dakota!”
When asked about the insult, Tom would explain, “Their brains are too frozen to think in North Dakota. Winter lasts until June there. They’ve only got July to thaw out. Then winter comes around and they freeze right up again!”
Tom had at least one story or joke for every state in the US. Some of his best stories came from Minnesota, where he was born and raised.
“You know the Andy Griffith show?” he asked us. “I was chief of police in a town just like Mayberry. Population was 436. We had one stop light, one preacher, and a town drunk named Kevin. Kevin would get drunk every Friday night, then walk over to the jailhouse -which didn’t have a lock on it- and lock himself up. First day of work, I got up on Saturday morning around 6 and the city clerk called me. He said, ‘Tom, are you getting ready for breakfast?’
I said, ‘Yeah, why are you calling me at 6 o’clock in the morning?’
He said, ‘Well, breakfast is waiting for you down in the fire hall.”
‘What??’
He said, ‘Well, you go on down there and you’ll understand. He’ll introduce himself.’
So I went down there and met Kevin. Kevin had gotten obliterated at the legion club the night before. After that, he walked over to the fire hall, opened up one of the jail cells, and went to sleep. When he got up in the morning, he washed the laundry, washed the floor, and had breakfast waiting for me. Every Saturday morning was like that! It was great!”
Tom was grinning. The details were coming back to him in full force as he added, “And then there was Floyd, the barber. Except his name wasn’t really Floyd. And I had a deputy who was just like Barney Fife! Yep. It was amazing. Everyone in the town was Norwegian. There were only three German families in the whole town. On May 17, Norwegian Constitution Day, there was maybe 10,000 people in the town. There was food everywhere! On the Fourth of July, not even the church mouse was in town. They all went out to the lake! So if somebody came into town asking for so-and-so, I’d say, ‘Yeah, they’re out to the lake!’
Then they’d say, ‘Well, which lake?’
’Hell if I know!’ I’d say. ‘But they’re out to the lake!’”
His laugh rumbled out of him with a sound like a diesel truck being started up. Tom’s laugh was raspy and plentiful. It perched just behind his tongue, ready to trip out after a joke or story. Tom, being full of jokes and stories, laughed a lot. He was unburdened by the anxieties cast upon us by news reporters and social media. He was simultaneously full of knowledge and devoid of it. Tom’s laugh was carefree.
“My grandfather went to school in Northfield,” Tom said, changing the subject. “Have you ever heard of the Northfield Minnesota Raid?”
We hadn’t, so we shook our heads. A pair of girls from Minnesota, wrapped in blankets around the campfire, also shook their heads. This made me feel immensely better. At least we weren’t the only uneducated ones!
Tom, as always, relished the opportunity to tell us something new. “Northfield got the first timed lock on a bank vault. First ever in the Midwest. So they put out an advertisement saying that their bank was un-robbable.”
We all chuckled, undoubtedly thinking the bank’s ego would get it robbed. It was a guarantee of the story arc, really. Just look at the Titanic.
Tom, anticipating our cynicism, added mysteriously, “It was on purpose. The advertisement was to lure in the Jesse James gang. They did show up. The town was waiting for them. They about killed them all! Yep. That’s what they call the Great Northfield Minnesota Raid.”
While we were picturing the Old West scenes full of robber gangs and bank vaults, Tom grew silent. He was dredging up other Minnesota memories fit for storytelling. This only took a moment. Tom’s Minnesota lore was endless.
“If you’re around Norwegians long enough, you know that when they put up Christmas lights on the outside of the house, they never take them down. Then you can use them for the Fourth of July too! And the Christmas tree in the parlor never gets taken down either. You can use it to impress guests when you have them over for dinner!”
Abashedly, I thought of the Christmas tree sitting in my own living room. I was so fond of its warm glow that I had never taken it down after the previous Christmas. Instead, I just swapped out the decorations for every season. It was currently gaudy with sunflowers, leaf garlands, and pumpkins. It was my Pinterest-inspired autumn tree, and I liked it. Maybe I was part Norwegian.
“After Christmas, everyone goes julebukking!” Tom turned to the Minnesota girls. “You know what that is, of course. No? That’s when you go caroling, and instead of treats, they serve you with hot toddies. About by the third house, you don’t need any more caroling! It’s pretty funny.”
I wondered how many times Tom had been julebukking. His throaty chuckle gave the impression of someone who was more interested in the toddies than the caroling!
”In Minnesota, the first day of fishing is legally a state holiday. That’s no lie. It is! First day of fishing is a state holiday. Everybody goes out to the lake and goes fishing. In the wintertime, there are more fish houses on the lake than there are in the little towns on the shore.”
Tom went on to discuss Minnesota sports teams, but I had drifted off into a reverie. I was sitting cross-legged by a bright campfire in Silver Gate, Montana. The stars overhead were innumerable. A waxing moon was rising through the pine trees on the mountain behind us. In my mind, I had drifted away to Minnesota. I have never been to Minnesota. Tom described it as a place where jovial Norwegians spent their summers fishing in countless lakes. Christmas lights sparkled on the Fourth of July and onwards into frosty winters. In the deep darkness of snowy midwinter, Norwegian carolers would merrily drink at the homes of friends. Minnesota, in Tom’s mind, was a place where Jesse James and the Minnesota Vikings lived simultaneously. It was a world where an Andy Griffith town could coexist with the wars, chaos, and crisis of other places.
Now, I’m sure that Minnesota isn’t as rose-tinted as I imagine. Still, I liked seeing it from Tom’s eyes. Like many of our other encounters with our friend, we walked away with a more hopeful view of the world. Life is simpler in Tom’s perspective. There are conflicts, of course, or else he wouldn’t call himself a daisy in a sea of alfalfa. He just doesn’t allow conflicts to dictate his attitude.
I’m grateful to spend time with people like Tom. As a young adult with a not-fully-developed prefrontal cortex, I know that I have a lot to learn about navigating through the world. Spending time with wiser individuals teaches me how to do that. Perhaps there’s a lesson for you here too. As I write this post, we find ourselves in the holiday season. This year, I have noticed that many of my friends are more stressed than usual. I am too. Whatever it is, the 2024 holiday season has been very, very busy. Writing these blog posts has been a place of solace for me. While my mind whirs with plans and preparations, Tom’s stories speak of simpler things. They remind me to enjoy nostalgia. Dwell on all that is lovely and fun. Start first with gratitude. Tom’s Christmas this year will probably take place in his tiny winter cabin. Snow will fall, a wood fire will crackle, and if I know Tom, he’ll find a way to go visit a friend. Tom doesn’t need the hustle and the bustle to be happy. Neither do we.
Forgive my tangent, dear readers. I’m writing it as a reminder to myself to have peace. Enjoy the little things. Everything will come together. It always does.
Merry Christmas, friends.
The Great Northfield Minnesota Raid in more detail: https://mndigital.org/projects/primary-source-sets/northfield-bank-raid-1876
I love characters like Tom too, I call them my wildflowers. Who wants a bouquet of roses that all look the same when you can collect wildflowers along the way.