Notebook
February 19th, 2022 by Gary Osberg

I celebrated my seventh birthday in Vienna, Austria. I was an army brat. Dad served in the Navy during the second world war and later he joined the Army. In 1950 he was a Sergeant in the 5th Army stationed in Vienna. As “dependents” we were housed in an apartment building that was quite nice. There were two marble faced fireplaces and a baby grand piano along with a crystal chandelier in the dining room. I ran with a group of other army brats and I was the oldest in the group.

One day in February we were hanging out in front of the large estate on the corner next to our apartment. One of the kids stuck his hand in the fence opening and a dog took his mitten. I bravely offered to go through the gate and recover the mitten. I still remember starting my walk across the large yard toward the two “Boxers”. They greeted me by jumping up and knocking me to the ground. They proceeded to chew on my arms and legs until an Austrian man who we referred to as the “fireman”, (he took care of the furnace in our apartment building) came in and pulled the dogs off of me.

I walked home nearly naked and my mother fainted when she opened the door. I spent about 6 weeks in the army hospital. It took me a while to get over my fear of dogs. The occupant of the estate was a Colonel in the U.S. Army and they gave me a new winter coat. 

In April of 2019 I returned to Vienna and I was able to take a cab ride to 41 Gregor Mendel Strasse.  We had lived in an apartment on the second floor.  I told the cab driver to wait for me and I approached the front door. A resident was getting into his car and he asked me if I needed help. I shared with him that I had lived here as an Army brat in the fifties and was hoping to see the apartment. He told me to push the button for Benedict, the owner of the building.  Someone buzzed me in and I walked up to the second floor.  The lobby looked very familiar.  The elevator was new.  The faucet which provided water for the flower garden was still there.  Marcus let me in. He was a live in boyfriend of the owner, Verena Benedict.  He let me in but he would not allow me to take pictures.  I would love to return to Vienna to take Marcus and Verena out for dinner.  I love it when a plan comes together.

“You must learn day by day, year after year, to broaden your horizon. The more things you love, the more you are interested in, the more you enjoy, the more you are indignant about- the more you have left when anything negative happens.”  Ethel Barrymore

February 11th, 2022 by Gary Osberg

It is still winter and I for one am growing weary of it all. The days are getting longer, but I have not heard any Cardinals singing their songs looking for love.

Monday is Saint Valentine’s Day, “an annual holiday celebrating love and affection between intimate companions.” (Wikipedia) The day is named after one or more early Christian martyrs named Valentine, established by Pope Gelasius I in 496 AD.

Some claim that the first recorded association of Valentine’s Day with romantic love is in Parlement of Foules by Geoffrey Chaucer who wrote: “For this was sent on Valentine’s Day, when every bird cometh there to choose his mate.” This poem was written in 1382 to honor the first anniversary of the engagement of King Richard II of England to Anne of Bohemia both of whom were 14 years old.

The sending of “Valentines” probably started in Great Britain. Esther Howland developed a successful home-based business in Worcester, Massachusetts making Valentine cards based on British models. The US Greeting Card Association estimates that approximately one billion valentines are sent each year worldwide, second only to Christmas. There are many ways to demonstrate affection to those that you feel love towards. Gifts of music is one.

If it is romance that you are looking for, check out Allie Sherlock’s cover of “Unchained Melody” on YouTube. I have a close personal friend that unwittingly revealed his unique love for his wife. He is a retired business man who has a cell phone, but the only person that has his cell phone number is his wife. Every time his cell phone rings he knows that it is the love of his life who is calling him. Now that is romantic.

“There is a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in.”  Leonard Cohen

February 4th, 2022 by Gary Osberg

Sixty three years ago yesterday will forever be known as “The Day the Music Died.” Rock and roll pioneers Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, and “The Big Bopper”, J.P Richardson, were killed when their plane, headed for Moorhead, MN, crashed into a frozen cornfield near Clear Lake, IA, just six miles from take-off. Holly chartered the flight after his tour bus broke down and fellow musician Carl Bunch ended up in the hospital with severe frostbite. Don McLean referred to that day as “The Day the Music Died” in his 1971 song, “American Pie”.

The plane was a Beechcraft Bonanza with room for 3 passengers and the pilot Roger Peterson. Richardson was suffering from the flu so Waylon Jennings gave up his seat on the plane to Richardson.  Another member of the band, Tommy Allsup, lost his seat to Valens on a coin toss.

Fans of the late, great musicians call the plane crash “the first and greatest tragedy rock and roll has ever suffered.” Over the years several memorials have been created in their honor, including a steel guitar and three records bearing the three performers’ names, a giant pair of Holly’s famous Wayfarer-style glasses marking the crash site, and Don McLean’s hit song “American Pie.”

Fifteen year old Bobby Vee and his Fargo band, The Shadows, were called upon to fill in for Buddy Holly at the Moorhead engagement because he knew all the words to Buddy’s songs.  Bobby Vee went on to become a music legend of his own.  He had 238 Hot 100 chart hits. The Vee family lived in the St. Joe area and for many years they performed as the headline act for the annual Joetown Rocks fundraiser here in St. Joseph.  Let us hope that we will be able to rock in St. Joe to music in the streets in 2022.

“One kind word can warm three winter months.” Japanese Proverb

January 28th, 2022 by Gary Osberg

My daughter Kerry has always loved horses.  When we decided to move from Coon Rapids to a small farm on Cedar Lake west of Upsala, Kerry begged for a horse.  We told her that she would have to go to “Horse Camp” to prove that she was able to take care of a horse.  She was almost 10 years old when she spent a week at Circle R Ranch near Long Prairie.  On graduation day she admitted that she was so lonely the first night that she almost had the camp leader call us, but she really wanted a horse, so she stuck it out.

Kerry’s mother remembered that the Zehrers, who had a farm north of Upsala, had horses.  It turned out that the very first horse the Zehrer girl owned was a Palamino quarter horse named Honey.  She had won a lot of ribbons at the County and State Fair. The whole Zehrer family had moved on to raising and training Arabian horses, so Honey had been put out to pasture with the cows. We were able to buy Honey and Al Zehrer even let us take the western saddle to use.  He would not sell it to us, “Just go ahead and use it” he said.  Minnesota nice. 

Twenty four years later Kerry purchased an Arabian mare of her own.  Rosie was nine years old at the time . When I recorded this video, Rosie was 27 years old and she had lost most of her teeth.  Kerry would have to mix the “Senior Feed” with water and present Rosie with a sort of mush twice a day.  Kerry boarded Rosie on a farm outside of Upsala and Rosie’s stablemate was Angel who belonged to the daughter of the folks who owned the farm.  Angel was almost as old as Rosie.  We used to say that Kerry ran a retirement home for horses. 

On Monday the 17th Kerry had to make the very tough decision to have Rosie put down.  Kerry’s youngest daughter Christen did not have school that day because of Martin Luther King Jr. Day, so she offered to be at the farm when the vet did what had to be done. She later told her mother that Rosie seemed to know what was going on and after the injection she simply knelt down slowly and lay on her side.

Three days later when Kerry went out to the farm, Angel was laying down and could not get up.  Kerry had to call the owner and now there are no more chores to do morning and evening.  It was a tough week for both horses and horse lovers, but there are many happy memories of shared joy.  There is something very majestic about horses.

Rosie is the white horse.  Angel is the bay.                                                                                                            https://youtu.be/iFVIpbaCZsM

“If having a soul means being able to feel love and loyalty and gratitude, then animals are better off than a lot of humans”.  James Herriot 

January 21st, 2022 by Gary Osberg

55 years ago yesterday, a telegram arrived at our studio on the third floor of Wimmer Hall on the campus of St. John’s University, authorizing KSJR to go on the air.  The first broadcast was on January 22, 1967.

The first line uttered by engineer Dan Rieder was, “Heed my words, Earth People. You have 10 minutes to live.” The first concert aired was a pre-recorded concert by the Cleveland Orchestra. What began as Minnesota Education Radio became Minnesota Public Radio on January 1, 1975. 

Since then MPR has grown to a network of 46 radio stations reaching nearly 1,000,000 listeners every week.  Programs and podcasts produced by Minnesota Public Radio’s parent company American Public Media, reach over 18 million listeners each week. 

This is a version of the story of how Bill Kling was selected to lead the creation of what has become the largest network of public radio stations in the United States. It was written by our first intern, Ellen Newkirk.

“The Saint John’s University monks chose Bill Kling to help start their public radio station, Minnesota Education Radio, because of his “bright mind” – literally. SJU graduate Marty Mahowald told Ellen the story of Bill Kling’s selection as the station’s first leader as told by his professor Fr. Gunther Rolfson. Fr. Gunther told Marty that in the 1960s, Saint John’s had a mandatory lights-out policy at 10pm when the faculty residents would flip a switch that turned off all power on each floor of the residence halls. However, one evening, during walk around campus , Fr. Gunther noticed a light illuminating from a single room in Benet Hall.

The next day, Fr. Gunther used a master key to enter the room and found a system rigged to keep the power on after the switch was flipped each night. The room belonged to Bill Kling. Eventually, the monks decided Kling’s innovative and determined spirit was just what they needed for their new endeavor. According to Mahowald, “Fr. Gunther said that they knew that starting a new campus radio station would present struggles, budget challenges and many other issues to deal with and it would take someone with a lot of moxie to lead it through to success.” It turned out to be a very good decision; Kling served as president of Minnesota Public Radio until 2010 and created one of the greatest public radio station networks in the country. “  Ellen Newkirk, CSB, Class of 2013.

“You build on failure. You use it as a stepping stone. Close the door on the past.  You don’t try to forget the mistakes, but you don’t dwell on it. You don’t let it have any of your energy, or any of your time, or any of your space.”  Johnny Cash

January 20th, 2022 by Gary Osberg

Many years ago my Dad went to work as a dishwasher at Little Sisters of the Poor in St. Paul. His boss was a woman named Maxine. They became real good friends and her family also referred to him as Grandpa Bill. Maxine and Dad never lived together, but they ended up living in the same high rise apartment building next to St. Paul Ramsey Hospital on University Avenue. When Maxine died, I attended the funeral and Dad surprised me by asking me to sing “The Lord’s Prayer” and “Amazing Grace” during the service. There was no piano, so I had to sing “a Capella”. It was ok.

One of the pieces of furniture that Dad brought with him when he moved into my house in Upsala was a corner unit with glass shelves and a glass door that had belonged to Maxine. Her family had given it to him.

After Dad passed in 2005, I had to clean out his room. One of the items in the cabinet was a small green egg with silver decorations and a seam abound the middle. I was curious to see what treasure was inside, but when I pried it open, expecting to find a doll, what came out were ashes! “OH MY GOD! IT WAS MAXINE”. I spilled a little in my haste to put it back together and I quickly put it back in the curio.

A few years later, it happened again to someone that was helping me to clean house.  After that I decided to dig a hole next to my Dad’s grave and bury the “egg”. 

“Tell me, what else should I have done?  Doesn’t everything die at last and too soon?  Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”  From The Summer Day by Mary Oliver

January 7th, 2022 by Gary Osberg

In 1976 I gave up drinking Old Grand Dad 80 proof for Lent. My other “drug of choice” was Heineken beer.  When dining out, my dessert selection was usually a dish of vanilla ice cream with a double shot of Old Grand Dad poured over it.  Easter Sunday in 1976 was not a good day, but I stayed “on the wagon”.  I do believe that I entered into the “dry drunk” stage of my recovery.  Not a lot of fun, especially for my family.

I gutted it out and in April of 1977 Marcia signed us up for a weekend retreat at the Cenacle Retreat House in Wayzata, Minnesota. Sister Ten-Tie Saniel and some of her fellow nuns presented “Effective Living” a seminar based on John Boyle’s “Omega Seminar”. With much struggle and dragging of my feet I managed to learn the following affirmations. Affirmations are stating future goals in the present tense.

For the last 44 years I start each day with a selection of readings and end by stating these six affirmations.  It has worked for me. 

The six basic affirmations are as follows:

  1. I am loved; therefore, I like myself, unconditionally as I was created. (Repeat five times)

2.   I never devalue myself with destructive self-criticism. (Envision yourself doing something that you are very proud of)

  1. I see love in others and have warm regard for all persons at all times. (Envision yourself doing something nice for somebody else)
  1. I am easily able to relax and with every affirmation I become physically and mentally healthier. (Envision yourself doing something relaxing)
  1. I am completely self-determined, inner directed by the spirit of love and allow others the same privilege. (Repeat five times)
  1. I accept total responsibility for the consequences of my actions and reactions. (Repeat five times)
  1. You can add up to 5 more goal specific affirmations.

“Great results cannot be achieved at once, and we must be satisfied in life as we walk, step by step.”  Samuel Smiles

December 31st, 2021 by Gary Osberg

2021 is coming to a close.  “Father Time” is a theme for many cartoonists.  In 1966, my mother’s mother, Grandma Laura,  gave me three old pocket watches.  One had belonged to her father, Fredrick Anderson.  It is a Waltham watch, silver with a gold stag inlayed on the back.  Another watch is a key wind.  It appears to be the oldest of the three.  It too is silver with a picture of a dog engraved on the back.  It belonged to her first husband’s father, Meinert Larson.  The note 1890 is written on the document.  The third watch was a gold watch that had belonged to her second husband, Ingebret Ramlo.  I was very honored that she had entrusted these heirlooms to me. 

I purchased a fourth watch and had the four mounted in an antique frame that hung on the living room wall in our first apartment at 7439 Lyndale Avenue South in Richfield.  We had a lower level apartment, since the rent was cheaper.  

One Sunday evening we came back from a weekend in Upsala to discover that someone had broken into our apartment and stolen some items, including the watch collection.  I was sick.  The culprits were caught, and all of the goods were recovered except the watches.  On the drive home from work one night I spotted the same boys searching for something in a ditch along Lyndale Avenue. These boys came from good homes and they hired a good lawyer.  I attended the trial and was disgusted when they got off with the charge of “lurking and lying in wait”.  I was told after the trial that if I were to make a trip to downtown Minneapolis, to the defendants lawyer’s office, that I might find a bag on the lawyers desk that might contain some “items of interest”.   I had no choice but to play along. I did get the watches back without the antique picture frame. 

While doing my annual house cleaning, I brought out the watches.  I located the key and wound up the watch that belonged to Great Grandpa Meinert and laid it on my dresser top.  As of this morning it is keeping perfect time.  A watch made by the American Watch Company in Waltham, MA,  still going strong after 131 years.

May 2022 be a much happier year for you and your loved ones.

“It’s good sportsmanship to not pick up lost golf balls while they are still rolling.”  Mark Twain

December 24th, 2021 by Gary Osberg

Merry Christmas Eve,

This true story was told by Gary Gilson.  Gary is a Twin Cities writing coach who teaches journalism at Colorado College.  He can be reached at www.writebetterwithgary.com  

“I knew a New Yorker named Phil who worked in Manhattan’s Diamond District, along 47th Street between 5th and 6th Avenues. He traveled to and from work by subway from his home in the Bronx every weekday for years.

One day, in the week before Christmas, Phil entered the subway car on his way home and, as a veteran rider, immediately sensed something was off: only one passenger in the car, a drunken, disheveled man, ranting and cursing and flailing his arms against the world.

Phil felt tension in the air.  Then he noticed a group of passengers huddled at one end of the car, cringing in fear.  Phil went right over to the man, sat down, put his arm around the man’s shoulders and began to sing,    “I’m dreaming of a white Christmas…”

The man slowly calmed down, and soon he was singing along with Phil, “where the treetops glisten, and children listen…” And then, just as slowly, the passengers at the end of the car started drifting toward Phil and the man, gathered around them and joined in singing, “with every Christmas card I write..” And they all kept belting out holiday songs as the train barreled northward toward the Bronx.

These people had never known each other before, and now they were singing and laughing and hugging, if only for this brief moment in time.  They were so connected that some riders chose to stay on the train past their stops.

The troubled man brightened; he seemed to be feeling part of something larger than himself. And all it took was an arm around the shoulders, a familiar song, a gathering of humanity and, above all, a man named Phil.”   

Thank you to Gary Gilson for allowing me to share this Christmas story.  Merry Christmas

December 17th, 2021 by Gary Osberg

Eight days until Christmas. I have all of my shopping done and now I simply have to pace myself on the cookies and candy.


Children love Christmas, as well they should. As with most families, some years, Christmas gifts were easy to come by and some years the budget would not allow for much. The Christmas of 1956 was a memorable one for me. My mother had to move from our home in St. Louis Park due to Dad’s inability to handle booze. Ma’s mother, Grandma Laura Ramlo, drove her 1952 Chevy from Upsala to 1620 Colorado Avenue South in St. Louis Park, put Dad in the back seat and drove him to the VA Hospital in south Minneapolis. She told them, “He is a veteran, he is a drunk and he is your problem, not mine”.  She took us all back to Upsala to live above the Ramlo Grocery in Upsala.

I am not sure what the reason was for our ending up living in an apartment in Little Falls in December. It had something to do with getting financial aid. That Christmas, Santa brought us six big Tonka Toy 18 wheel trucks. There was a cattle truck, an oil tanker, a freight truck and three more. This was a perfect gift for a family with five boys. I was 13 years old and brother Bill was 10. We played with them non-stop. I am not sure what my sister Kathie got that year. For many years I had the impression that they were from some sort of social agency that served the poor. It turned out that “Santa” was Dewey Johnson, a classmate of my mother’s from Upsala High School class of ’37. Dewey’s cousin was one of the founders of Tonka Toys. Dewey had already passed on before I learned the “rest of the story”, so I never did have a chance to thank him.

Perhaps you know of a family that has come upon hard times and they could use a “Secret Santa”.  

“Peace on Earth, Good Will to Men”.   Angel