As promised - yes, I know, these promises are USELESS - the second big gigantic gala Sunday Lance Lawson for the week. This one requires color, and it's in black and white.

Puts you at a distinct disadvantage, I'd say. But I suspect you'll rise to the challenge. Bonus: evidence that the Lance-Lori thing goes much, much deeper. Last week, the car trip; this week - well, you'll see.

It's HERE.  

Another big Sunday Lance Lawson strip, painstakingly restored by your host.  More evidence of the sensitive sensibilities of the late 40s. I don't know how ANYONE got this one. Go HERE, and good luck.

I once spent a night in a Wisconsin small town, and I couldn’t find my way back if I wanted to. And I don’t. Couldn’t return without ruining the memory. Some friends had passed along a free weekend at a cabin, and you might know what it’s like when you’re staying at someone else’s place - you don’t want to touch anything. They can tell you to do what you want - paint the rooms plaid, jackhammer the foundation, pour sugar in the generator, make yourself at home! But all you do is eat, play board games, and perhaps try to bring in a distant TV station by fiddling with the antenna and changing channels with a pliers. It was a nice place, a 60s rambler that would have made for a perfect primary home, let alone a cabin.

One night we visited the local resort for the local burgers - served at the bar with cold local beer. Kids came in wet from the lake, pushed around the ancient pinball machine; residents came by for the Fish Fry, and sat at the square chrome-trimmed tables smoking in contented silence. Good first night. Ah, but what’s in town?

Nothing, as far as I remember. There was a tiny theater with a busted marquee:

In an adjacent town, the theater was doing better business.

With no movie theater, we had no choice but to go bowling. Bruce Bowling had six lanes, I think. The equipment was all 1960s Brunswick machinery, with the space-age swoops and amoeba patterns. It was heaven. We bowled, we laughed, we left. Never forgot that place - and how empty it was on a Saturday night. All that lovely machinery, just waiting for the merry calamity to spill in the door and bowl.

Hold that thought.

--

This week it’s Clearwater County, so named for the rich, dark wood early settlers used for their homes. The county seat (just kidding about the wood, of course) is Bagley.

Slogan? Yes: Loving Life on Lake Lomond . . .” Also “The Gateway to Itasca.” Obligatory photo of City Hall: indeed.  You’ll also find a picture of the august chamber where the body meets, with a tantalizing illustration on the wall: a cartoon map of Bagley.

Guys: PUT THAT ON THE SITE.

History - well, no dedicated page, unfortunately. But you’ll find some old photos here at the High School’s reunion page, with some photos that bring back the glories of the seventies. It’s not a part of the city’s official site. Note to the city’s webmaster: a picture of downtown would be preferable to, say, this. I know it's your municipal liquor store, and that's fine, but I think anyone considering a trip assumes you have beer in the immediate vicinity. What of your town?   Read more...

After that chilly, damp weekend, it’s nice to see we’ll be heading back into temps that are almost as chilly and damp, but not quite. Progress! On a related note, let us study this week in Minnesota history, itself replete with progress of the most delightful sort.

Yesterday was the start of the Republican National Convention in 1892. They put up Benjamin Harrison, who had “defeated Grover Cleveland four years before but would lose to him in November. Two women from Wyoming attend the convention as alternates, the first female delegates to a national political convention.”

Unlike the conventions of today, no one had to wear gigantic credentials around their necks like the plates that identified Roman slaves. The tickets looked like this:

I got that from my Great-grandfather. Not personally, but he left it behind in his effects. I like to think he'd be pleased to know his offspring found a matching1892  ticket marked EDITORIAL - at the 1992 edition of the convocation. 

Yesterday was also the birthday of Prince, local genius - he’s 51 today - and the founding in 1921 of the Minnesota Cooperator Creameries Association. You know them as Land O’Lakes, a firm that gave us the cut-out knuckle-cleavage trick. Don't google. If you don't know, DON'T GOOGLE. 

In disasters:

1939:Grapefruit-sized hail kills many farm animals near Hills in Rock County.

Grapefruit sized hail? Those things could kill a Buick, let alone a goat.

Birthdays today: Charles Clarence Beck, in Zumbrota, in 1910, with the lead pipe. He was the original artist for Captain Marvel, published by Fawcett Publications in Robbinsdale. LeRoy Neiman, born in 1927 in St. Paul. He’s the guy whose paintings look like Jackson Pollacks during his realistic phase.

Best story of the day: in 1898, they found a “petrified man” in Bloomer. No, not someone immobilized with fear over the upcoming Y19K problem, which would supposedly cause all pens to go dry and all candles to snuff out forever. He was a stone man, a petrified voyageur. There was big money in trucking around stone dead people and charging admission.  More here.

Last year, by the way, I said I didn’t think I covered this event the year before. then I wrote about it. Let me say now that I will not cover this event next year. That should cover it all.  Read more...

Another Sunday giganto-strip. It's HERE; solution may be up this afternoon, or tomorrow, if I forget again. Good Luck!

Sorry for the brief hiatus, but your host has been pitched into actual office duties for a fortnight. Next week should be better. That won't keep us from Lance Lawson Thursday, of course - and yes, today brings two more giant Sunday strips. Let's get this out of the way, though: Lance, you, sly dog.

The entire strip can be found HERE. Good luck!

Happy June! This month in disasters:

"1854: During June, cholera is reported across the Minnesota territory. The steamer Galena arrives in St. Paul with four passengers ill. Two of them die within a few hours. The disease continues into July, causing more deaths. The Galena returns on July 26 with new cases."

Toot-toot! It’s the Galena, friends, with this month’s shipment of Cholera! Don’t crowd, there’s enough for all.

"1857: During the summer months, grasshoppers destroy crops in the counties of Stearns, Hennepin, Wright, and Nicollet."

 
Ugh. Insects are ugly things, but grasshoppers are particularly hideous, unless they’re standing on two legs, dressed in tiny human clothes and looking out for Pinochio, and even then they leave a horrible mess on your windshield. Swarms of hoppers must have been a gawawful sight. It’s possible you could get rid of them by running around waving your arms shouting SHOO, but who wanted to try?

"1865:    Grasshoppers destroy all vegetation in some areas of Brown County and Blue Earth County. Millions of grasshoppers are reported in the Butternut Valley."

Millions! Love to know how they got that estimate. A “Cubic Buttload” would be sufficient for me. Suffice to say: lots.

Now,  let us consider a conversation between the generations. Book of Days entries are in italics.

“Grampa, it’s been years since the grasshoppers came. Does this mean they’re gone for good?” “Don’t know, Billy, but I reckon this will be a good year for the crops. T’aint seen head nor wing of a hopper this year - say, what’s that on the horizon?”

1869: During the summer months, Colorado potato bugs destroy the potato crop in Minnesota

“Grampa, you remember the year the pertater bugs came?”

“Sure do, Billy. But if’n I said they’d be back, I’d be lyin’. Them was Colorader pertater bugs, and they only come but once every 17 years. Now, since the hoppers stopped comin’, I ‘xpect the crops this year will be right fine. Heh - must be gettin’ old; I hear a buzzin’ sound.”

1873: During the summer months, swarms of Rocky Mountain locusts cross the Dakota border into Minnesota. The devastation is repeated in 1874 and, to a lesser degree, in ’75, ’76, and ’77. 

“Grampa - why are you getting out of bed? You’re too old and sick to be up.”

“I know, son, but there’s something I have to try. We never sent a man out in the field to yell SHOO. No one wanted to. Just feeling one of those critters on your cheek was enough to turn your dinner for a week. But mebbe we ought to. Mebbe  we ought to see if it’ll work. You stay here, Billy, and holler if it looks like I’m in trouble.”

In August 1877, the grasshoppers mysteriously depart.

--

“Grandpa Billy, what are grasshoppers?”

“Heh. Well, when I was your age, Rudy, we used to see clouds and clouds of grasshoppers. They’d appear like a swarm of Communists and strip everything until there was nothin’ but stalks. Now we have modern methods of controlling ‘em, and I hear Roosevelt has a plan to use some form of scientific heat gun to get rid of ‘em should he be elected. So don’t you worry none about the hoppers. Heck, we got enough to worry about with the Depression.”

1932: During the month of June in northwestern Minnesota, counties from Kittson to Aitkin are invaded by grasshoppers for a second year. Paved roads in the Moorhead area are darkened by bodies of grasshoppers.

--

“Grandpa Rudy, they say we’re going to have all kinds of insect infestations this year and forever after that because of the global warming. Is that true?”

“Heh. Well, little Jacob, you don’t worry your head none over that. In my time, I’ve seen them come. And I’ve seen them go.”

2001 June: During this month, tent caterpillars, also known as army worms, infest northern Minnesota, destroying leaves in many trees. The caterpillars are so thick on roads that tire tracks are visible.

Other peak years for army worms were 1922, 1937, 1952, 1967, 1978, and 1990.

Now, Super-difficult Mystery #2. This one requires some details, since the original was in color. Don’t know what the colors were, but I’ve tried to use some local hues that might help.

Detail, colorized:

Got it? Good luck. You’ll find it here.

Today we present large-sized Sunday Lance Lawsons, and I warn you: they are almost unsolvable by modern eyes. I will tell you this: the song the landlady mentions is from "The Student Prince," a big hit at the time. The album is visible in the third-to-the-last panel, but reproducing a color strip made it almost unrecognizable. 

If you think this one's tough, wait for the noon installment. 

You can find it HERE. Good luck!

This week we go to Sherburne County, familiar to all who’ve taken Highway 10 - our Route 66, minus 56. Our criteria for small-town websites are simple: give the visitor a simple design that tells us about the town and shows us what it looks like. Not a tall order. Not asking for a flash gallery. Not asking for streaming video of Main and Oak. Just find some old pictures, write the history, use some templates. Let us begin with Becker.

Logo: yes. Slogan: “Minnesota’s Best Kept Secret.” Congrats, but who's responsible? A communal effort, or a shadowy government body that intercepts all visitors and prevents them from leaving and spreading the word?  The home page suggests as much:  “We are sure once you visit Becker you will never want to leave!” If I may quote some more:

“Thank you for visiting the City of Becker website.  Please take your time to browse through the site or go to the menu to the left and select the topic you are interested in.  Once you have checked out our web site please come visit our wonderful community.”

Why would I?  Official City Websites often think that the government is the first thing we’re interested in, so the links are about the mayor and the city council and other matters of no interest to outsiders. So you get ENORMOUS  pictures of the local gang. No history or photos, though. Maybe next time.  Read more...