Belle Plaine Rotary

This week I was invited (or maybe I invited myself and they were too polite to say no), to speak to the Rotary club in Belle Plaine. I had a lot of fun., and the food was fantastic. Some of the same people who were members when my Dad was a Rotarian are still there.

Thomas Wolfe wrote, "you can't go home again." Going back home is never the same, but many of the same faces and feelings are still there. I think you can go home again - you just have to be ready for some changes.

Speaking of which (how's that for a shameless transition?), people ask me what kind of changes I would implement if elected. I am not as interested in changing things as I am in improving them. Our roads could be better, we could strengthen our law enforcement with more officers and patrol cars, and we could be better stewards of the citizen's tax dollars.

I plan on picking up my yard signs in a day or two, please let me know if you would like one (it would be better if you lived in the district). Thanks for your help, Jerry

On the trail

Hi, today I was in New Prague where I met with some folks who work at City Hall. One of the reason’s New Prague is such a cool town is that the people who take care of the town’s business really care about their town. Combine that with a fabulous school system and it's easy to see why New Prague stands out as a place where people want to live. I want to help build their tax base with commercial activity by making it a desirable place to bring business where jobs can be created.

After I spent some time at City Hall I went to the golf course in town where I spoke to the Rotary club. They were a very polite group – they laughed at all the right parts. Plus, I had a nice lunch and was serenaded with a song.

Today I ordered some campaign literature, so soon I may be knocking on your door and handing some reading material. For those of you who live in district one please let me know if you would agree to have a sign in your yard.

In summary, I don’t think it felt very summery today. Thanks for your help – remember to have fun.

Announcement

PRESS RELEASE

Jerry Kucera has announced that he will run for Scott County Commissioner against incumbent Joe Wagner and Joe Thill.

“Because I’m not your average Joe I believe I can bring a fresh perspective to the County Board,” said Jerry.

Jerry and his wife Rhonda live on a hobby farm in Sand Creek Township. Rhonda is a substitute teacher in the Jordan school district. Their daughter, Jennifer, is a kindergarten teacher in New Prague, and their son, Nathan, will be student teaching in Jordan and Belle Plaine this fall.

Jerry was born and raised in Belle Plaine, graduating from high school there in 1977. He received a degree in Speech Communication from St. Cloud State University where he also studied Political Science and History. He has been a State Farm Insurance agent in Shakopee since 1985.
“My 25 years of experience helping people protect their resources and preserve their income allows me to serve the citizens of this county with those same goals. Our elected representatives must be responsible stewards of the citizen’s money. A big challenge facing local governments is how to maintain a current level of service with less tax revenue.”

“One new program I’m really exited about is FISH (Families and Individuals Sharing Hope). This cooperative effort between county human services, charitable and non-profit organizations may seem like a new way for government to do business, but it actually reminds me of the old way of doing things: people helping one another without relying solely on the government.

“SCALE (Scott County Association for Leadership and Efficiency) is another example of how building relationships can have a positive effect. SCALE is made up of county, city, school and townships officials as well as those from the Shakopee Mdewakanton Sioux Community. I agree that by working together and sharing resources we can be more efficient and reduce costs. With the success of FISH and SCALE I’m anxious to see if we can establish a FIN or GILL program.”

“Several years ago I helped lead a group of citizens committed to protecting Scott County. A New York corporation wanted to build an amphitheater here and we were able to stop them. We did this by adopting an attitude of working with “city hall” instead of fighting them. This was accomplished by building associations with representatives from all levels of government (local, state and federal), as well as civic groups, and the people who call Scott County home.”

“I can use my communication skills (listening first, then speaking), and my ability to establish relationships with people from a variety of groups and perspectives to serve the people of Scott County.”

“I want to give back to the people of District 1 by representing them at the county board. I live in the middle of the district and my office is within 4 blocks of the County Government center. These locations, combined with an adjustable work schedule will assure that the citizens of this district will have full representation in county government. With their support, I will work to make sure that Scott County continues to be a wonderful place to live and work for generations.”

Can we still be friends?

There is a book on my shelf titled “Call Me Ishmael, 801 Memorable First and Last Lines in Literature,” compiled by David A. Spector. I like reading it from time to time. I have read some of the books quoted in there, but not all of them. One of the opening sentences included in the book is from “Breakfast at Tiffany’s,” by Truman Capote.

“I am always drawn back to places where I have lived, the houses and their neighborhoods.”

I feel the same way. Other than when I was in college and the first few years of my marriage, I have lived no further than 20 miles from where I was born. I like it here and I like writing this newspaper column. I will continue to live in Scott County, but for now I will move off this page.

I would rather have done this in person, but it has to be this way. I am taking a break. For several months this will be my last article/column/piece/story (pick your favorite name for what this is – but remember, it’s a family newspaper). Think of it as if I’m taking an early summer vacation that may extend through October.

I’m giving up this space for awhile to chase another dream. It’s not about needing more space; 24 column inches every week has suited me well. I am not going to another paper or anything like that. I just have to take some time away from publishing this column.

Can we still be friends? It’s not you, it’s me. I’ll take the time off, but one way or another I will return (provided the editor allows me to).

And lest you think I have run out of ideas – don’t be silly. I could tell you about my former life as a garbageman in Minneapolis, or the time I asked a chauffeur to drive my two brothers and me around Milwaukee while our sister was receiving her diploma from Marquette. Perhaps I will write about the time my friend, Jeff, and I ate a dinner salad with our fingers at a restaurant (they had forgot to give us silverware, and they ignored our pleas, so we just played along). I will tell you what I did the summer of 2010.

In this space I have tried to be meaningful, thought provoking and entertaining. I have written these 600 words with you in mind – kind of a conversation through the paper if you will. Some of you actually liked what I wrote. Your kind words mean very much to me. I will not forget them or you. So forget everything you know about memory loss, but please don’t forget about me.

I insist – to the point of being pouty, that my wife and kids always say “good-bye,” before they leave, even just for a run to the store, because – well, just because. But on the other hand when I am at a large party (more than 20 people) I prefer to slip out the door unseen (they call me “The Breeze” – not really but that would be a fun nickname). I think the quick escape is better than the traditional long Minnesota goodbye (hanging on a car door while running along side clutching a pan of bars).


It’s a weird thing, but I feel like I’m leaving you and I don’t like it. I didn’t want to just slip away from this space without saying goodbye. So have fun. I’ll see you around.

The last line is by Dr. Seuss.

“I’d make a few changes,
If I ran the zoo.”

You're not dancing

I like a good conversation where speaking and listening is evenly traded. Snappy banter, the exchange of ideas and the sharing of thoughts is like dancing, and a skilled conversationalist is like a deft dancing partner. Exactly who is leading and who is following is indistinguishable. The discourse adheres to a certain rhythm allowing each partner to keep step without stepping on the other.

When the partners know each other well, a certain amount of hyperbole is tolerated whereas inconsistencies are challenged.

“How do you like the hot dish I made for supper?”

“It’s the best I’ve ever had.”

“Would you like some more?”

“No, thank you.”

“I thought you liked it.”

“I did – I mean I do. It’s just that I think we should save it in case someone else wants some.”

“There’s just the two of us here.”

“I know, but what if someone comes over, then what?

“No one is coming over.”

“I’d rather not risk it. Besides, I’m full. I couldn’t eat another bite.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, I’m stuffed.”

“That’s too bad because I baked a pie.”

“Really? Well, maybe I have room for a small piece. Do we have any ice cream?”

Most conversations involve a question-and-answer period. Usually occurring at the beginning, this exchange can take many forms – from the unremarkable (“Some weather we’ve been having, huh?”) to the unwelcome (“What happened to your hair?”)

Sometimes the questions are part of a quest for allies in a battle where one is dragging the other down a path of enlightenment: “Don’t you agree that instead of always raising taxes we can solve this budget crisis by exercising a little fiscal constraint?”

In my experience it’s the follow-up, or the question behind the question, that can open a door or expose a truth. Several years ago I met Larry Werner, an editor for the Star Tribune. During our conversation he asked me what I did. After I stated my occupation, this seasoned journalist posed a life-changing, thought provoking second question:

“What else do you do?”

After I stumbled and hesitated I said, “I like to write.”

Then he told me to send him some of my writing. That one question gave me the push I needed to do what I always wanted. But without a question from a veteran newspaper man I may still be dreaming.

For a long time I knew that I enjoyed writing. But outside of writing a few stories for my kids and some skits for church I never did anything with it. Consequently, I could hardly be considered a writer (there are many who still support this view). I had failed to appreciate a simple truth: To be a writer one must write. If you like something, then show it, express yourself.

A couple months ago we were at my sister-in-law’s when a 2-year-old trapped me with her second question. Like all my nieces, Flora is quite smart, but her ability to reason seems advanced for her age. While listening to a song on her music box she was jumping around, or dancing as she likes to call it.

“Do you like this song?” she asked me.

“Yes I do,” I replied.

“Well you’re not dancing,” she said.

I laughed and said, “You’re right.”

Although she’s not yet able to share her thoughts logically, in Flora’s mind I was being inconsistent. If indeed I liked the song, I should be dancing. So I jumped up and became her dancing partner. Even though I couldn’t tell who was leading and who was following I didn’t step on her.

Typewriter

My handwriting is beyond illegible; it’s repulsive. Even I don’t like looking at it, and sometimes I can’t even read what I wrote. I gave up writing in cursive a long time ago because chicken scratching is a language only a few can read. So when I write, I print my letters. This works pretty well provided there is a straightedge handy.

My ugly penmanship has been an ever-present obstacle for me. In high school I took a full year of typing to communicate better with the written word. But when computers took over the world I got rid of my electric typewriter.

Lately I have become interested in manual typewriters. I’m talking about the ones that are over 40 years old. Clearly a typewriter, especially a manual one, is slower than a computer and mistakes are not easily corrected.

But manual typewriters also have some advantages: They’re always powered up and ready to go and battery life is never an issue. The printer is always compatible; they don’t crash (unless you throw them out the window). The sound that comes from the metal characters striking the paper, and the little bell reminding me to go to the next line, put me in a literary mood. Plus, I think they look pretty cool.

I now have three manual mid-1960’s typewriters. At my office in town I have a slate-blue and ivory Royal Aristocrat. I bought this from a woman selling her uncle’s typewriter. He had passed away without ever realizing his dream. He had always wanted to write a mystery novel, but he never got around to finishing it. The book is still locked in there somewhere and I intend to use the keys to find it.

In my truck I keep a petite, portable Smith-Corona Corsair. I never use my typewriter when I’m driving. It’s texting the way Mr. Underwood intended: stopped and stationary. The guy I bought it from got it from his parents when he graduated from high school in 1965. He put in it his closet and never used it.

The one I have on my writing desk at home is a beautiful Olympia SM-9 with a script/cursive font. The original receipt, manual and the factory test sheet came with it. On that test sheet Mervin and Rosemary Roberts tried out their new typewriter 45 years ago. Rosemary typed her name and address but it was Mervin’s note to her that told the story. It seems that the typewriter was a gift to Rosemary from Mervin.

“TO MY DEAR WIFE. I hope this meets with your approval. Merve.”

Not exactly a Robert Browning/Elizabeth Barrett-Browning exchange, but I intend to seek Rosemary’s approval as I use Merve’s thoughtful and expensive gift (back then it cost $119 plus tax).

I keep a sheet of paper in them at all times, because I never know when an idea will show up. There’s something enticing about a blank sheet of paper in a typewriter. A typewriter is designed for one thing: to put symbols on a piece of paper. The machine may lay dormant for years, but it is patient. It might need a little oil or a fresh ribbon, and then it’s ready to work, like a draft horse in the barn waiting for spring.

Robert Benchley said, “There two types of people in the world: those who divide people into two types and those that don’t. “ When it comes to written communication, I think there are two types: those who do and those who don’t. I would rather type than put pen to paper.

Hats

My kids often accuse me of eavesdropping. Can I help it if I have good hearing?

Being an effective listener can be quite entertaining. I once overheard this conversation between an elderly woman and her adult grandson.

“Look,” the woman said as she looked at her grandson’s hands. “Your fingers are just like your grandpa’s – short and stubby. He could do many things with those hands. He could do carpenter, electric, and plumbing.”

“Yeah, grandma,” he said as he turned them over. “These hands wear many hats.”

My hands don’t wear many hats; they don’t even wear that many gloves – maybe two or three different pairs. But to continue with this theme let me say I’m a man of many hats. Some of you might think that I am referring to my multiple roles of being a husband, father, business man and writer(?), but really, I do have many hats.

My interest in hats has gone from just fashion and supporting the local team, to protecting my scalp. I can get sunburned watching the sunrise so I wear hats to hide my head from the ultraviolet rays.

I got a new one recently. Well, actually three new hats. One was a Twins hat. I was going to the new ballpark and I wanted to fit in while warding off mean Mr. Sun.

The second hat I picked up was something to wear during the work week – kind of a dress hat if you will. I don’t think a baseball hat looks right with a sport coat. Although one could argue that since baseball is a sport the hat and coat naturally go together, but on me the combination looks clownish.

When I asked my wife, Rhonda, if she liked my new hat she said, “It has a certain look to it.”

I don’t keep a hat long. Either they get lost, worn out, or I finally realize it certainly looks stupid. I lost one hat to a mower. The wind blew it off my head and into the blades. It never fit the same after that.

The third hat was a replacement for one I lost 30 years ago. It was from H.E. Westerman Lumber Co. I got it when I worked on their crew building pole sheds. It only took a few weeks for them to realize that I was better at hitting my thumbnail than barn nails. Since I had a license to drive a truck they gave me the delivery job at the lumber yard.

Of the many jobs I have had over the years I count that as one of the best. As a 16-year-old it was an ideal summer job. I drove around the countryside listening to the radio with the window down.

A couple weeks ago as I was driving through Montgomery, the home office and original site for Westerman Lumber, I remembered reading that the 120-year-old company was going out of business.

I stopped and introduced myself to the clerk. I told him how sorry I was to hear they were closing, and about the best summer job I ever had. I asked if they had any hats for sale. He picked up the phone and in a few minutes a woman brought one out. She handed it to me and when I asked how much, the clerk said I could have it.

On my way home, I turned on the radio and rolled down the window. Putting on my new hat I drove home. I wasn’t sixteen again, but I did feel carefree. The hat fit like a glove.