Heinz 57

The story goes that during Joe DiMaggio's 56 game hitting streak in 1941, a record for the ages, he was promised a $100,000 endorsement deal from Heinz if he made it to 57.  But, his streak ended at 56 in Cleveland on July 17th. That day he hit 2 hard smashes down the third baseline but was robbed of a hit each time by the Cleveland third-baseman Ken Keltner.  (I think Joe later covered the loss with a Mr. Coffee deal.)

The story resonates because my bride and I just celebrated - very low key- our 56th wedding anniversary and now we face that 'getting #57' challenge faced by DiMaggio. A noble goal but certainly no tomato from Heinz in the offing. 

At this point, you probably are expecting some sage advice on how to stay married for 56 years. Sorry, everyone's story is different, you'll have to figure it out for yourselves.

Dave

Copyright ©  2024  Dave Hoplin

Gratitude

 

Having bested the biblical allotment of 3 score and 10, I give thanks in the words of Mark Twain:   

“I am able to say that while I am not ruggedly well, I am not ill enough to excite an undertaker.”   

And for You-All.

Happy Thanksgiving

Dave 

The Othered

Throughout our history, "othering", the classification of groups of people as undesirable or inferior has always permeated American life. Starting with America's "original sin", forced importation of black slaves, each new wave of immigration has been greeted with discrimination, hate and at times violence. Usually, the hated religious or ethnic group accused of stealing our jobs, our lifestyle, or our place in the class hierarchy, gets assimilated into society over the course of a couple generations. But another group is soon found as the target for the vitriol. I am sad to report that when it comes to motivating people to action, hate is stronger than love, fear is stronger than hope.  

Native Americans, African Americans, Jews, Catholics, Irish, Italians, Asians,, Latinos, LGBT, Muslims - and women. 

Swede Hollow

In Minnesota, even the Swedes were not immune. Swedish immigrants to Mpls/St. Paul were directed to "Swede Hollow", a ravine along Phalen Creek where flimsy shanties in unsanitary conditions provided inadequate shelter for the newly arrived, surviving on sub-subsistence jobs in the lumber or brewery industries.  

However, a persistent target for scorn has been a group only tangentially associated with ethnicity, the poor, This is something not true in most of the developed world. This in spite of, according Rick Warren, a well-known pastor and author of The Purpose Driven Life, two thousand verses in Scripture dealing with our responsibilities to the the poor. 

e.g. Proverbs 19:7 “Whoever is kind to the poor lends to the Lord, and he will reward them for what they have done.”

The most recent data (2024) from the US Census Bureau shows that the national poverty rate is 11.5%. To put that into perspective, that's 36.8 million people living in poverty in America. The U.S. allocates a smaller proportion of its GDP to social welfare programs than virtually any other industrialized country.  For context, In 2023, the federal poverty level the poverty guideline sets $15,060 for an individual and $31,200 per year for a family of 4.  Think about that and the "living without" it implies. Home - unaffordable. Car - unaffordable.  Health care - unaffordable. ....

Sadly, we tend to see the poor as undesirable, inadequate and unworthy. We offer them neither respect or empathy. Compassion in short supply.  This is strange, since the majority of those in poverty are employed and have a high school education. And the disdain is not because the poor as a group threatens the middle and upper class lives. There is rarely interaction between the haves and have nots. And the gap has widened exponentially (during the pandemic, the world's billionaires increased their fortunes by more than $5.5 trillion - with a "T")  

Amish built cabins
for hurricane victims

We as a nation do not seem to have the will required take to overcome the indifference to the plight of the poor? Why cannot we figure out how to make use of the 1/3 of our foodstuffs that goes to landfill?  Why haven't small, cheap modular homes been developed that improve on a tent?  Why is the federal mandated minimum wage $7.75?  Why is mental health care so difficult to provide? Why are medications so unaffordable? Why is the primary source of health care for the poor the ER? Why do we not object to SNAP cuts?  Why ... endless why's.

And a final topic. I cannot exit without citing history's most extreme example of "othering". It produced the holocaust, a genocide that murdered 6 million Jews - and millions of other innocents before and during WWII. 

I have just completed the reading of Richard Evan's 3 volume history of The Third Reich (The Coming of the Third Reich, The Third Reich in Power, The Third Reich at War), all 2600 soul crushing pages of the horror the Nazis brought forth on the world between 1933 and 1945. 

The final volume concludes with this warning ..

"The Third Reich raises in the most acute form the possibilities and consequences of the human hatred and destructiveness that exist, even if only in a small way, in all of us. It demonstrates with terrible clarity the ultimate consequences of racism, militarism and authoritarianism. It shows what can happen if some people are treated as less human than others. It poses in the most extreme possible form the moral dilemmas we all face at one time or another in our lives, of conformity or resistance, action or inaction in the particular situations which we are confronted. "  Richard J. Evans

Copyright ©  2024  Dave Hoplin

Carol & Mary

My wife is the extrovert in this marriage - the friendlier half. She engages with friends, neighbors, relatives, strangers and seemingly without fail they immediately bond with her. As further testimony to her likability, every dog within 4 blocks of us will bound toward her at first sight. She worked at the VA Hospital and vets adored her - and told her stories. On one occasion a patient told her about his neighbor Mary who was pregnant and struggling with cancer. She had 9 kids ranging from 2 to 12. Mary was Amish.

The story tugged at Carol’s heartstrings, so she got the family’s address and wrote a warm letter to Mary. About a week later a multi-page response appeared. They became penpals and fast friends. Mary told her all about her family but little of her suffering.

At some point Carol declared we must visit this family and with a few more letters to organize, we packed up and drove east.  When we drove into their farmyard we could see 9 freshly scrubbed faces in the windows. We had picked up buckets of chicken and sodas  - and chocolate - so we were immediately popular with the children. Mary stashed the chocolate bars high in the cupboards and as we sat in the living room visiting, little Miriam walked in with an ear-to-ear chocolate face.  Calmly, Mary asked if she had been eating chocolate. “No”. And we all had to suppress the giggles. A quick look into the kitchen revealed drawers pulled out to create steps to the countertop and a cupboard door left open.

We began visiting this family a couple times a year, one of which would be near Christmas. Carol started assembling the gifts in January, one practical gift and one fun item for each kid. After a few of these visits the family agreed to let the 5 oldest kids visit us - among the ground rules - no TV or movies. So I packed them into a van and  brought them to Minnesota. All the kids learned to ride a bike during that 3 day visit and we went ice skating-  in the summer - at the rink at Minneapolis Union Depot.  The Amish have a "no graven images” rule, so they have no family photos, but I took a photo of the 5 kids from behind skating arm-in-arm down the rink and had the temerity to show it to Mary. She smiled. I think the family might have gotten into a bit of hot water with the Elders for exposing the children to such worldliness.

Mary gave birth to her 10th but sadly it was not long before cancer took her. We went to that funeral and as we drove up we were greeted with the sight of hundreds of black buggies. A very sad day.  All the Amish from the area plus multitudes of mourners arriving in chartered buses from around the country. We and one other couple were the only “English” attendees. As part of the service, mourners walk past the casket to offer their goodbyes. I lost count at about 1000. 

We also had the privilege of attending several of the kids’ weddings. All day affairs with a long ceremony, including a 90 minute sermon in their German dialect followed by noon and evening meals served to several hundred people. And yes, Amish pies are as good as advertised.

Not too long after Mary’s death, the father of 10 married a widow in the neighborhood. She had been left with 9 and not long thereafter they had another daughter.  22 people around the dinner table.  They don’t use the term, but uffda.

Copyright ©  2024  Dave Hoplin

Gaslighting

"Gaslighting" is a term you almost certainly have heard.  It derives from the 1944 Ingrid Bergman film Gaslight, where a husband manipulates his wife into thinking she is mentally ill.  It is a technique intent on making someone(s) believe patently false characterizations of events even in the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary.  We have all probably succumbed in - usually - small matters when someone we trust provides information that proves to be incorrect.  

Gaslighting is used extensively in political campaigns, mainly because it seems to work.  People are willing to accept as truth the most ridiculous  claims. ....

The most outrageous example of gaslighting in this election cycle in my view is this:  "Donald Trump insisted that the Jan. 6 attack, when his supporters stormed the Capitol and assaulted scores of law enforcement officers, was not a day of violence, but a "day of love" (See Oct 17, 2024 CBS News story)

Of course the facts of the matter, in case your memory needs a jog or has been corrupted by Russian disinformation, is exactly the opposite.  

Here is a sampling of the Jan 7, 2021 headlines from across the country.

Vote. Vote your conscience.

Copyright ©  2024  Dave Hoplin

Pay It Forward

I broke my ankle in July <read gory details here> and I have struggled through 8 weeks of surgeon ordered “absolutely no weight bearing on that leg”. The implications of that command took a bit to sink in. Another beautiful Minnesota summer laid waste. Of course, I realize there are millions of people who suffer permanent incapacity and I have no right to wallow. I at least have the hope and expectation of a full recovery. But I am not a patient patient, so lolling on the couch with my leg up is a trial. And living on one leg makes most everything you want to do difficult. The temptation to succumb to the "Black Dog" is ever present and my avoidance of it is to a large degree owed to my loving, caring, ever cheerful wife. 

As of this week, I have received permission to start putting partial weight on that damaged leg - while wearing a boot - and in a week or so I can swap the boot for an elaborate ankle brace. It's not the "lift up your pallet and walk" pronouncement I was hoping for but it did produce an audible sigh of relief. I may get my life back.

My little neighbor girl says I am "sooo lucky" to have such a fancy scooter

I have essentially been idle since mid-July - and you know what they say about idleness and workshops. More to the point, the unwritten, unspoken burden of my upbringing - duty and responsibility and all that, sends the message: idleness equates to worthlessnesses. Guilt is a well understood Lutheran thing.

So in my many available idle hours, I was thrown into a dangerous state - thinking.

How do/should you define yourself? Most people lift the banner of work or a business as giving purpose to life. I am what I do, what I own - or in retirement, what I was. Some find a cause or an all consuming hobby. Some measure their worth by their net worth. Some on travel. Some find meaning in service.

I believe, in the end it is how you lived your life. Did you make a difference in the lives of others? That is a legacy worth pursuing. I for one, have been blessed in this life and it seems a responsibility in some small way to look out those less fortunate. You don't need to save the world. Try helping your neighbor, volunteer, donate, offer a kind word, be a friend.

Be kind. Pay it forward.

Copyright ©  2024  Dave Hoplin

Cousins

There are 29 people who, when/if they see the title of this post will be thinking - "oh-oh". I am one of 31 cousins, 17 my father's side of the family and 16 on my mother's side. 31 cousins, an embarrassment of riches. In contrast, a good friend has none and an Amish family we have befriended have 135. In my high school class of 100, there were 15 sets of cousins. Baby Boomers.

The “oh-oh impulse stems from the realization that I possess a raft of family lore and the associated angst over what might drop. But I value my cousin connections, so if you are expecting something lurid, you will be disappointed. Although I suspect there may be a few of these fine souls wouldn’t mind reading some scandalous stuff as long as it only pertained to the other 29. 

Eccentricities on the other hand … are somethings that might slip through.  

Cousins like quarks come in flavors: up, down, charm, strange and of course, red, blue .. and green. Bonds vary from strong to weak - or none - but are not welded like sibling bonds can be. For example, if you need a kidney, you probably wouldn’t immediately ask a cousin. In most families, cousins occupy a weird place ranging from very close to nearly strangers. The relationships are usually uncomplicated with rare but brief, genial contact.  And yet, they all have something in common, something rare and valuable. They know what it’s like to be part of your particular family - for better or worse. A cousin might be one of the few people who understand your eccentricities, virtues and foibles. In most areas of your life, you might not be alike at all. But knowledge of your family ties through decades is a form of closeness. 

In our family, for many years, we had a tradition, sadly now defunct, of gathering on Epiphany for chili and chat and Scandinavian Christmas delicacies. <see post>  Families made an effort to travel to Columbia Heights and I recall them as joyful occasions. The “Greatest Generation” drove these gatherings, having a far better sense of the benefits of even weak bonding than my generation. And it offered a chance to expose some strange Holiday traditions. 

The grandfather of us all was a farmer, an electrician, a hardware owner .. and an undertaker, which perhaps introduced a bit of somberness into the clan, but also some whimsy - such as, in some families, an apprentice program. 

This may also have encouraged prodigious musical talents that could be counted on to render ‘Nearer My God To Thee’ or ‘The Navy Hymn’ in support funeral services. One cousin has made a nice side hustle from funeral vocals.

I like all my cousins, which I think is quite miraculous, but I have regular contact, usually by phone, with just a few.  

One calls me to give me pep talks or to suggest a bike ride, recognizing my tendency toward Scandinavian stoicism. Another calls to preserve the tight bond our fathers had. And I, paying it forward, call another to remind they are not immortal and they should avoid a fall into dissipation.

So pick up the phone give a cousin a call and don’t be discouraged if they say “Who?”. You’ve got a lot of memories to talk about.

        In Memoriam - Dan                                                              In Memoriam - Mark 

                 1968                                                                                            2025

  

Copyright ©  2024  Dave Hoplin

Wipeout

Cycling can be dangerous.  Cycling road racing is said to be the most dangerous sport in the world. Just ask a Tour de France rider careening down a mountain descent at 60 mph or in the mad sprint to the finish. Tragedies on two wheels are not uncommon. Wikipedia has a list 

If you are more than a casual bike rider, you have likely experienced a crash landing. Even outside a 176 rider peloton, hazards are manifold. Curbs, loose gravel, ice and mud, potholes, cars, other riders, misjudged curves, bike malfunctions, opening car doors, unexpected obstacles or just plain inattention to your environment.

I have experienced many close calls courtesy of all those various hazards. And I have gone to ground a number of times, but only once have I been put out of action for any period of time because of a crash.  That happened in 2017 when on a So. Minneapolis ride, I unexpectedly came upon 8” water pipes laying across the roadway. Unable to avoid them, I rammed them and took flight over the handlebars. I have no recollection of the (I’m sure) graceful glide over the bars, but the landing is vivid. I came out of that with a badly sprained wrist but happily no head injury.  Put me on the shelf for a couple weeks. 

That was my worst biking day - until last Thursday. 

I decided to check out Swing Bridge Park and the Mississippi River levels. The bridge is a former double-decker - rail & auto - that crossed the Mississippi in Inver Grove Heights. It has been truncated and repurposed as a sort of pier extending well out into the river. Check it out. It’s a great spot to barge watch. 

Not so great for me that day. As I was pedaling out to the far end, the wheels of my bike slid out and I watched the waves rise up to meet me. Not water. May flies, thousand and thousands of them. As I was falling, the surfer hymn - you know the one if you are of a certain age - with the frenetic drum and guitar riffs, the maniacal laughter and the one word lyric flashed through my brain, all in that 1 second drop into a swarm of writhing bugs turned to grease by my wheels… Wipeout. [That was a Faulkner sentence.]

I crawled from that disgusting mass over to the bridge railing and sat brushing off bugs and fighting back dizziness & nausea and thinking how stupid I had been. I recalled stories of cars sliding into ditches after driving through a swarm of May flies. I knew immediately something not very good had happened to my left ankle, smashed between the fallen bike and the bridge deck, the bugs not providing much of a cushion. I have a lot of experience with ankle sprains from my volleyball playing days, back in time when I could leap high enough to allow landing on another’s foot. 

Deja vu.

After some recovery time, I got back on my bike and rode the 6 miles back to my truck at one foot power. This was my 2nd stupidity and 2 stupids do not make a smart. 

This might have actually been hilarious if it were a tale told to me rather than by me. It would still be funny if I could have survived unscathed.But I was scathed. Turns out my ankle was broken, amazingly the first bone break in my relatively long life. 

So after a 2023 of no riding due to multiple medical issues, here I am in 2024 again on the shelf, awaiting surgery to put pins in my ankle.

Life is hard.

Copyright ©  2024  Dave Hoplin