May 2, 1942

May 2, 1942

Iowa City, Iowa

Dear father & mother,

I have just found out something that depresses my spirits considerably. Somebody has got the bright idea that we should go on a plant inspection tour in Cedar Rapids next Friday. This is not official as yet and it may not come off but it seems very likely that it will. What should I do? If I don’t get back to Iowa City by 3 o’clock I won’t be able to take the bus to Des Moines. I don’t think the Rocket makes connections with the M & St L in Des Moines any more. At least it didn’t when I came home for Christmas. I won’t be able to leave from Cedar Rapids on a bus and get to Des Moines in time to get on the M and St L. I was thinking that maybe I could take a but later from Iowa City & get into Des Moines at some queer hour and either proceed to Fort Dodge or if the interurban is leaving sometime around the time I get to Des Moine take that.

Could you find out at what times the interurban leaves Des Moines? Also, would it be all right if I came to Ft. Dodge and you met me there? I haven’t investigated this last possibility yet but I am going to. As soo as I find out I will inform you what I intend to do. I will not be able to put off coming home till some other weekend because I am going to have some Saturday classes I think, so if I am going to come home anytime for the next four weeks or so it will have to be this coming weekend. I surely hope that everything works out all right and that the inspection trip will either fall thru or that I will be back in Iowa City in time to make some decent kind of connections. I will write again on this subject soon so that you will know what I amy going to do.

This next week is going to be fairly busy. I have one report left to calculate and write up — the one on air conditioning in Principles. I hope that it is easy for I will not have too much time to spent on it. On Tuesday I will have a test in Principles & one in organic. Also I will have to give my last talk in Technical Writing. However that is all prepared so it is nothing to worry about. On Wednesday morning I am going to have three tests — in economy, elements of elect. eng and steam & gas engines. On Thursday, I will have another test in principles and perhaps one in technical writing, altho I hope not. By Thursday noon all of my worries will be over as far as tests go except if the inspection trip is not held, in which event the economy test might be on Friday. Thursday afternoon I will check in in organic laboratory. I am afraid that I have broken quite a bit of stuff so that I may have exceeded my $3 per semester allowance. I have broken 2 thermometers, one distilling flask, one big liter flask and other incidentals.

It has been sort of threatening to rain down here lately but it hasn’t done much about it which is very queer for Iowa City. I can’t see how it can keep from raining tonite but maybe it can. The tulips by the Physics Bldg & Shaeffer Hall are beginning to come out. I suppose that those in front of the Old Capitol are out too but I never get around to the front of it anymore so I haven’t noticed them. I have also seen some violets along the walk by which I come back from work.

There are quite a few sailors in Iowa City now and some of the naval officers have moved here. The official dedication ceremony was held some time ago. I thought that it would have been very appropriate if all of the ex-residents of the Quadrangle were there to boo the proceedings but nothing of the kind was done. A new building is to be erected near the fieldhouse to house some offices and classrooms. It is going to cost $70,000. They plan to complete it in 2 months which in my opinion is so much bosh. I think it would take at least 6 months and probably more to put it up. They are still working on the Quadrangle (for 2 months now) and it still isn’t quite ready. It sort of bothers me to see how everybody who is supposed to be a leader in this national emergency has a tendency to run around, shooting off his mouth and not getting much done.

I think that perhaps I am going to take a few more hours of school work this summer than I had originally planned on. I was looking thru the official schedule and saw some 2 hr courses which look kind of easy & interesting so I thought I might as well get my money’s worth by taking them. I will tell you about them later, either when I come home or in some other letter.

I was just thinking that perhaps I could skip some classes the week-end after next and come home then. I think perhaps I could get away with it. Then I could be home for Verner’s confirmation (it is on that Sunday, isn’t it?) and I would also be able to see Vivian, for she should be home by that time. Please inform me what you think of this idea too when you write to tell me about the interurban. You don’t know how I felt when it looked as if I might not be able to get home for awhile when I had so counted on it. However, I think that in one way or another I will be able to make.

With love

C.P.

Please write soon and tell me what your ideas are.

[marginalia] Thank you, father and mother, for your weekly letters and you mama for the laundry and cake. The place where I register for my sugar book is about one block from where I live.

I will buy the sugar and send it home to you when I send my laundry home. I have no qualms about doing this for it is against my principles for any agency, gov’t or otherwise, take a food and convert it into industrial alcohol even tho it is more or less essential to the production of munitions.

April 10, 1942

April 10, 1942

Iowa City, Iowa

Dear father, mother, those three conservers of paper, lead and ink, and anyone else who may read this,

Today is Friday, April the 10th; one week later comes April the 17th; still one week later comes April the 24th; yet another week and comes May the first. On each day I will probably sit down at some time or other and write my weekly letters home. Then comes May 8th and unless something screwy occurs I should be coming home then. Of course, not for very long since school starts on Monday May the 10th, but nevertheless I will be coming home again. Oh happy day only four weeks hence! What are four weeks? They are only 28 days of 24 hours each but they still seem like an awful long time. Eight more incredibly dry periods of technical writing and of principles, twelve more times to come to hear the slightly mildewed Raiford expound the wonders of organic chemistry, three more weekends devoted to last minute report writing etc. etc. and then — whoops! — I can come home again. I’m acountin’ them thar days and they’re going slowly but they are going.

I really don’t have an awful lot to write about this week. My trip back from Dubuque was more or less uneventful and sort of dry-like. When I got back, it didn’t take very long to get back into the old daily routine again, grinding out problems etc. etc. I am planning to get some report-writing-up done over the weekend but I wonder if my resolutions will hold or not. My room-mate is trying to lure me to the baseball game tomorrow afternoon and I do not yet know if I am going to succumb or not. If it is a nice day perhaps I will go. Today the Iowa baseball team soundly trounced those mangy Minnesota baseball players 19–2. I listened to part of the game over the radio. If I go I probably will not get more than one report finished.

The summer schedule is partly officially settled now and I have been looking it over and I think that everything is going to work out fairly smoothly so that I shouldn’t have too hard of a time of it this summer. I have sort of been thinking about my draft number I believe that it fits in fairly well. At first I was sort of disappointed at not getting a higher number but on second thought there is an advantage in my case of having a somewhat lower number. I would like to get my questionnaire and be classified while I am still in school. That way I am fairly certain of getting a 6 months deferment since I am a prospective graduate of an engineering school. Then I would be working before I come up for reclassification. I only hope that my case does not come up in the one month interim between the time when school stops and my work begins. However I suppose, what happens will happen so that nothing can be done about it. However, much as I dislike the thought of eng’n’g, the army looks worse. Sometimes I am really scared when I think that I am supposed to be able to do when I start to work. Or that is, what I think I am supposed to be able to do. Most of the time I am appalled at my lack of knowledge. I don’t see how I am able to get along and do my work satisfactorily. But I suppose that will just have to take care of itself too.

The weather has been sort of queer in Iowa City lately. First it is nice and then it is raw & cloudy. I am hoping that it will soo turn nice and stay nice. If that happens tho, I suppose I will develop a tendency not to ming to my studying which wouldn’t be too good a thing.

Sunday night is the formal initiation banquet of some new members to Tau Beta Pi, to which I think I am going. Last Saturday was the all night session which I misses since I was in Dubuque. I sort of regret that it was not held at some other time so that I could have watched the initiates squirm thru everything I had to so. Altho it took a lot of time and cost $25, I do not regret in the least having joined Tau Beta Pi. Of course, we never get around to doing anything but it is fun anyway. Incidentally I don’t have any excuse to wear my key chain any more since we never use a key to our room any more. Therefore I cannot exhibit my honorary (?) decorations.

I seem to have run our of information so I will stop.

With love

C.P.

P.S. I have bought myself a lamp for my table for $1.98. It is a very nice lamp I think. I have no place to put my radio so it is sitting under the bed. At the end of the semester when my room-mate graduates, and if I don’t get another, I will have plenty of room to put it some place.

Towards the End

During the summer months, after he had eaten his supper, Uncle Carl sat on the front screened porch of the home. He would “digest” the local newspaper, various farm periodicals, and the Lutheran magazine. As long as it was published, he also read the “Augustana,” a Swedish language church magazine. In later years he owned a small radio, but television was never part of his life. The old oak rocker that he sat in for these times of reading became blackened with age. It is now in my son’s possession. I refinished it, and it is still in good condition. The winter months forced him to be indoors for his reading time.

I had returned to farm my father’s farm south of Gowrie in 1951. During the first years that I was farming, I worked with Uncle Carl during harvest season for several years. This was of benefit to me since I had neither a corn picker or a combine and his, though aging, were available for use on my farm. It was difficult at times to work with him since he wanted to be in charge. As years went by, I acquired the necessary machinery and worked with him only occasionally.

After the Peterson estate was settled, the farm being sold, Uncle Carl continued to live in the large family home in Gowrie with his unmarried sister, Esther. The machinery that he had brought in from the farm cluttered the back yard. His time was spent gardening and taking care of the lawn work. I can’t remember when the chore of hauling cobs to town for use in the furnace ended, but some cobs were hauled from our farm. The heating system in this house was a hot water system, and it was a continual job to fill the fire pot of this furnace with cobs. He had a special “banking system” of the cobs to keep the furnace heating at night.

Sometime in the mid-sixties it became apparent that his sister Esther needed medical attention. She had had a mental breakdown earlier in life, and had recovered from that. A recurrence of this necessitated placing her in a rest home in Des Moines. After some months there with medication, she became well enough to become a resident at the Lutheran Home for Aged in Madrid, Iowa. Uncle Carl, who was never a “housekeeper” or cook, found it difficulty to continue to live on in the big family home alone. He walked across town daily to eat dinner with my mother. This arrangement lasted for a short time, and then a decision was made for him to also reside in the Madrid Home. He did not require a lot of care at this time, although he had developed heart problems typical of many who reach their 80s.

The one condition that he stipulated for the move to Madrid was that my mother take over the Peterson family home. She had lived alone in her own home since my father died in 1961. Mother did not particularly want to move, but decided to do so for the benefit of Uncle Carl and all concerned. Uncle Carl gave her his shared of the value of the house which was owned at that time jointly with his sister. This was an incentive for my mother’s move. Uncle Carl moved to Madrid where he lived the remainder of his life.

Before my mother could move to her new home, considerable repair had to be done. The house had not been painted inside or out for many years. The walls in the kitchen were greasy and black from years of smoke from the kitchen range. New aluminum storm windows and doors needed to be installed, and the walls and attic needed to be insulated. Along with a new boiler system for heat came a new radiator for the kitchen. The old boiled had been patched and waterproofed by Uncle Carl way beyond its normal life.

The yard full of machinery and tools that had been brought in from the farm were sold at auction. There was very little saleable furniture, dishes, etc. in the house, but these were sold at the auction also. His 1942 two-door Pontiac was put for sale. All of these possession brought less than $1000. These were the last of Uncle Carl and Aunt Esther’s earthly possessions, other than their clothing.

I can’t recall the year of the move to Madrid but it was sometime in the mid-60s. Carl and Esther lived on there until they died in 1968 — Carl before Esther. They had adjoining single rooms, and Uncle Carl spent his last years looking after the special and financial needs of his sister. A poignant memory of them is when we came one evening to visit, and they were having evening devotions and were singing from the “Hymlan Songer” — the old Swedish Lutheran hymnal.

Not one to live easily under institutional rules and regulations, he continued to decide things for himself. Although not permitted to have food in his room, he would bring excess food from his meals in the dining room and hide it in his shoes for a pre-bedtime snack. He continued to go for daily walks and would walk on the highway early in the morning. Calls would come into the Home from motorists who thought the Home should keep him off the road. He would take walks to downtown Madrid to mail cards and letters. One card that came to his brother Lawrence indicated that he didn’t write the card until he came to the post office. He wasn’t feeling well, and thought perhaps he wouldn’t make it to the post office. But he did, and he lived on for a few more months. His heart finally failed after several sessions in the Boone County Hospital.

Uncle Carl dies just short of his 90th birthday, and his funeral was held at Zion Lutheran Church in Gowrie where he had been an active member all his life He had led about as disciplined a life as any person I have known. He had been a hard and steady worker. There were no frivolities in his life. He ate sparingly and never drank coffee or tea that I know of. His earthly possessions at the time of his death were the few clothes he had, and miscellaneous personal possessions. He had planned financially for his declining years with little extra to spare. What was left of his financial resources were designated to take care of Esther for the remainder of her life. Everything else he had given away to family, Missions, and to Zion Church.

The Peterson family burial plot was his final resting place in the cemetery west of Gowrie. This plot included graves for his mother and father, three sisters, a brother, and himself. He had made the decision that he should be buried behind the Peterson monument. There was some irony in this, since Grandfather Peterson was really the Patriarch of the family. But Uncle Carl had taken over in this capacity for many years, and although the gravesite in front of the J.P. Peterson monument was available, it could just as well have been the final resting place of one of his sisters or his brother.

It was our responsibility to return to the Madrid Home after the funeral to be with and console Aunt Esther, who was much like a wife to Carl in the years after grandmother died. Among his few possessions was a cardboard box of alarm clocks, parts of clocks, and various small tools. He had become the clock repair man for many of the residents of the Home. It was impossible to find out who owned what in regards to the few clocks that were still intact. Whether or not he actually had repaired very many, I do not know. But even to the end of his life he was ever one to tinker and to fix.

When Jean, my wife, and I were first married, I had rescued an antique clock from my father’s garage that belong to my Great-grandfather Strand. We asked Uncle Carl to restore this clock for us. With adjustment and lubrication he coaxed it back to life. It was in good running condition for more than forty years before wearing out. Now the mechanical mechanism has been replaced by a battery operated quartz mechanism and is still the time keeper in our living room — a gentle reminder of Uncle Carl.

As I have written this story, it becomes very evident that Uncle Carl influenced my life more than my own father did. Since my dad worked day and night during my growing up years, we saw little of him except at mealtime. Uncle Carl was always there, if not with meaningful tasks, creating work to keep us busy. There was in him no time for idle chatter or play. This was no doubt due to a great extend as result of being the oldest of eleven children under very severe financial conditions. Not that he did not have compassion and love, but it could be said that his was more of a “tough love” kind. I cannot recall ever seeing him express his love of siblings, nieces or nephews by hugging or kissing, but the love was there! His financial resources throughout his life were shared generously with others, He was truly a very fascinating and giving individual.

Shortly before writing this recollection of Uncle Carl, Jean and attended the 125th anniversary of the Zion Lutheran Church in Gowrie where Uncle Carl had always been a member. One morning we took a walk through the Gowrie cemetery. It was truly a historical reminder of events in the Gowrie community. Many who are buried there have made an impact. Not only on this community, but on us personally. Parents, grandparents, uncles, aunts, distant relatives, friends, and neighbors. Uncle Carl was an important part of our lives and his community.

He left no direct descendants, but did in a very real way affect in many ways our perspectives and attitudes towards life. He could possibly have been in any one of many occupations. I could picture him as an engineers or a pastor (as were three of his brothers). I could not visualize him as a doctor (heaven help his patients!), but he was a farmer of quite varied interests. Not exceptional many times in quality, but assuredly interesting in scope. I can never remember him voicing great religious beliefs, but if the phrase is true that “you shall know them by their fruits,” he was definitely a man of deep conviction.

I treasure the memories!

—Vincent T. Strand

Christmas

Christmas was a very special time for the Peterson family. Christmas Eve was always spent in Grandmother Peterson’s home. After the usual meal of lutefisk, sylta, potatoes, assorted goodies and fruit soup, the gifts were distributed. Uncle Carl sat in his big leather Morris chair (the forerunner of the present-day platform rocker). The “height” of the evening was reached when the little white envelopes from Uncle Carl were distributed. During the war years, each of us kids received $18.75 to buy a war bond. The adults received larger amounts.

One year an envelope appeared with the caption “Ego” written on it. We didn’t know what it meant, but soon figured out that it belonged to Uncle Carl. This was one of the only times that I can recall when there was a sign of levity on his part. On Christmas Eve, it was his responsibility to read the Christmas story from the Gospel of Luke at our family gathering in the Peterson home. I can still hear him reading in a somewhat monotonous tone of voice “And in those days there went out a decree . . .” Following this reading, we sand Christmas carols and a Swedish hymn, “Glada Julafton, Harliga, Klara [Happy Christmas Eve, My friend, Clara”].

Christmas morning the schedule was to go to the early 6:00 a.m. “Julotta” service. In earlier years, this service was preceded by a Swedish service that began at 5:00 a.m. I can remember sitting through that service not understanding a word, and then after that, sitting through the English service. The one thing that stands out in my mind about the English service was that as the first strains of “AllHail to Thee O Blessed Morn” were played on the organ, Uncle Carl, who sat in the front pew of the church, would rise to his feet. In those days most all hymns were sun sitting down, but Uncle Carl rose up to sing this meaningful Christmas hymn.

Travels with Uncle Carl

There were two side trips with Uncle Carl that “livened” our lives. One was a trip to the Agronomy Field Days at Iowa State University. Ever one to try to raise new crops and learn new farming techniques, he would make the trip to Ames with some of us boys to tour the test plots and listen to the learned agronomy professors. The highlight of the day was to eat our meal at the Memorial Union buffet — a great treat for us who seldom ate anywhere except at the family table.

The other trip was one to the Iowa State Fair. This was also to be a learning trip for agricultural endeavors. The main interest there was in the farm machinery exhibits. Acres of machinery from various manufacturers were displayed and we got to inspect most of them. My interest in farm machinery was heightened by those trips, and probably influenced my college major in agricultural engineering. At the fair was also a chance to eat at some of the eating places if a picnic lunch was not brought along. The trip to Des Moines in Uncle Carl’s Essex Super Six was by present-day standards a tedious trip. At 35-40 mph, it took several house but was a treat from the days of weed pulling that was so much a part of the last days of summer.

This and That

Uncle Carl was a slight man of build, but could work harder and steadier than any man I have known. As I have noted, he ate sparingly and never to my knowledge did he smoke or drink alcohol. The only alcoholic beverage that passed his lips was the communion wine served in celebration of the Eucharist in church. By the time I knew him well, he was quite bald, and as the years progressed, he needed glasses, a hearing aid, and dentures. All of these aids to human frailties were obtained with a great deal of confrontation with the doctors. The local dentist gave up on supplying him with dentures, and calmly broke apart those he had made.

Later in life, he was picked up by a patrolman for not wearing glasses. Up until this point, he never wore glasses except for reading or close mechanical work. His glasses were kept in a case in the upper pocket of his bib overalls. His driver’s license was suspended for this laxness for a period of six months. Since he was not farming at that time, he decided to help me on the farm. He borrowed the Lutheran pastor’s son’s bike and pedaled the four miles down to the farm where we lived to help me pick corn. He was in his late 70s or early 80s at that time, but was undaunted by the trip. The offer to go into town to get him and bring him home went unheeded. At this time of life, it was hard for me to tell him what to do, even though I had received instructions from him so often in the past.

At sometime earlier in his life, Uncle Carl had purchased a 120-acre farm in Texas. The details of this business transaction I do not know, except that I recall some mention that he had attended a church convention in Texas. Also, on Grandfather Peterson’s side of the family, there were relatives who lived in Texas. I don’t think it was a very lucrative enterprise from the rental income standpoint. However, there was the possibility of an oil strike on the land, and there was great speculation among the family about a possible rich “oil baron” uncle in the family. But nothing ever came of that, and the farm was sold.

Tractors

After driving the tractor on the oat binder and disking in oats, the Strand boys were given the job of cultivating corn. This was a job with the main focus on dexterity — the turning on the ends of the field without knocking down the corn. As I recall, it was my brother Carl who came in for praise from Uncle Carl for doing the best job. Since praise was not forthcoming very often, brother Carl must have done a much better job that the rest of us.

Uncle Carl had been the instructor for us as we learned to cultivate, but when it came time to train my brother Verner, I was designated to train him. I imagine that by this time he was tired of seeing corn being covered or plowed out in the first few rounds. Uncle Carl seldom made mistakes, but once he got off on unmatched rows while cultivating. I then spent half a day walking on the south forty uncovering corn.

I was probably the only one of the Strand boys to use the little Hart Parr. This was an 18-36 H.P. tractor designed mostly for tillage use. I disked and plowed with it, and because of its sharp exhaust bark, you could hardly hear when you quit for the day. The hearing loss of Uncle Carl might be attributed to this tractor noise. I had several harrowing experience with this machine, particularly when trying to start it. It had a side crank outfit for starting and occasionally the crank would stick as the tractor would start. The instructions, if this happened, were to run like “hell” when it came off.

There was a water feed to the cylinders to take out the ping or knocking. So we would go out to the field with a ten-gallon can of water to replace the water used for the cooling system. On a trip to disk on the east side of the north forty, I forgot to engage the cooling fan and ran out of water in the cooling system. The Hart Parr got too hot and died. It was a long mile hike bak to the farmstead to tell Uncle Carl. Not a word was spoken by him. We brought water back to the tractor, and lo and behold, the tractor started and was not damaged.

It would have been better if he had said a few harsh words, but that was not his style. The only time that he came close to cursing was once when I heard him say “Sam-Hill.” He must have been mighty provoked to use this expression.