the alberton papers

Name:
Location: alberton, mt., United States

I am a retired steamfitter and vocational instructor, Current member, alberton town council, having served two terms previously, several years ago. Resident of alberton almost 28 years. I am fiscally conservative and socially progressive, a free thinker and an advocate of good, responsive, honest government.

Tuesday, July 31, 2007

the bus ride

The Alberton Papers, Vol. IV, #XV
By Dick Darne 7-31-07
Well guys, if you all got your cups full, I’ll tell you about the bus ride. We had a minor logistical problem at the beginning of the big bike ride. I had to deliver four bicycles and all the gear to the hostel in downtown Washington D.C., where there is no parking. Plan A was to have someone from the suburbs ride in with me, drop me and the gear off, take the Volvo home and pick us up at the trip’s end. Plan B was the same with a different person. Wouldn’t you know it, A and B fell through. My superior thinking talents, developed at the think tank, took over and in a flash, I formulated plan C. Dump everything downtown, drive to the suburbs, leave the car at someone’s house and ride the bus and subway back downtown. The most logical choice was my old landlady from fifty years ago, Joan Parker. When I got there, she wasn’t home. My trained mind quickly came up (with a little help from Red Green) with plan C.5, duct tape the key and a note to her front door, and run fast to the bus stop. Murphy’s law then took over and the bus got to the stop just ahead of me, causing me to miss it by seconds. It appeared that the busses ran about every 20 minutes, so I trotted to the stop across from the supermarket, to get a bottle of water and a snack. It was in the nineties with humidity about ninety percent, so I needed the water. Before I could get back to the bus stop, here came the bus. A very nice young fellow literally ran the bus down and stopped it for me. He did not speak English, but that has never been a requirement to be a good person. There were lots of people on the bus, but I found a seat and settled in for the ride from one of the most affluent places on earth to the Metro station. As I relaxed and looked around I noticed that everyone was speaking a foreign tongue. I also noticed that everyone looked very tired. It was quite evident that these people didn’t live here, but they worked here. These are the people who do the work that makes McLean Virginia tick, but they sure couldn’t afford to live here. I was born and raised in this place, but, having left, I could never afford to return. But, back to the ride. Someone had told me once, that if you heard someone with a foreign accent, they were someone who spoke one more language than you did. I closed my eyes and listened to what began as a cacophony of noise turn into a harmony of song. I had no idea of what they said exactly, but I am sure if it were a language I understood, it would be things people everywhere talk about. When they are tired, when they are on their way home, their hopes and dreams. All but the one idiot on the cell phone. It wasn’t English, but I’ll bet I can translate: HELLO! I’M JUST SITTING HERE YAKKING ON MY CELL PHONE WITH NO REGARD FOR ANYONE ELSE! English is not a requirement to be a jerk either. When we got to the Metro station, I got off and most of the bus passengers kept going. The subway got me to downtown in a flash, plan C.5 worked, we had dinner, and most of us took a walking tour of D.C. After a good night’s sleep, we would embark on the 335 mile bike ride the next morning. Would we have sunshine or rain? Stay savvy. dd

Tuesday, July 24, 2007

McMansions

The Alberton Papers, Vol IV, #14
By Dick Darne 7-24-07
McMansions
"So, Dick, what the heck is a McMansion" someone in the think tank asked.
"Well, I’m not sure of the whys but the equivalent here would be the ‘McRanchhouse’. They are huge, usually brick with lots of windows. Something like ‘ol massa’ used to live in." I replied.
"Must take a lot of cordwood to heat one of them." said Bill Woods.
"I doubt any of the owners ever cut and stacked any firewood, at least not in those quantities." said Johnny Sixgun.
"They probably hire Mexicans to do any meaningful work." added Todd Young
" I heard grumbling about the Mexicans wanting fifteen bucks an hour and from what I saw, they worked very hard doing what the McMansionites were either unable or unwilling to do" I said.
"You say there were thousands and thousands of these things all around D.C. Just what do all these people do, or put another way, how can that many people be worth enough compensation to afford that lifestyle?" asked Gno Lackawitz
"Maybe they all need to show the world that they are somebody." said Johnny.
"I’ve always wondered just how everybody can be this ‘somebody’. Said Bill
"Yeah, I remember my old man always telling me, ‘stay in school, go to college, be somebody’." mused Johnny.
"And if everyone did that and became ‘somebody’, then everybody would be a ‘nobody’." said Bill. "Kinda like ‘keep up with the Joneses’."
"Or conspicuous consumption" related Todd.
A booming voice from the back sounded, "A spade is a spade. They are using far more than their share. In polite company, you mortals would tend to be, well, polite. I don’t have to be. Sounds to me like they are suffering from a couple of mankind’s ancient afflictions, Greed and Selfishness. The fact that so many can do this means that more than a few of them have larceny in their hearts."
Padre never was one to mince words.
"Dick, tell them about your bus ride from McMansionville to D.C." added Padre.
Folks, we’re out of space for this week, so stay tuned for the bus ride next week and my erudition of social justice. dd

Sunday, July 15, 2007

orval

The Alberton Papers, Vol. IV, #XIII By Dick Darne 7-15-07
"I’ve been everywhere, man, I’ve been everywhere" Johnny Cash
We have just had another milestone in life’s highway right here in Alberton. Orval Silbaugh, one of Alberton’s best students of life and it’s workings, a proper thinker of the first degree, in possession of more than a lifetime of experience and knowledge passed away this month. He was always a welcome addition to the high level discussions at the Sidetrack, always able to add to any dialogue and offer useful advice on many subjects. He had been to many places in this old world, not traveling in the manner and style of "The Jet-setters", but in a way that enabled him to glean down to earth knowledge about the rest of the world. We would always enjoy his sharing of his experiences. He offered one piece of advice that I highly recommend to young folks about to make their way in the world: Know how to do more than one thing, and always know how to do essential jobs that no one else either knows how to or doesn’t want to do.
At well over twenty years senior to most of the "guys" here, he was our "old-timer", and will live on in spirit as our old wise man. Most of us can only dream of the things Orval has seen and done. He’ll be missed by all of Alberton. dd

Tuesday, July 10, 2007

The Alberton Papers Vol. IV, # XII
By Dick Darne 7-10-07
More on the journey east.
After dropping off the hitchiker Brad, I turned off the Interstate onto old US-212. It not only is shorter, it is a great ride. When I arrived in Broadus, I decided to stop and take a rest for the long haul across South Dakota tomorrow. After securing a room, I walked up to the local café. Now, wherever you may be. Nothing beats the local café. In most instances, one would only have to change a few names and they would all be mostly the same. This one was named the "Cashaway Café. A posting on the wall caught my eye; this was home to one of the 35 best pies in Montana. A Sister Café, the Sidetrack, in Alberton, shares that same distinction. I was able to become much more pious after dinner. If I were Duncan Hines, I would recommend it highly. Being somewhat of an expert on fine dining myself, you can believe me when I say go visit the fine folks yourself. Have a piece of pie. After a fine breakfast early the next morning, served by master chef and morning cook, Bucky, I was back on the road.
On the road again, out of Montana, thru a little bit of Wyoming, into South Dakota and back on I-90 and the first thing I noticed was REAL REST AREAS. Clean. Staffed. Eager to serve visitors to their State. far, far better than even the "token rest areas" at the far corners of Montana. This trend of clean, staffed and properly spaced rest areas would continue all the way across S. Dakota, Iowa, Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, Pennsylvania. West Virginia and Maryland. I stopped at most of them and slept at quite a few. Well patrolled, just park over with the big rigs and have a snooze. Sit at a table under one of the small pavillions and enjoy a fresh made PB&J, which go down all right until you run low on jelly. Then it’s a slow, painful descent of the peanut butter down the gullet.
On the second day, I arrived in Fedora, S. Dakota, to visit Alberton’s First Brother, Don Hanson, who graciously took me on a tour of Fedora, Roswell and a couple of other towns. Don is a master collector and connoisseur of collectables and a former resident of Alberton. We then played a little billiards, picked a couple tunes and shot a little bull. The skies were clear, so we got to see the evening star right next to a crescent moon. The rest was good, and the march would become a little more forced now. This is about mile one thousand from Alberton.
Stay tuned, dd

Tuesday, July 03, 2007

BUBBY

The Alberton Papers, Vol. IV, #XI
By Dick Darne 7-3-07
"Bubby"
This is one of my adventures on the journey. It is one of several. They are not in order, but told as they come to me.
While visiting some old friends,(a story about them later), and talking about who’s left from our youth, Bubby came up. I knew him since we were little kids, he was the toughest kid for many miles around, and a fine athlete to boot. In high school he became our de-facto "champion" and other schools would send the best they had to test him. Now, before you readers think I’m advocating school "rumbles", let me explain.
As others of my age may remember, there was a certain "code of ethics" to a fight in those days. If memory serves me, the party of the first issued the challenge. The party of the second then picked one of two methods, box or wrestle, to settle the matter. Both were honor bound to follow the rules. In boxing, it was fists only, in some representation of Marquis of Queensbury. No kicking, no holding, no striking while down. In wrestling, there was no punching, and of course, no kicking. If you had picked boxing, you could get a fat lip, in wrestling a little sore.
Real sore in some cases, I earned a broken arm once from misjudgement on my part. It was unheard of for a knife or gun to be involved. Two against one was a no-no. If you got your butt thumped, it was usually fair and square. Whining was also frowned upon. I never knew of any lasting damage.
I went to visit Bubby. He was signed by the major leagues as a pitcher. When he asked me where I had been living, he exclaimed:
"Montana! I pitched a game there in Missoula once when I played for Twin Falls. It was twenty one degrees! I like to froze in that kind of cold.
"I got to see you pitch once when you were with the Yankees." I told him, "It was only one pitch, to Frank Howard and he hit it over the fence,.then you were replaced. I did get to see you a couple of times on TV."
I had a pretty good visit with a guy I had known from kids thru high school, and then seen only a couple of times over almost 50 years. I’m also glad to have known one major leaguer in my life. He went on to tell me about another old friend right next door. I walked over and had another nice visit. Lee is his name. His dad was one of my uncle’s best friends. When I was about 14 years old, he saw me struggling while paddling a boat. He showed me how to paddle all on one side and how to quietly scull a boat. Never forgot the lesson. Had a nice visit with Lee. All this is a fine example of serendipity. I found some things I wasn’t looking for. For more on Bubby, google Fred Talbot.

eternal vigilance

"Well, I see old Dick is back", said one of the assembled thinkers.
"Yeah, it looks like he, the trailer and the Swedish Suburban all made it back in one piece", said someone else.
"I’ll bet he has a few observations about life in the heartland and in the parallel universe around D.C., maybe a little grist for the old think mill"
A booming voice from the back exclaimed: "before he gets here, let me tell you about Dick and my cousin, Viggie. Dick knew him over fifty years ago. Viggie made quite an impression on him at an early age, but they got out of touch over the years. Like me, Viggie is one of the sentinels of democracy. He resides just down the avenue from me. A short while ago, Dick tried to find him, but was looking in the wrong place. While Dick was in D.C., a couple weeks ago, and down on Constitution Avenue, Viggie sent him a ‘mental telegram’ and drew him right over. For many years Vig has been seated in front of our National Archives, over one of the most profound inscriptions of all...."
The Lady stepped up, and before Padre could finish, said: "ETERNAL VIGILANCE IS THE PRICE OF LIBERTY".
"That is true", replied Padre. "From the beginnings of history, there have been those who produce nothing, but would enslave others to provide it for them. They come disguised in many ways, not the least of which is the corrupt leaders with silver tongues, sometimes in the form of a shining knight on a white steed, or worse yet, an actor playing the part of a great leader. Those who allow their minds to become lazy and allow others to do their thinking for them, who pursue ever greater levels of entertainment, like the circus of the roman days are fair game. The oppressed become the oppressors, power corrupts and all the ‘somebody-wannabees’ flock to become lackeys of the powerful"
"I’ve just been reading about all the vast sums being raised by all the Presidential candidates and I can’t help but think that after sucessfully raising that kind of money, they have already sold their minds to the corporations". Said Todd.
"And their souls to the devil"added Johnny.
"Something else I’ve always wondered about is how in the heck can everybody be somebody" mused Bill.
"Dick is still busy cutting his knapweed crop, but he told me of some of his observations, like McMansions, all menial but essential jobs held by non-english speakers, some rather pleasant experiences with these same people, old friends, some long lost but found in a serendipitous moment, places lost forever and the condition of the rest areas all across America. All this and more", said Elder, "If everyone will please stay tuned"
"And cousin Viggie is coming to visit as soon as the current crisis with the forces of evil has abated", said Padre. "Keep thinking!"

the hitchiker

My momma and a whole lot of other people told me never to pick up hitchhikers. This was an exception.I had stopped in Butte the first morning. When I pulled out of the truck stop and onto the ramp, there he stood. He looked like a mighty man at one time but today he looked tired, cold, hungry, and weak. He looked like he had been hit by a truck. His name was Brad and he had been hit by a truck. A semi, head on, about a year ago."I’ve been in a rehab home for months, after six operations in a Seattle hospital. Lost all my teeth and one eye," he explained."Where you headed?" I asked."To Billings, where my lawyer is to have a settlement check. Then buy a pickup and go back to Red Cloud and fish for walleye."He went on to explain how the truck stop had put him out, to spend the night in the cold Butte air. I asked if he was hungry. He was. We stopped and had an early lunch. He went on to tell me how his younger brother died from meth, his time cooking in fire camps, and gold mining. He didn’t seem to be bitter about anything. He just wanted to be back fishing for walleye.I left him at an overpass in Billings with $20 and my old space blanket.He helped me many times more than I ever helped him. I hope he has a happy ending to his journey. Mine is just beginning