A Little Off the Top: Finding forgiveness in the face of tragedy
If you're like me, the recent spate of school shootings in which innocent students — young girls — have been executed by deranged men has left me questioning the direction humanity is headed in. There have been three tragic shootings in just the past couple of weeks, and none more horrific than the one that claimed the lives of five Amish girls last week.
Charles Roberts was buried a few days ago, after he killed five girls, and shot several others, most of whom are still hospitalized in bad condition. Tragedies like these make us question our religious beliefs, whether there's any justice in the world, and where society is headed.
Most notable about Roberts' funeral was the fact that about half of the attendees were Amish parents and neighbors of the girls he killed, according to news reports. If ever there was a lesson in forgiveness, it came from these Amish people, who reached out to Roberts' grieving widow — no doubt, going through a hell of her own — and said, "We forgive him and we're praying for you."
I'm not sure if I would have the strength to do the same. I'm not a parent, but if someone did that to a family member of mine, I'd probably take any firearms I own down to the Sheriff's office and say, "You'd better hold on to these for a while."
The Amish people in Lancaster, Pa., are, in many respects, a measure of how far we as a society — the non-Amish world — have regressed.
These days, if you turn the other cheek, you're most likely going to get slapped again by the same person who just hit you. The idea that the meek will inherit the earth just doesn't seem plausible anymore.
We as a society idolize people who beat up on others. Reality shows are still popular because they feature someone winning over someone else's expense. Men and women stab each other in the back over which contestant they want to date. Professional athletes trashtalk each other constantly, and ESPN feeds it to us.
There's no room for decency, or the quiet, humble life, in America. If you are modest and sincere, the message seems that society — our great democratic society — will beat you down. The meek won't inherit the earth — they'll get run over by a guy with road rage.
Yet somehow the Amish thrive without this. In the times that I visited relatives in Pennsylvania Dutch country, I would often look at the Amish buggies driving on the side of the road, and wonder how they existed in a society so driven by material wealth, consumption, anger and violence.
Imagine trying to raise your child to be happy with a homemade doll, or wooden toy. No Playstation, no TV, no cell phone, no DVD player. Nothing.
We as a society are to blame for why kids these days feel the need to have more, and are increasingly unhappy about it when they don't. They get that from us.
I hear it when a high school student whines about the "beater" (piece of junk) car their parents could barely afford to buy them. It never occurs to them that for 75 percent of the world's teenagers — and many of their parents — a 20-year-old automobile with 200,000 miles on it is considered a luxury. That's a reality in much of the rest of the world, and if you don't believe me, you just haven't been there.
We live in the greatest country in the world, where you really can make $100,000 a year if you really, really want to, yet we have one of the highest rates of suicide, depression, drug and alcohol abuse, incarceration, murder and general violence of any country, developed or underdeveloped.
In the midst of all this, the Amish live a quiet life without electricity, without any sense of material wealth, and with the peace of God running through their traditions.
I'd be willing to bet that they are much happier in life than the average person reading this, or myself. And while those Pennsylvania families are dealing with a very real tragedy right now, somehow, they found it in their hearts to forgive a person who doesn't deserve it.
How many of us could do the same?
Among Other Things: $2.09 gasoline and 'streetcar boats'
By Paul Fugleberg
I never thought I'd see the time when I would consider a gasoline price of $2.09.9 per gallon as "cheap." But that's what it was in Minneapolis and St. Paul a couple weeks ago. Before going to the Missoula airport Sept. 28, I paid $2.55 per gallon. At last reading, it's gone down another 10 or 11 cents.
Son Tom sent me a frequent flyer ticket to spend a few days with him and his wife Christine in Eden Prairie, a suburb of Minneapolis. In three days there we managed to take an unusual steamboat ride on Lake Minnetonka, attend a dinner theatre production of "Singing in the Rain" in a most unusual theatre complex in Chanhassen, a town not much bigger than Polson, had dinner in a Polish restaurant in downtown Minneapolis, and viewed the film about Edward R. Murrow, "Good Night and Good Luck."
Had to come back to work to relax!
The boat trip was aboard the restored 1906 vintage "streetcar boat," the steamboat Minnehaha, operated by the Museum of Lake Minnetonka. So, what's a streetcar boat? Around the turn of the last century, automobiles were still non-existent and roads were not all that great. But the Twin Cities Rapid Transit Company built a 25-stop trolley line to Lake Minnetonka. The 10-cent fare and relatively fast streetcars sure beat a horse and buggy or wagon ride over rough roads.
To accommodate the new tourist trade a fleet of six "streetcar boats" was built and they operated until 1926 when cars and better roads and different boating preferences prevailed. Result: Three of the streetcar boats were deliberately sunk in 70-feet of water, and the others either sold or dismantled.
Then in 1980 the Minnehaha was raised from the lake bottom and appeared to be in surprisingly good shape and long restoration project was begun. With a lot of volunteer help the boat was restored as closely as possible to its original shape albeit with some modern technological innovations. F'rinstance, the boiler doesn't have to be stoked with coal or wood, thus making the smokestack emissions virtually invisible.
The Minnehaha, all 70 feet, 55 tons of her, can carry 101 persons including crew for one hour cruises on the 22-mile long, 16-mile wide lake, from Memorial weekend to Oct. 18.
The dinner theatre at Chanhassen, about a half-hour from Minneapolis, is a remarkable attraction. There are three stages in the complex, programs go year 'round, some 1,000 dinners can be served nightly, and it's the nation's oldest professional dinner theatre. The complex was developed in what used to be a cornfield. As in Field of Dreams, the concept must have been "Build it and they will come." Only in this case, the theatre complex preceded the movie. It was begun in 1968 and plays to huge crowds nightly.
Minneapolis and St. Paul have a rivalry similar to Polson and Ronan. The Twin Cities cooperated to land the 2008 Republican nominating convention. The event will actually be held in St. Paul, but "What's-it-opolis" gets all the top billing. St. Paul Council president Kathy Landry thinks the names should be changed to St. Paul-Minneapolis.
The Polson Wal-Mart Supercenter squabble was noisy and emotional and but pales in comparison to the controversial proposed location of an ethanol plant near Fairmont, Minn. Concerns are over the potential effects of the plant on water quality, draining of nearby wells, fumes, property values, and the need for zoning variances.
Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport has sure changed a lot since I worked with the Sioux Valley News in Canton, S.D., in the mid-1950s. It was known then as Wold-Chamberlain Field. The Lindbergh Air Terminal is probably 20 times bigger than Missoula's terminal. It seemed even bigger than that when I took a wrong turn looking for the baggage claim and ended up hiking over a half-hour before reaching it.
Skate parks are popular back there. One park even had an "overnight lock-in" for skaters between 9:30 p.m. Saturday to 10 a.m. Sunday. Photos of activities showed background signs advertising Tony Hawk products. Tony Hawk, of course, made an unannounced appearance at the Polson skate park a few weeks ago. He had donated $25,000 to help construct the local park on Seventh St. W.
Finally, while flying over North Dakota and its flat terrain, I was reminded of the legendary story that claimed a billboard beside I-94 proclaimed "North Dakota's mountain removal project is now complete."