Among other things: Remembering Thelma Haight
During my lengthy tenure as editor of The Flathead Courier of Polson, my favorite columnist was Thelma Haight. In 1972 the Courier published Thelma’s book, “How to Alienate Friends … and Win Enemies!’
In the foreword I wrote: “As you’ll soon see in this book, Thelma Haight is wholly unpredictable – you don’t know what she’ll be writing about next, or what she’ll say about her topic. But you’ll find whatever the topic, she’ll be incisive, direct, descriptive, witty, frequently provocative and controversial – always interesting.
She discovers rare delight in the simple, everyday happenings and scenes … a key to enjoying life in a troubled, sometimes complex world.
Thelma has written her weekly “This ‘n That” column for many moons in The Flathead Courier, Polson’s weekly newspaper. As editor, I can say that rarely has a Thursday gone by without somebody expressing pleasure or displeasure with what she has written that week.
This book is a selection of some of her columns.
Here are some excerpts:
I call a fishing partner and ask her if she can go fishing that day. She answers like this: (Oh, I can’t go today I’ve got bread to bake. My hair needs washing and I must pin it up. The club meets tomorrow. The house is a mess and it must be cleaned. The garden needs water. My papa is home for the first time in months. I’ve got curtains to make. I’ve just got too much to do … What time you going?”
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About 1965, “Mrs. Murphy hitchhiked 80 miles with her 11 children aboard a truck from the Andy Baumgartner ranch in the Flathead Valley to Swan Valley. There L. M. (Sonny) Benson operates a base camp or pack trains he leads into the Bob Marshall Wilderness. Where and why Mrs. Murphy hid herself on a supply truck, no one has figured out but it happened in hunting season and the story doesn’t end there. When she reached base camp, she hid herself, but her 11 children were apprehended by spry hunters. She eluded them all, living on the fringe of the camp, until the pack train pulled out.
Later a nimble-footed cowboy spotted her, gave chase and ran her down. He put her atop a mule’s back, where she rode 17 miles into the mountain wilderness to the hunters’ camp. She seemed to thrive there and quickly became the camp character. However, she was ordered out for her own safety.
Again, she made the 17-mile mule train trip ride back to the Swan Valley, thence by auto to the Flathead Valley. This well-traveled little celebrity now lives in semi-retirement on the East Shore of Flathead Lake with the camp cook, Mr. Buford Broyles, who protected her against many perils of camp life in the primitive area.
As you may know or have guessed, “Mrs. Murphy” is a Bantam hen …
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The other day I was having coffee in a local restaurant. In came John Dutzar. Next to come in was the Rev. George Sanders of Ronan. After he left, Miles Finch entered. Before he went out, Dr. Copeland came in for his afternoon coffee.
I said to Miles Finch, “For Heaven’s Sake, all the ministers are coming here.”
“Yes,” said Miles. “Maybe God is trying to tell you something!”
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Bert Hochmark thought he saw or heard something outside his house on the East Shore. Upon investigating he discovered a black bear going from window to window and staring at him. Said Bert, “That bear was as near-sighted as I am and sometimes we got pretty close together.”
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Don Corrigan on his early morning beat with the garbage looked up one morning to see a woman hurrying out to his truck. She was wearing an old wrinkled bathrobe, her hair was in curlers and she had cream on her face. Breathlessly she asked, “Am I too late for the garbage?”
With a quick glance at her, he replied, “No, jump in.”
I am looking out on a spring evening to the west over Flathead Lake. At first there are only a few clouds, widely scattered and reaching only the bright ranges of the far horizon. Then they begin to collect – great masses of white cotton against the blue vastness of the sky. Cumulus clouds, naturally longer than they are high, and flat on the earth side, seek the horizon, especially in the early part of the evening.
Slowly they mount, cloud upon cloud, until there are against the skies such a fairy castle as to inspire the dreams of all the poets who have ever envisioned such beauty.
So does man build a castle of his dreams. Little by little, day by day and night by night, until he looks out upon some personal horizon of his own and sees what he has made and finds it good. He is then richly content when his evening comes down, and twilight descends like a benediction over the castle which is the life that he has built through the years.
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(My thanks to Maurine Theiler for loaning me her copy of Thelma Haight’s book, “How to Alienate Friends . . . and Win Enemies!” I think I’ve seen a copy in the Polson library. – PF)