Friday, December 4, 2009

Reflection on a Passing

Virginia Haggardt was born in Sturgis, South Dakota November 15, 1914. She passed away on Thanksgiving Day 2009 in Sioux Falls, South Dakota.
Virginia was born in a Sturgis far different of the image that most people have of it today because of the association with the motorcycle rally held there for the last sixty-nine years. During the event the town is buried in thousands and thousand of loud, rambunctious motorized revelers, then when the last rumble echoes down the hills, the town return to its tranquil life of a little town of roughly six thousand people.
For Virginia, Sturgis and the Black Hills would be the place where she would return time and time over looking for solace, reprieve and sweet memories when life was getting a little too harsh.
She was the daughter of Al Bodley, known by his family as “Sonny”, and his wife Alice Davenport herself known as Oshie.
Sonny was a tall handsome man born in 1880 in a farm in Ohio. A bit of an athlete he became a semi professional Baseball player at the turn of the Century. Eager for a larger horizon than the one offered by a farm boy life, Sonny became a traveling Safe salesmen in the Midwestern states while studying law on his own. He “read” his law degrees and became a lawyer, as was the practice at the time.
Oshie was the daughter of a couple of early settlers of the Black Hills of South Dakota. Her Dad had been a drummer boy in the Union Army during the Civil War and her mother actually walked thru the Plains to join her husband in Sturgis. They where a couple of Pioneers displaying both the ruggedness needed for survival in the early times of the Gold Rush and the Civility and Culture of New England. Oshie character was a reflection of those values, holding her place well in the life in the hills but send out to an Eastern University for a “Proper Education”, an unusual combination in those times.
Sonny fell in love with Oshie and then started the Herculean task of not only gaining the love of Oshie but also chiseling his way thru the stout defenses of the father of the bride to be and the enormous reticence of the big brother of Oshie, Jarvis Davenport, who was not about letting his “Little Sister” get victimized by some sweet talking stranger.
Sonny’s task was finally met with success. Oshie and Sonny got married and in November 15, 1914 Virginia was born.
Upon Sonny’s return from World War One the family moved to Sioux Falls.
Virginia childhood was an easy, privileged and magical one. She would enjoy the education of a small private Episcopal School in Sioux Falls (All Saints School) where she formed some lifelong friendship. Virginia recalled those times and most vividly the times when the family had to take only showers since the access of the bathtub was hindered by Sonny’s use of it to manufacture home made gin during the Prohibition. Her vacation where spend back in Sturgis where she enjoyed careening thru the hills, standing on the footboard of the car of her Idol: her uncle Jarvis Davenport.
She became a respectable equestrian, equally at ease on a Western or English saddle and was at time opening the parade of the Days of Seventy-Six in nearby Deadwood, riding the Golden Horse. She inherited from Jarvis as well a wicked game of Gin Rummy.
It is during those times that she acquired a strong spiritual attachment to a place in the Hills known by the family as “The Dams”. That is where the roots of the family belong and it was Virginia’s Camelot. Throughout her life, when things were getting a little to hard or that a source of strength was needed, Virginia would go back to the dams, the cabins in the wood and the traces of the lives of her ancestors.
In line with the family traditions, Virginia was send to the College of William and Mary, Williamsburg, Virginia from where she graduated in 1937. Those where the times of the railroad travel and of the Great Depression.
Upon graduation Virginia worked as a Social Worker in Custer South Dakota.
In 1942 she was married and from that union two daughters were born, my wife Virginia (Jinny) and Julie. The family lived in Santa Barbara.
In 1944 Virginia and her husband build a lodge in her beloved Black Hill: the Powder House in Keystone, still operating under this name today. Virginia memories of those times were of challenges, hope, excitement and the struggle of trying to keep her Chef within the confine of relative sobriety. They had hired the only decent chef available in the area. The gentlemen had a respectable culinary reputation and was known Hills-wise as the maker of the most outstanding “Truite Au Bleu” in the area, providing, off course, that he was kept sober long enough to practice his magic. Trying to keep the housekeeping staff, mainly local college kids out of trouble was also a titanic job since the fresh air of the hills seemed to have an invigorating effect on said teenagers libido.
Her daughter getting older and close of school age brought the sale of the Lodge and the family moved to California. There Virginia would see the end of her marriage and find herself alone to raise her two daughters. She returned to Sioux Falls and lived there for the rest of her life taking care of her aging parents as well.
Virginia never remarried.
Her intellectual and spiritual curiosity became the driving force of her life.
She traveled extensively in the US and abroad, visiting England, France, Italy, Germany, Israel, Egypt and Brazil.
Virginia faith drove her to a deep involvement in her Church as a very active member and also a Lay Minister. She studied in depth all subject within her grasp, sometime with great success, some other time with maybe, a little less success. One point in particular was her adventures in the Choir motivating her at time to give a demonstration of her perceived vocal ability, to the great dismay of the family left in that event without a way of escape. Her singing, of a very high pitch trembled voice, of traditional Episcopalian Hymns would have, no doubt, brought the fear of God to the most harden, barbaric atheist tribes of the savage world.
Her strong intellectual curiosity prompted her to dive deep in research on the saga of Luther Pendragon and King Arthur and the Sciences of the Mind from ESP and Mind Control to the power of Pyramids. Her family was at time very concerned, but in fact it was not as much an eccentricity out of control than a deep thirst for knowledge and the desire to see if there was any meat on some of those sometime mythical bones.
Virginia met all the setbacks of her life; they were all severe, with grace and dignity. A distinguished equestrian she was, because of a spinal injury, unable to ride after the birth of her children’s. An avid reader she suffered of macular degeneration causing an almost total blindness in the later years of her life and a serious hearing impairment brought almost total silence in her life.
Throughout all the difficulties of the later part of her life, Virginia endured.
On the morning of Thanksgiving Day 2009 Virginia had difficulties waking up but with nursing help was able to get up. She joined her companions of the Hospice of Dow Rummel in Sioux Falls for lunch and after a quiet day retired in the evening, went to bed and passed away in her sleep.
Virginia was a gracious, generous and loving mother in law to me.
If there are hills in the Heaven of her Faith I know they will be her favorite place and if there are Parade in Heaven, I know, deep in my heart, that Virginia will be leading it riding the Golden Horse.
Enjoy Heaven, Virginia Haggardt, you deserve it and earned that honor on Earth.
We miss you already.

Saturday, May 23, 2009

Memorial Day reflexions.


I have this image, engraved deep in my memory. It is the image of a little guy; his nickname was “ John-John”. His Dad John Fitzgerald Kennedy was President of the United State.

I do not know if, on this day, John-John really fully understood what was really happening. Somehow, John-John was in the process of saying a last farewell to his assasinated Dad whose coffin was hidden under the Flag draped on the back of an artillery caisson. Soldiers Airmen and Sailors were giving a salute to the Fallen Commander in Chief.

There is always a lot of formal pageantry in the Last Farewell in military circles. A rigid and solemn motion expresses grief. The last Homage is no trivial expression; it is the solemn sign of respect for one who has paid the ultimate price in service of the Nation.

John-John, I am sure was not aware of all the traditions involved, but somehow, seeing all those proud soldiers giving this hard and strong salute a need came to join in and pay homage on that fashion, his hand raised to his forelocks and, I am sure that this moment his voice was silent but his heart was screaming a lot and an immense feeling of respect and sadness for loosing his beloved Dad was engulfing the precious child.

I have not been a child for a long time; I am what you would kindly describe as an older guy, in someways, a precursor of Baby Boomers by only a few years. Tomorrow on Memorial Day, however, I will not go shopping or try to take advantage of some special bargain; instead I will try very hard to catch the spirit of all the John-Johns of this nation. I will keep my words trivial and abstains of long boring speech but my heart will scream of the pain of the lost of all those who fell for their country and the pain of their loved one. I will try to find a quiet place where without being showy or conspicuous I can, like John-John raise my right hand to my forelocks in the old sailor salute and rend homage to their sacrifice.

Somehow if that can reach some place where they rest, may it bring them comfort,

If there is a God , may He receive my message and accept it as a prayer to keep those fallen and their loved ones in the kindness of His Special Attention. That will be my main task on Memorial Day.

Wednesday, April 1, 2009

From the pound

From the pound

Medical Day in the Inland Empire.

They’re something funky going on the upper left side of my heart and the lower left side of my diaphragm is not functioning normally. So basically my Liberal side is going to pot while my Conservative side is holding the fort! How humiliating! If I keel over I better keep away from the Kennedy’s and Roosevelt’s for fear of disapprobation and I be damned if Nixon’s people try to welcome me!

I have been running from one Doctor Office to the other all day with no result! Men! I need a Stimulus Package all for myself! I've been poked, ultra sounded, taped, stetoscopized and pressurized. I need a nice glass of decent Beaujolais! Chambertin, Pommard anybody?

I'm not really worrying: I'm not that important!

Sunday, March 15, 2009


Saturday was a great day. Jinny and I drove to Manhattan Beach to meet a long lost relative. The last time we saw Martha was a long, long time and the little girl we saw last has blossom into a beautiful lady.

Our lunch (at no other place than an eatery called:……”Martha’s Place”) was full of recounting of old memories and when the staff of the restaurant started piling the chairs on the tables, we quickly understood the subtle hint that almost four O’clock was considered, in that part of the country, as being outside of the conventional lunch hour.

After good and strong embraces and multi promises and commitment that the next time would not be counted in multiple decades, we went our separate ways; Martha to her host place and us back home by the way of Pacific Coast Highway.

Soon, the lunch started indicating a serious difference of opinion with my digestive system, and by the time we reached Newport Beach I was rumbling like an old truck and not comfortable at all. I pulled up to a convenience store and made a straight line for a lone mini-bottle of Pepto Bismol that looked at the time like the incarnation of Paradise on hearth. I plopped my money in front of the clerk who after the customary fiddling with scanner and cash register promptly gave me my change. As I was putting my change back in my wallet I realized that the guy had given me the change of a $10.00 and I remembered going to the ATM this morning and getting a brand spanking new $20.00 who joined a couple of single or three. The guy just tried to stiff me of ten bucks! I promptly called the guy on it, he denied the fact, a line started building up behind me, the clerk got frustrated and screwed-up the change of the customer behind me, leading him to join my camp! Tension was building. Then Jinny, who had been wondering what took so long, walked in and after a quick appraisal of the situation joined, nay! Took over the protest. So needless to say the clerk was now way out of his league and finally caved in, gave me back the extra Ten. With the Warrior Queen at my side I walked out of the store vindicated, while the aforementioned Warrior Queen was expressing in no uncertain term her strong denunciation of the questionable ethics of convenience store, their staff and the clerk of the particular one we came out from in particular.

As I sat behind the wheel of the car, I noticed a crumbled paper bag in the driver’s door pocket. The bag had contained two ham and cheese croissants that I had bought this morning in our way in. And I now remembered paying for those croissants and two drinks……with my brand new $20.00 Bill. The need for the Pepto Bismol was now imperative and after ravaging the mini-bottle I walked back to the store. I am pretty sure that when he saw me at the counter the clerk must have tried frenetically to remember where the panic button was located and I am also sure have wished with all his heart that he could have been an active and side packing member of the National Rifle Association.

I meekly apologized for my mistake and the clerk turned out to be a gentleman about it.

No doubt, that young man is a better man than me.

So last Sunday we got reunited with a long lost relative and I discovered a solid chunk of evil in my soul. May I keep the first one a long time and earn the wisdom to loose the second.

Sunday, January 25, 2009

Trouble brewing


Yup! The pooches are not fooling me! I know that the Chihuahua of the next-door neighbors has put a contract on the Angora cat from the green house AND I also know that the Bulldogs Leopold and Mimi are planning the hit in cahoots with the Poodle (a.k.a. the French Connection) from across the street. Off course the local cop (The Irish Wolfhound of the Blue House) is way to busy sniffing some fluffed up Pomeranian to pay attention to the shenanigan. I know that all together there are some skeletons in the closet, even if the slick Terrier of the Tudor on the left (the Consigliore of the Chihuahua) keep on barking that those bones are only the reserve of the large family of Pugs of the Mormon family living in the large house with the stripped awnings. There is trouble in Fire Hydrant City my friends! And it’s Doggy Mafia spelled with a D and an M!

Now the damned cat is not helping the situation either. Flicking off the bulldogs from the branches of the tree in the front yard was really a dumb way to add oil to the fire and the musical serenade under the window of the cute Tabby from the house in the corner at 2:00 O’clock in the morning was downright unnecessary. Although both bulldogs snoring their heads off at the time did not seem to be disturbed, the Chihuahua was plum pissed of! And not shy about it either, until he got hit by the left slipper of the Master of the House and went back yelping into his basket to plot his revenge.

Now I am a quiet guy, just trying to get along and all that gang activity is disturbing my peace of mind. I thought the neighborhood was safe after the couple of white supremacist German Sheppard moved out. They had been involved in a few arguments with the two nice Pointers mix of the Graham house, barking slogans about the need to maintain racial purity. I think that the Grahams dogs handled the situation just right by first lifting a hind leg to a tree and then pointing across the street, an action that I take as a figurative way to say “Piss Off “ in doggy language. That was a small incident in comparison to the gang warfare brewing today. Well, lets hope that spring will come soon and with it a couple of females in heat, a situation that, no doubt will redirect the attention of the canine population of the block, until a new Postman comes in!

Monday, January 5, 2009

Call me Joseph

I am the proud father of three kids, if you can hang that description on three characters born in the early seventies. Or if you want me to be more specific I have a son and two daughters in the full throw of adulthood. So far so good.

When the story of my family turn to the really weird sector is that this gentlemen (father of a daughter on his own), and those two ladies (one mother of a boy and a girl, the other one convinced that she is the dotting mother of two English Bulldogs, no kidding!) are absolutely convinced that they are the result of immaculate conception! Yup all three of them.

Their minds, pretty astute in some very advanced area of either communication and cinematographic art, cardiac imaging, child rearing, trip planning, party throwing and other speculative and operative area comes to a screeching halt when the subject of their conception is broached.

They are not in any way, shape or form able to handle the concept that their creation was the result of sexual activity of two (very) consenting adults. No! No deal!

Any conversation coming even close to the subject is immediately interrupted by loud protest, covering of head and flat refusal to go there!

That is a little puzzling at the least.

For starter, I should know since I was there.

I also know that if my sweet and gentle spouse should have, at the time, started the conversation, some evening around the fireplace or the pool, by informing me that she had received the visit of an archangel and consequently was going to give birth to a child my first reaction would have been a good laugh. Upon her insistence the conversation would have taken a very interesting turn with me trying to find out what kind of stuff said sweet spouse had ingested, sniffed or smoked in the recent past. Thing going any further could have brought me to an early stage of planning of discovery of the location of the archangel with the goal of paying him a visit, in company of my favorite baseball bat, off course.

Any attempts to explain to my kids the error of their thinking as failed miserably and will I am afraid never reached a successful conclusion.

So…call me Joseph….. And NO I do not do cabinetry!

Good night.