Moving On With the Story

Still enjoying my biography project re: my father's life. I'm learning more about him, and trying, in my mind at least, to connect any dots I can between my life and his. Perhaps that is the essence of what a good biography should do.

Another excerpt:

"As he grew older and his thoughts turned toward choosing a career, the lure of words and writing started taking hold. After graduating from Prescott High Class of ’34 he was able to look beyond the bluffs of Prescott for his next step. At a time when college education was more privilege than expectation, Clarence was fortunate to attend the University of Minnesota in Minneapolis where he chose to study journalism.

During the years 1937 and 1938, as part of his course work, he wrote and submitted articles to Hunting & Fishing magazine, and newspapers such as The Milwaukee Journal, The Milwaukee Sentinel and The St. Paul Daily News. As a college senior in 1938 he wrote a comprehensive 83-page analysis of the history and practices of The Washington D.C. Herald Times, a major publication in its day. Just how sincerely he took on this project is evidenced by a thank you note he sent to the newspaper which The Herald Times subsequently published in their editorial pages under a heading of Happy To Help:

May I take this opportunity to thank several members of the Herald Times staff for the fine cooperation and willing help they have given me in regard to a newspaper study course I have just completed.

I am a senior in journalism at the University of Minnesota, and as one of our requirements we must analyze and study some metropolitan newspaper situation. I selected the Herald Times and received an abundance of material from your various departments. Special thanks are due Mr. Titus of the promotion department.

May I also congratulate you on the fine job of publishing you are doing. Thanking you again, I am,

Clarence J. Stolt.

A few other notes of interest concerning his years as a Golden Gopher of Minnesota: alumni records confirm that C.J. played saxophone as a member of the University Marching Band in 1934 and ’35, possibly in 1936 as well. What a thrill it must have been performing on the field in front of thousands of fans in Memorial Stadium on those crisp autumn Saturday afternoons. And oh yes, a quick look at the NCAA record books shows that the school’s football team during that time happened to be the best in the nation. Minnesota was crowned National Champion in 1934, ’35 and ’36.

Also, attending several of C.J,’s political science courses was a notably bright classmate by the name of Hubert Humphrey, the man who would go on to become a Senator, Vice President and, in 1968, very nearly President of the United States.

The only other thing known about Clarence’s time at the University of Minnesota was that he graduated in 1938 with a Bachelor of Arts degree in Journalism."

Oh, how I wish I had more information about what his college years were really like. Something tells me he had a lot of fun back then. Just like I did.

A Life Story Begins

Here is the beginning of my father's biography:

Clarence John Stolt’s life began at 10:15 AM on Wednesday, September 20, 1916. He was born at home in the small, riverfront town of Prescott, Wisconsin, located in the western part of the state on the border with Minnesota. The town’s roots go back to the 1830s when a fur trapper and Indian translator by the name of Philander Prescott decided to build a trading post at the junction of the St. Croix and Mississippi Rivers. Riverboat pilots going up and down the two rivers began calling it “Prescott’s Landing,” and from there a town came to be.  Those waterways, peaceful yet dangerous, were the lifeblood of the growing settlement, with logging, commerce and steamboat travel making it a convenient stopover for many a prospector and frontiersman. Life along the river in those times was not for the faint of heart.

Years later Francis and Fay Stolt came to live in Prescott where they raised three children. Francis was born in Sweden in 1877 and emigrated from that country to America in 1889. He served in the Armed Forces during the Spanish-American war. His wife, Fay Tyler, was born in Bay City, Wisconsin in 1886. Her family lineage could be traced back to John Tyler, the 10^th President of the United States.

Their wedding portrait from 1905 shows them not with the hard and stern faces so often seen in people of that time period, but rather the grace and confidence of a distinctly handsome couple. Dressed in black suit and white bow tie, he stands tall and looks every bit the strong, sturdy immigrant type, but with a dash of new world sophistication. Seated in front of him, the bride shows the calm demeanor of a pretty and proper lady in white.

Official documents list Francis’ occupation as a Stationary Engineer, meaning he manned the railroad bridge that spanned the rivers and connected the line between Wisconsin and Minnesota. Fay’s occupation was that of housewife. They proudly had two daughters, Gwendolyn, born in 1906, and Eileen, born in 1908, before that early autumn morning in 1916 when Fay, at age 30, gave birth to a son and named him Clarence.

Just as one can see those strong, wide waters of the Mississippi forever rolling along in the summer sun, it is easy to imagine how safe and carefree it must have been growing up in a place like Prescott in those days. There was fishing and pheasant hunting with his father, hiking and exploring with his friends below the bluffs carved out by the river. In the winter there was skating, sledding and skiing. In spring and summer it was baseball, football and bike riding. Certainly for a young boy, life in Prescott must have seemed well insulated from the turmoil of the rest of the world. Even in the midst of the Great Depression life in Prescott went on.

By 1932 Clarence, or C.J., as he preferred to be called, was sixteen years old and a busy sophomore in high school. He played on the Prescott baseball and basketball teams, played saxophone in the school band. In 1934, in addition to those activities, he got up on stage to perform the title role of Rodney Rochester, vagabond turned star football player in the Senior Class Play, “The College Hobo.” The play, described in a program as a four-act comedy-drama, was published in 1930 but is today so obscure as to make it virtually impossible to find any plot synopsis or summary. Suffice it to say that C.J. and Rodney Rochester probably saved the day somehow.

In between all that school participation he did find time to have other fun: an occasional game of poker with his buddies, “messing around” with the girls, and now and then sneaking in a drink of wine or something a little harder with the guys. In other words, high school kids weren’t all that different back in those days.

Writing A Personal Biography

This is the introduction to a current project of mine: researching and writing the story of my father's life.

My father was 59 years old when he died from cancer. That seemed pretty old to me back in 1976 when I was just a teenager. But now that I’ve since crossed over the 50 mark (and then some) myself, well, it doesn’t seem so old at all. In fact, now it hardly seems fair that his life was cut short the way it was. Funny how time plays tricks like that.

It’s strange, too, how easily the details of one’s life can fade and fade until finally they disappear from memory altogether. In the case of my father I’ve seen those images and memories fade quite a bit already. I don’t want them to disappear for good. Then there is the fact that I never had the chance to sit down and talk with him about his life, his lessons learned, his memories kept, and the worries he had through it all.  And it makes me wonder what I might have learned about my own life from such a conversation? For these reasons I find myself wanting to be re-introduced to the man who once loomed so large over a young boy’s world. For these reasons I decided to dig a little deeper into the past.

Oh I remember him fondly and know enough to say with confidence what kind of man he was. No mystery there. But what about the countless little facts and personal circumstances that once made up much of his life? Sad to say, some of those bits and pieces are gone now, ‘lost to history,’ as they say. (That’s not to say he didn’t leave any record behind. Some surviving journals and family narratives were an invaluable source for much of what you are about to read.)

As for one of my memories, I can still hear him in the basement of our home at night, clattering away on his trusty old Remington typewriter, the keys firing off so rapidly it sounded like a tiny motor going through its paces down there. I didn’t know what he was writing or who he was writing to, but he certainly was writing. And so it is with that enduring sound in my mind that I now quietly tap on my computer keyboard what I have come to know to be the life story of my father, Clarence Stolt.

The Man Behind the Pages

My own book review of Max Perkins: Editor of Genius by A. Scott Berg

It was, for many, the absolute glory days of American letters. A time when names like Hemingway, Fitzgerald and Wolfe were accorded the fame and following of the biggest rock stars of today. The driving force behind these authors was a quiet, unassuming New Englander by the name of Max Perkins. Perkins was the man behind the scenes, or pages, if you will; the editor who helped discover, inspire and guide some of the most notable stories and storytellers of any age. And yet Perkins himself shunned the spotlight.

            But in this inspiring biography author A. Scott Berg points the spotlight squarely where it ought to be. Deftly incorporating facts and timelines with personal letters between Perkins and his authors, Berg gives great insight not only into the minds of these writers but also to the collaborative creative effort needed to create enduring works of art.

            Of F. Scott Fitgerald Perkins said : “Scott was especially sensitive to criticism. He could accept it, but as his editor you had to be sure of everything you suggested.”

And of Hemingway’s tendency to overcorrect his own writing: “Before an author destroys the natural qualities of his writing - that’s when an editor has to step in. But not a moment sooner.”

For any fan of writing and literary history like that, this story should be at the top of your reading list.

A Good Historical Account of Leadership

I just finished reading a good Civil War history: Bloody Crimes by historian James Swanson.
Most everyone knows what happened to Abraham Lincoln at the end of the Civil War: Ford's Theatre, John Wilkes Booth, instant immortality. The same cannot be said of his counterpart, Confederate President Jefferson Davis. Whereas every conceivable detail of Lincoln's life is well known by now, Davis' life and death has always stood in the shadows of history.

In this intriguing and easy-reading narrative Swanson brings the parallels of both men to light. With Lincoln the focus is on the 1,600 mile funeral ride from Washington D.C. to Springfield, IL. The raw emotion of the trip are there to be seen and felt - from the anguished people standing along the railroad tracks as the train passes by at night to what emblamers had to do to keep the body presentable during the nearly two-week long procession.

Davis' story at the end of the war becomes part manhunt, part odyssey through a war-torn south, following him on his ultimate journey from reviled rebel to respected leader of The Lost Cause. All this makes for a compelling study of two born leaders, and a fine read for any Civil War enthusiast.

So what DO guys talk about?

I recently came across what I thought was an insightful quote from sports journalist S.L. Price concerning the 'language' of us older men:

"When a woman asks a man - back from golf, the bar, a game - what he and his buddies talked about for the last four hours,the mumbled reply of "Nothing" isn't designed to drive her insane. It was, indeed, four hours of "nothing" which, for guys, is...everything."

I'm not saying everyone can understand that. But I sure do.

Of Chance or Destiny

“Character is destiny.”

Heraclitus  (544 BC – 483BC)          Greek philosopher

“It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves.”

                                    William Shakespeare (1564 – 1616)   English dramatist

“A person often meets his destiny on the road he took to avoid it.”

                                    Jean de La Fontaine (1621 – 1695)    French poet

“Anatomy is destiny.”

                                    Sigmund Freud (1856 – 1939)            Austrian psychologist

“Again, you can’t connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something – your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. This approach has never let me down, and it has made all the difference in my life.”

                                    Steve Jobs (1955 – 2011)                    American businessman

                                   

-          -     -

                        Five quotes. Five notable voices from the past. All ruminating on the same word - destiny. What is it? Where does it come from? And perhaps most importantly – if indeed there is such a thing, where might it be taking each and every one of us? Pretty hefty thoughts behind such a simple-looking word.

                        Webster’s Dictionary defines destiny as “a predetermined course of events often held to be an irresistible power or agency.” Makes sense, I guess (though I’m not real keen on the word ‘agency’ in there). It’s one of those words that seem to defy a simple, declared definition. To some the concept of destiny may mean little or nothing at all. To others it may mean everything. So how does one definition or theory fit all?

            To a philosopher like Heraclitus it's clear that a person’s strength of character - or lack thereof- of is the determining factor in what will ultimately befall him. In Freud’s psychoanalytical world it all comes down to genetics and whether one is born a man or woman. Shakespeare said that destiny is not so much heaven-sent as it is earth-bound by what we ourselves choose to do. Steve Jobs took a more pragmatic approach, saying that destiny is more or less a tool we can use to discern and dig deeper within ourselves for answers. And then de La Fontaine said that whatever it is, our fate or destiny may lie in places not at all expected.

 Is all this the stuff of dreams and idle thought, nothing more? Or is it somehow real? Is the course of our lives already predetermined? Or are we, in essence, rolling dice every morning when we get up out of bed? Maybe part of the problem is that destiny is too often equated only with great deeds or accomplishments. But if one person has a destiny, doesn't everyone?

Those answers can only be found deep within one’s own beliefs, faith and hunches, with maybe a little sweat and good luck mixed in for good measure. Be it great or not so great, I like to believe there is a destiny for all of us. It’s found somewhere in the life we live every day.

But if you’re looking for answers to the future – good luck. Inevitably there are times in anyone’s life when a sneak preview of coming attractions would be nice. Then again, maybe not. We best keep Hollywood endings reserved for Hollywood.  I know at one time in my younger life I dreamed of creating an actual Hollywood story. This right here is probably as close as I’ll ever get to that one.

Bottom line - who the hell knows?

And if you’d like you can quote me on that.