Below Average

In one of the many bits of information I read online each day, I came across the fact that the average person lives in 10 places throughout their life. Hmmm. Challenge accepted! I decided to run through the places I've called home to see how I stack up. I'm not counting 6th Floor on Maple Hall at ISU - where I spent 2 part years of my life.

Watercolor of our home designed by my grandfather Herbert Morehead

• The home place in Atlantic. My my grandpa (Mom's dad) designed. It was really cool for its time (built around 1950). Each of the three bedrooms had a built in dresser and there was a built-in bookshelf in the living room. Mom had a wide plank hard wood oak floor installed in the kitchen and family room way before most people considered that type of floor covering. Back then the wood needed upkeep and a couple times a year she and the cleaning lady would apply paste wax and use a machine to polish it. That's when it was really fun to slide down the hall in our socks!

230 Campus Avenue - so modern in 1978!

• My first apartment in Ames where I lived with Sally, Jane and Vicki. It was fully furnished and we were the first people to move into the two bedroom place, owned by Scott Randall brother of Tom who played football at ISU. All the cool kids lived there! Susan Weinheimer, Don McKim (after I was long gone), Paul Goldsmith, Jane Ertl and my roomies. I've talked to lots of other people I've met through the years who also spent time at 230 Campus.  

Bucko with my cactus Rocky in 1980

• apartment Sioux Falls - my first place by myself. It was also furnished with typical 1970's furniture, though it was 1980 by then. Check out the gold shag carpet. Bucko enjoyed climbing the ugly curtains before he was de-clawed.

• Omaha  - apartment way out west. It was a one bedroom with a cathedral ceiling on the third floor. I finally had to buy some furniture from Nebraska Furniture Mart - with the help of Betso who yelled at them to make sure I had a bed to sleep in that first night.
• CB apartment right behind K-Mart. I moved across the river right before Paul and I got married and Betso lived with me that summer - she was a student at Creighton working a summer job at Chucky Cheese. It was another third floor apartment, and by then we had more furniture thanks to my grandparents who moved to Heritage House, the retirement place in Atlantic. Thank goodness for strong friends who carried stuff up 3 flights for beer and pizza!
• The rental house where Paul had his first DC job in Osage. The landlord was a French Canadian named Henry who had rehabbed the place. An older woman lived in the other part of the house. She was hard of hearing so we could hear her TV through the walls. There was no shower so we had to use the sit and spray method in the tub. There were a few nights I heard mice in the ceiling. #sleeplessinOsage

Our first Creston house - Memorial Day party

• Our first home in Creston was great! We loved it and spent many, many hours (and $) working on that place, which was green inside and out, top to bottom when we bought it. We lived there just over 10 years. I have many good and some sad memories from that place. There were some wonderful and a few not so good neighbors.

We loved this home overlooking McKinley Lake

• Our second home on the west side of Creston still holds a dear place in my heart. (and deer because they used to bed down in the back yard) Again, our friends came through in the moving department. We did leave the piano behind, but that heavy fold-out couch was a bear. Again - more living and memories there. I still miss the neighbors, and the deck. It was my happy place.

Our DSM home is among this group of townhomes

• West Des Moines. We love our home here. We chose it after several days of house hunting with Marge, the "veteran" (she must be in her mid 80's) realtor. It's a very livable space that is big enough when visitors come. Paul does miss the yard work a little...except when he doesn't. It's right on the bike path, convenient to shopping and the freeway. It's perfect! If only we could transplant our friends here from other places. I must admit we have been lax in trying to make new ones. It's not as easy when you don't have kids to help pave the way. So if you're in the area - message me and we'll get together.

So there. I came up with nine places I've lived. Of course I'm not done yet! Who knows where Pablo and I will end up next? Paul counted up 12 places his laid his head down. Above average!

Homes are important. I had a recent conversation with someone who had gone back to see their childhood home. They wished they wouldn't have since it was much smaller and dumpier (current owner not keeping it up) than they remembered. Just like my old grade school when I went back - those coat racks were down so low...

More characters

I considered writing about many of the wonderful...and some not so great teachers in the Atlantic School System. There were some of the good ones were - Lowell Clausen, Richard (Senor) Seufort, Jeanne Howarth, Thane Hascall, Larry Lyons. Others...I could go on.

During my college years I met some interesting folks too - there was that gal from our dorm floor who picked her nose in the TV room. She was in vet school - I'll bet she fit right in with the animals.

A rare shot of Hauser and Moose washing dishes...

I know this breaks my vow to not talk about people I still hang out with...but this is about them long ago - so it's like other people right? We first met our friends Moose and Steve Hauser when they volunteered to coach our dorm floor in flag football. They were (are?) quite the characters too. Moose would punch Hauser in the arm and Hauser would yell, "You clipped me Moose at the top of his lungs." We loved hanging out on their dorm floor, Stevenson House in Birch with their friends Pig Farmer, Yellow Fever, Dirger and Dairy Cow and Shit for Brains. They had a broomball team and Vicki and I were their groupies. When we moved to our apartment at 230 Campus Avenue, those two would always flip the circuit breaker when they'd visit - turning out all the lights. Talk about a dramatic entrance!

My first job after earning that college degree was in Sioux Falls, S.D. Just where all the cool kids want to go! I worked for a grocery wholesaler as the office manager. I know - I was just happy as a clam to have a job making a whopping $12,500. Plus I didn't have to go home and live with my parents.

The manager of the Sioux Falls branch of Gamble Robinson was Kermet Torgersen - a good name for Norwegian guy from South Dakota. He seemed pretty old to someone right out of college. He was a WWII vet, and was probably in his early 60's at the time. (yeah, pretty young really!)

Through out my working career, several of my supervisors must have attended the same business school. The one where they teach you to leave the employee alone to self-train for long periods. Then, when an ego boost is needed, call the new employee in to "show 'em your stuff" - how adept you are at a skill, or how much "juice" you have with the company.

Kermet was that kind of boss. I was all of 22 and hadn't had many bosses at that point...but I was learning "on the job".  I knew, when he called out "Leslie" clean through the Assistant Manager's office, through two doors and a glass panel that I was to jump up and run in for a "lesson". Kermet loved to pontificate and I was the sponge to soak up his knowledge. I was a greenhorn when it came to buying and selling produce. But Kermet was teaching a PhD level of fruits and veggies.

But in my view the old boy was in the process of losing his marbles. It many ways, it was good for the company! He took his own "Kermet" discounts for was he perceived as bad fruit. As Office Manager, I reconciled the invoices with receipt tickets and wrote huge checks for loads of oranges. And sometimes we did have shipments arrive with a great deal of spoilage. In that case we would have to document what was not sellable.

Both he and I had to sign checks. (He'd sign with a flourish - using the cursive method taught back in the day that was so beautiful compared to my crappy post college crimped note taking writing) One load of oranges could cost $40,000 - and Kermet would out of the blue just cross off the amount on the invoice and deduct, say $5,000 for "bad fruit". He'd say - "some of that one was not good." And he got away with it! They might call and complain when they got the check.

In South Dakota there is a sect of German Americans similar to the Amish called Hutterites. The ones that came into Gamble Robinson could drive trucks - but only black ones. The Hutterites sold truckloads of sweet corn and tomatoes to our company. Kermet liked to get those 'ol boys in his office and put them through their paces too. We usually paid them right when they delivered their product to us.

One time when I was popping into Kermet's office for a signature, he whipped a huge pistol out of his desk drawer, showing it off to the Hutterite guy who must have drawn the short straw and got stuck taking the corn to market in Kermetland. Kermet said "This is what one of your German cousins shot at me with"! I didn't stick around to see if it was loaded or not.

It was shortly after that, Kermet was put out to pasture. I never heard what happened to the guy, since I soon transferred to the Omaha, NE branch of the business. Next time I'll fill you in on the character I met at the Omaha Gamble Robinson. The produce biz is chock full of nuts.

Here saber tooth kitty kitty kitty

That line was from a cartoon, but I can't remember which one. I always liked it though. It reminded me of my first cat, Bucko.

Bucko would have been a saber tooth had he been born at the right time. I adopted him from a shelter in Sioux Falls, SD - the location of my very first "real" job. In college I majored in Public Service and Administration (PSA) much to my parents' chagrin.

"What the hell can you do with that?" I can just hear Dad saying when Mom broke the news to him that I wasn't going to be a veterinarian after all. I'd discovered that:

a. you had to have pretty much a straight 4.0 grade point to go to vet school.
b. having a 4.0 grade point didn't go with having a social life and drinking 3+ nights a week
c. I was getting a D in Biology 101 - not a good sign (sidenote, I re-took the course sophomore year after I learned how to study and received an A)

I spent a couple semesters searching for the "right" major for me. I wasn't sufficiently rural (my dad sold ladies underwear for God's sake) to be an Animal Science major. I tried journalism but lacked the killer instinct to go for the jugular on stories. But I took a sociology course and it clicked. I also did well in political science and economics. What combined all of those in the Ag College? PSA! This major was actually a good pre-law major, or set up grads to work in the ISU Extension Program.

Neither of those appealed to me, but hey I loved my advisor, Eric Hoiberg, father of Fred Hoiberg future ISU and NBA basketball star. Eric was a sweetie and just the thing for a very shy and non assertive girl from Atlantic, IA. I think my parents worried a great deal about how I would make my way in the world due to my lack of self-esteem.

When my partying (ur um school) years wrapped up, I bought an outfit and signed up for interviews at the Curtiss Building. I was very selective - anything that sounded do-able. I ended up interviewing with Gamble Robinson a grocery wholesaler out of Minneapolis (they sold Snoboy Fruits and Vegetables) and the interviewer and I ended up talking about skiing (see post below about my spring break trips during college). He must have been convinced that "hey if she can ski, she can be an office manager" because a few weeks later, that company offered me a job!

I had been in a panic thinking I'd be forced to move back home. No Way! So I was thrilled to accept a position as Office Manager at the Sioux Falls branch of this company. It seems Nancy the 30 something Office Mgr. tragically had a stroke. She was expected to recover, but it would be a while. And the office staff loved her. (open door and insert new college grad who knows nothing about produce, offices or South Dakota)

Mom and I took a trip to Souffles (that's what I called it) and I selected a furnished apartment to live in. Who cared if the mattress was bad and it was right by the Interstate so I couldn't open the window if I wanted to hear the TV. I didn't mind the neighbors who fought a lot and I could hear each word through the thin walls. (it made me feel at home, really)

I probably learned more in that job than I had (at least skills to do a job) during my prior 20 (counting Mrs Lewin's nursery school) years of school. Karen, the assistant office manager had been carrying the ball when it came to the office work. She was a strict task master and I felt incompetent since I couldn't even run a damn 10 key adding machine with all my fingers. I didn't know any grocery lingo or where towns in SD were. She made me feel stupid - which I was when it came to that stuff.

I ended up living in Sioux Falls for 10 months - during which time, I mastered the adding machine, learned how to do the job pretty well and won Karen and the other office staff over with my unassuming smart-ass style. I could do a whole 'nother column about Kermet Torgerson, the Branch Manager for some of my time there. In fact I will this week. He's was a WWII Veteran and f'in crazy.

During the time I lived in SF, Paul was the only person besides my parents to come and visit. We'd dated in college mostly my senior year, but I didn't think it was anything permanent. When he came to visit, that's when I really got to know him - away from the distractions of college - to find out what a good person he was. I also adopted a kitty, who didn't really like people (he'd been an orphan) and Paul put up with said Saber Tooth.

Fate and karma intervened in our lives when Paul accepted a county soil conservation job in Oakland, Iowa (20 miles from Omaha) and I was asked to transfer to the Gamble Robinson branch in Omaha - on 10th street right by the Old Market. Again - that could be a post for another day in the walk down Leslie's memory lane.