Divine Intervention

Divine Intervention

I don’t believe that things happen for a reason. I do believe that the universe sometimes moves in magical and tragic ways, and as a result, things just happen. Like today, en route to Rochester, after getting the official diagnosis of my mother’s cancer.

My oldest brother, Michael Hildebrandt, was driving, turning onto the on-ramp off of Victory Drive and toward 14 E. Kim is in the front seat, and Gretchen and I are in the back seats of his extended cab.

As Mike moves upward on the ramp, he spots a car deep in a ditch to our left and pulls over to ask the driver if he is okay and needs help. The young man, probably in his 20’s, tells us what happened: another car hit their brakes as he was behind them and he tried to stop, over-corrected, hit some ice and landed in the ditch. He is far down and he needs a tow to get out of there. His phone is dead and Mike offers him his phone so he can call AAA.

Mike invites him into the back seat, where Gretchen and I are sitting; I’m puffy in the face from sobbing. My heart hurts. All of our hearts hurt.

He says he’s so thankful and calls Mike mister often. I tell him we’re on our way to Rochester to be with our mom, who just was diagnosed with cancer, and this is something she would want us to do, would do herself. He said he was down there for 30 minutes and so many cars drove by and didn’t stop. He's very thankful we did.

He also tells us his mother, now retired, once was a forensic psychiatrist at Mayo Clinic. My brother tells the young man he’s in the mental health field, too, in Mankato, and is the coordinator for the Second Step Clubhouse. The young man asks if he knows a particular psychiatrist—divulges it’s his own, and Mike says he knows this man and respects him deeply.

This connection leads to a beautiful conversation of this young man wanting mental health outreach, connection, and services. Mike happens to have one business card on his person and gives it to him and tells him to contact him, since he lives in Blue Earth County. He tells this young man he’ll be in the next day and to come down for a tour of the Clubhouse, and fill out an application.

This young man calls us (I should say Mike) his angels and he awaits in the warmth of the vehicle till the tow truck arrives. He thanks Mike profusely, says he’ll call him, and hustles on his way to meet the tow truck. We drive off to be with our mom and sister Jennifer.

My mom believes in the universe’s magnetic pull, connections, and how we all are in this together, as do I. While this moment didn’t happen for a reason, perhaps, it did happen, and I feel it was the divine intervention we all needed—my family and that young man—right then and there.

Goodbye to George

By Shirley Saum

For the first time in 14 and a 1/2 years I woke up and it was so quiet. An unnatural quiet. I was used to having George greet me with a wag of his tail and a check of his food dish. Yesterday was a very sad day for me as I had to have George put to sleep. He had been having some kidney problems and each day was a challenge to know what to feed him. I managed for 3 1/2 months to keep him fairly healthy and happy.

My friend Judy and I went to pick up George on a rainy night in Sacred Heart, Minnesota in 2003. My husband thought we should have a dog and he had fallen in love with Deb's little Yorkie. He enjoyed George very much during the time he was so ill; George was a wonderful diversion for him. Estle passed away in 2004, but did love his little pet and George was a great companion for him. George was a darling puppy, he weighed only 21/2 pounds, but quickly grew into a ferocious little guard dog of 7 pounds. Beware if you rang the doorbell or walked past our house with another dog who easily outweighed George by 90 pounds. He would bound out the door or off the patio and nip at the big dog's heels. He was protecting his family and their property from any and all invaders.

He was a typical terrier. He did not like a to wear a collar or be restrained in any way. What he did he did on his terms. He liked to jump up and sit on my lap while I read or watched television. I f he did not think I was petting him enough he would reach out a little paw and pat my hand so I would continue petting him.

As I said before , getting him to east something was a challenge. The past months he had Spagetti O's, tuna fish, cat food, dog food, soup. cottage cheese, donut holes and anything I was having for dinner.

One week he slept for two days and did not eat anything, so I thought this is it. I called the Vet and made and appointment to have him put down. On the third day he got up, proceeded to eat and seemed to do well.I cancelled the Vet call and she told me, " I didn't feel like getting up those gloomy days either", and remember George is in his 90's.

Saturday night he paced in circles and would tip over and I knew it was time to let go. I called the Vet on Sunday morning and she told me if I could get him there in a half hour she would take care of him. She had her bags packed and was ready to go to Sioux Falls for a few days. Luckily my daughter was with me this weekend , so she drove and also took George into the clinic where the Vet gave him a shot. Teresa held him and she said he just went to sleep very peacefully. We took him home to Canby and my friend Gerry Gingles dug a grave for George in my flower bed. He placed a piece of concrete garden art on top of the grave and very gently wound vines around the statue. Judy Larson brought a rose and placed it on his grave. Such good friends

I miss my little George, but know it was kinder to let him go than to keep alive and suffer. Goodbye little Georgie. I love you and miss you.

A short epilogue:
Sunday morning when I got up, my house was a mess. Things tipped over and pee pads scattered. George was sleeping peacefully, but had evidently had somehow turned the Roomba on by accident. So George had the last laugh; he was innocent. It was that darn Roomba that made the mess.

Crystal Whopper, Memories of Mom by David Bengtson

For those who may not be familiar with the story of the Crystal Whopper:

The Burger King Waterford Crystal Whopper (Chairman's Award) was presented to my mom, Ruth Bengtson, by John Dasberg (BK Chairman, President, & CEO) on the MGM Grand stage in Las Vegas in 2002. She was one of 10 recipients worldwide chosen from thousands of BK employees nominated by local BK stores.


Because my dad had passed away, my mom asked me to be her companion on the trip to Las Vegas, which included air fare, chauffeur service, three days and two nights at the MGM Grand. So I was there for all of the festivities. I was retired; my mom was 79 and still working 40 hours a week at BK.

At the time, she had also been working for 38 years as a crossing guard for the City of Cranston (RI). Twice a day (morning, afternoon), she would slip into the walk-in freezer at BK (the only private place in the store, she said) and change into her crossing guard uniform, then drive a couple of miles in her PT Cruiser to St. Mark’s School.

In the morning, after she finished crossing her kids, she’d drive back to BK and change again in the freezer to complete her eight-hour shift. In the afternoon after she had finished her crossing guard responsibilities, she could head for home. He work at BK and the school was done for the day.

When Marilyn and I toured Waterford Crystal in Ireland in 2003, I asked one of the artisans if he remembered the Crystal Whopper. He did! In fact, he said he worked on it! Twenty-five were made, and then they broke the mold.

My mom worked for Burger King for 39 years. She was the first employee to be hired by Nick Janikies, who opened the first BK in Rhode Island at the corner of Park and Reservoir Avenues.

After my mom passed away on April 1, 2017, my three younger brothers chose me to be "The Keeper of the Crystal Whopper," a responsibility I take very seriously.

Joe Walsh, my dad by Kelly Walsh-Owen

My dad was the head coach at the U of M for the Gophers tennis team from 1965 until 1971. Over the years he kept in contact with many of his old players. This week two of his players came here from New Hampshire to see their former coach and take him up to the University to see the tennis court named after him. Sadly Alzheimer's is slowly stealing my dads memories but the impact he has made on the lives of those he's touched over the years speaks volumes about the person he was and will always be to me!

Memories of the Pit

Wayne Bueno Roemhildt


How does our swinging off a rope into a river this weekend tie into "Mankato Memories?"

Allow me to regale you.

It was North Mankato, the summer of 1982....
I was in 5th grade, and MTV was just hitting its stride.

J. Geils Band - Centerfold, The Go-Go's - We Got The Beat, and Men At Work - Who Can It Be Now...we're "totally" killing it on the radio station.

My neighborhood crew and schoolmates were finding respite from the summer heat (humidity) down at the Pit (aka, Hinniker Pond). To be sure, there wasn't a kid in our clan who's parents actually thought we were at the "Pit", so much as where we said we would be - North Mankato Swimming Pool in Spring Lake Park. Our squad was.... cut from more of the "adventure seeking" cloth. We were delinquents; guilty of our fair share of misdeeds, and all the duplicitous trimmings of youth. Plus, the Pit had cliffs and banks to jump off! The Pit provided more adrenaline and sexiness than the springboards at the pool.

As some of us were floating on inner tubes, one of the older boys (either Brad Venberg or Mark Deichman) made a remark about how cool it would be if we had some rope to tie on a tree, so we could soar off the banks into the water "like in that Mountain Dew commercial."

Me, being the younger, resourceful lad - who would do just about anything to gain the approval and admiration of the older boys.... I declared, "I know where we can get the PERFECT rope!"
You see, it wasn't but a few days earlier, that the same squad of friends and their older brothers dared me to go into the old, run-down school building (now known as the Bell Tower Apartments) - then called Ray Ecke's School Of Rock (70's bands would rent the rooms to practice their classic rock crafts). They dared me to climb up through attic, onto the roof, and ring the old school bell. That bell, mind you, that had been dormant for a few decades.

Welp, of course I did. I climbed in a window (the one we always snuck in through to explore that history gem) climbed through the attic, and rang the bell. I'm pretty sure it took me 10 seconds to get down, and fly across the street to the Kwik Trip to meet my comrades, waiting with giant grins of approval.

Back on the water, at the Pit, I told the boys of this giant rope that I saw up in the attic of the old school. "It was prolly the rope they used to ring the bell back in the day."

There was a moment of silence... then we feverishly swam ashore, and ran TOP SPEED to the corner of Belgrade Ave & Center Street.
I hustled up to the attic of the old School, while the older boys challenged me to "hustle!" and warned me that "You better not be lying!". A few minutes later, I crawled out the window...the clouds opened up, the heavens sang, and the light shinned down on that beautiful 40 ft long rope I was struggling to drag.

We got back to the Pit. It took us all of 5 minutes to unanimously find and agree on the perfect tree and the perfect branch to attach the big rope. I want to say it was Mark Deichman who made the daring climb, and tied the knot...but It very well could've been one Rodney Lowe.

That rope swing was as good as a rope swing gets, ever. It put that swing in that Mountain Dew commercial to shame. My contemporaries and me, we spent hundreds of days over the next few years wringing every ounce of enjoyment, thrills and fun that we could from that rope, and that tree. College students, bikers from the nearby Harley shop, innocent kids who couldn't resist the sexiness and lure of the rope swing.... millions of breathtaking memories were made.

To that little North Mankato school - where my mother and her siblings attended - built in the late 1800's.... I say, "Thank you!", on behalf of myself, my brother, my schoolmates, and even that dumb drunk college kid who climbed too high up the tree and let go of the rope on shore... Thank you!
Thanks for all the remarkable memories, good and bad, North Mankato.

Maybe you, dear reader, will smile the next time you pass by those Bell Tower Apartments.

Rings by Erica Idso-Weisz

When Ryan & I began talking about getting married, his mother gave him a little box from his beloved Oma. Inside held together by a bread bag twist tie were four rings-2 steel, weathered bands & 2 beautiful rose gold bands. A small note attached, written in his Oma's hand, read "For Ryan." The story of the rings leads us back to Germany during World War II, where Ryan's grandparents were experiencing invasion from the Russians. Alfred was sent to a work camp & Erna was left to take care of the farm, neither knew if they would see their beloved again. Alfred was left for dead in a snowbank when the tree he was chopping down fell on him. Miraculously he was simply knocked into the snow and after the Russians moved on, he escaped. He found Erna and they moved to Mankato. Here they worked for little pay to save up for the house, we began our family together in. The rings they were wed in were the steel bands. Precious metals had all been given to the war effort. The rose gold rings, engraved with one another's initials, represent post-war life and the struggles they endured together and the hope they found. The bands glow with the love they shared and that now we share. Happy Anniversary, Ryan Idso-Weisz!

Pay it forward!

by Judy Boudreau

I had a kind of "pay it forward" afternoon. I did an errand, planning to use the $30 I requested in change at the grocery yesterday. I pulled out the cash from yesterday's purchase and only had $20. I called the store (Lunds on Lake Street) and, within minutes my favorite manager (Kathy) had figured out that the specific register had come out $10 over yesterday. YAY! When I went in to claim my $ she gave me a package of Jonny Pops. Read about them in the photo. Awesome. I made a purchase ($9.98 ha ha) and, when I approached my car, I saw a debit card on the pavement. I took it in and gave it to an employee. Returning to my car a frantic young lady was searching her steps from the store earlier. I realized it was her card and connected her with the employee. All is good today.