Hard Time Part 3

In Part II, my buddy Don and I have just left a police station in Boston where we were turned away for the night. The big, pale Irish policeman has arranged for us to stay the night at Boston's Penitentiary.

Although the seedy, dangerous looking guys were gone when we left the police station just past midnight, it was still raining and we were tired. Very tired. "So, what do you think of the new plan?", I asked Don as we shuffled along in the rain. "Well I don't know what to think; I've never been in a jail before, not even for a visit. And now it looks like I'm going to stay overnight in a prison! What do you think of the new plan?" he asked.

"I think this is going to be fun. I've never been in jail before either, but that policeman was friendly and helpful. How bad could it be?" I asked. Don was still not convinced. "Why don't we just call your cousin and have her come down here and get us? She must have friends with a car. I bet she'd come down here and get us." "Don", I said. "I'm not going to call my cousin. We're hitchhikers - not guys that call other people to come and save us. We're going to solve this problem ourselves. This is working out just fine, you just wait and see."

It took less than 10 minutes to get to the prison. It was a pretty daunting facility, just as one might imagine an old, stone prison might be. There was a guard house by the big front gate with another big policeman inside. I knocked on the barred window to get the attention of the guard, who slid open a window pane. "And what can I do for you boys?", he asked.

"Well, we just came from the police station over on Nassau Avenue, and he told us to come over here and talk to Bob", I explained in a hopeful voice.

"Are you boys from Minnesota?", he asked with a great, big smile on his face.

"Well, as a matter of fact we are from Minnesota", I said. "We hitchhiked here."

"OK then, come on in. We were all wondering if the story was true or not. You boys want to stay overnight in the prison don't you?" he asked.

"Yes sir, that's what we had in mind. Do you think we can?"

"Well Bob is the night warden, and what he says goes. All I can tell you is that Bob said if you showed up I was supposed to open the gate and let him know you were here. You guys walk across the yard and knock on that big, steel door over there. I'll call Bob", he instructed.

So Don and I opened the heavy, steel gate after the electric lock snapped the deadbolt open and we walked across 'the yard'. There was barbed wire across the top of the tall, stone wall and a guard tower was dimly lit in one corner. We could see the guard through the glass enclosure. "Boy, I don't know about this John", Don said. "This is getting a little spooky". "Don", I replied. "It's a prison, they have to have walls here. Let's just see what this guy Bob says."

We walked up to the steel doors and pushed the button to ring the bell. Almost immediately, the door opened up and a slight, good looking guy said, "Are you boys from Minnesota?"

"Well yes we are sir. I'm John and this is my buddy Don. We hitchhiked here from Minnesota to visit my cousin in Medford", I repeated once again.

"I'm Bob, and am charge here tonight. I heard your story from my buddy Danny over at the Nassau Station. So, you boys want to stay over tonight, is that right?", Bob asked with a kind of a lopsided grin.

"If it's OK with you, we'd sure appreciate it sir. It's been a long trip and we're pretty tired", I said.

"And you don't want to stay in hotel because you say they're too expensive. Is that right?" he asked.

"Yes that's right. You know we only make $2.38 per hour and the hotels are like, $50 a night. It's hard to believe they're so expensive. Anyway, we'd sure appreciate it if we could stay here tonight."

Bob was smiling the whole time, and said to follow him. He had a big, steel ring with what seemed like a hundred keys on it. We went through 3 or 4 locked doors until we reached the top of a broad stairway. Down we went. I think we went down 5 or 6 floors, and at each level there was a big, steel door with bars at eye level so you could see through to the other side. Clank! the doors would resound against their door jams when they closed and locked each time. Don and I were looking at each other and not saying anything. Don was right; it was getting a little too spooky.

When we reached the bottom of the staircase, Bob stopped and turned toward us before he unlocked the last door. "OK you guys, we're going into the cell block now. All the inmates will be sleeping, so let's keep our voices down", he said. "Here we go", Bob said as he unlocked and opened the huge, steel door.

I had never seen cell block before and I was surprised at how stark it all looked. The middle aisle was quite wide, smooth and shiny. On either side were jail cells with all bars from floor to ceiling. There were walls between each cell and each cell had a sink and a toilet without a seat with no water reservoir visible. Some had a single cot and some had 2 cots. My tennis shoes kind of squeaked on the slick floor as we walked along. Bob frowned and looked at my feet. "John, try to be quiet if you can", he whispered.

Just about that time, from one of the cells we had passed, an inmate woke up and put most of his face through the bars and peered over to us. "Well now what the hell is going on? Who are those guys with the backpacks?" the inmate asked in a sleepy, gravelly voice. Bob said back, "this is none of your business. Just go back to sleep." Too late; one at a time, every guy in the cell block woke up, and each in their own 'interesting' way, asked who Don and I were, what was in our backpacks and whose cell we were going to sleep in. The din grew louder and louder until Bob took out his wooden baton and slammed it against the bars of one of the cells and made an unveiled threat to everyone, including that if they were looking for trouble, they had come to the right place. "SO, SHUT UP", Bob yelled. Things quieted down right away.

About two thirds the way down the cell block, Bob stopped and said, "OK John, one of you guys can stay in this cell." I looked inside the open cell, then at Don who wasn't looking very happy, then back at Bob. "Do you think Don and I can stay in the same cell officer?" I asked. "This whole thing is kind of weird and I think we'd feel more comfortable if we could stay in the same cell."

Bob looked back at me and said, "Listen John, I don't know you guys, and I'm not going to let both of you stay in the same cell down here. If you want to stay, you have to stay in different cells. So, which one of you guys wants to stay in this cell?" I looked at Don who did not volunteer to say anything, so I said I'd take that first cell.

"OK then John, drop your backpack on the floor away from the cell door and take off your belt and put it the floor by your pack", Bob instructed.

"Well geez, there's stuff in my pack I'm going to need tonight, and why do I have to take off my belt?" I asked.

"If you need something out of your pack, take it out now so I can see it before you bring it into the cell" Bob said. I thought about it for a second; all I really needed was my toothbrush, but as I looked at the stark sink without a towel or anything, I told Bob I didn't need anything out of my pack after all.

I was standing in the middle of this cell block, on the shinny floor with Bob and Don looking at me, along with all the inmates who were peering through their barred cells. Looking around at my situation, I thought how weird this whole thing was. "OK officer, I get the part about my pack, but my belt holds up my pants. Why do you want me to leave my belt out here?" I asked. He looked at me and smiled, "John, we don't want you to hang yourself in one of our cells", Bob replied. I was in shock. "What are you talking about? Do you think I came here all the way from Minnesota to hang myself in a Boston Prison? That's the craziest thing I've ever heard of!" I exclaimed.

"John", Bob started out. "If you want to stay in this prison tonight, you just have to leave your belt out here. That's the rules; we have to go by the rules. That's it."

I looked at Don who shrugged his shoulders. "OK", I said as I slipped my belt out from my favorite, rain soaked jeans. I changed my mind about not needing anything out of my pack and I took out a dry t-shirt and pair of shorts and walked through the open door of the prison cell. The next thing took me by surprise; Bob slammed the jail cell door closed and I heard the lock snap shut. "Officer, do you need to lock the door. I'm not going to try and escape!" I exclaimed.

Bob looked kind of surprised. "John, this is a prison. I can't leave you boys down here without locking the doors. Think about it." I hadn't really thought the whole thing through, but I immediately knew he was correct; Don and I were going to be locked in our cells. "So when are you going to let us out of here?" I asked. Bob replied, "We wake up the inmates at 6:00 in the morning. I'm going to wake you boys up at 5:30 because I need you completely out of here by the time we start our day. OK?" Well, of course it was OK; what could I say?

"So where are you gonna put Don", I asked. As he and Bob walked past my cell he looked back over his shoulder and said, "Right here in cell B142, just 4 cells down the line", Bob replied. I heard him tell Don to leave his pack and belt in the aisle along with his belt, and then I heard the cell door slam shut. Bob walked past my cell on his way out and he called out, "See you boys in a couple of hours. Sleep tight!", and he was gone through the locked, isolation door.

After he left, I called out to Don, "Are you OK Don?" He replied that he was all set, and he just wanted to go to sleep. "I'll see you in the morning then Don. Good night." I was hoping he wouldn't be mad at me for getting us into such a strange predicament.

I sat down on my bunk, pulled out a cigarette, lit it and settled back to think about the strange way this was all working out, you know, being in prison and all. Just about that time, the inmate one cell to the right of directly across the aisle called out to me. "Boy, gimme one of those cigarettes", he ordered in a surprisingly demanding manner.

I looked out through the bars of my prison cell to see what this impolite person looked like, and what I saw made me sit up and pay attention right away. This guy had the body of Mr. Clean and the face of Attila the Hun. He had a big scar across his crooked nose and he didn't look happy at all.

Next week, in the final chapter of Hard Time, find out how it went with Attila, how we got out of prison and finally how it went with me and the cutest little red haired girl you'd ever want to meet.

Hard Time Part 2

In Part I of Hard Time, my buddy Don and I hitchhiked from Minnesota to Boston in the late Summer of 1968. In Part II, we have walked into a police station in downtown Boston at about midnight, soaking wet with rain and hoping to get ourselves out of a jam.

Don and I were soaked to the gills, tired from two days on the road, and I had no idea what I was going to say when the Precinct Duty Office asked me, "And what can I do for you boys tonight?" "Well", I said to the officer after he asked what we wanted. "My buddy Don here, and I, just hitchhiked from Minnesota and we got here much later than we planned. We were going to stay with my cousin in Medford, at Tuft's, but it's too late to get there now", I said. The big officer looked us over carefully and asked, "You boys came here from Minnesota?"

"Yes sir. Minnesota."

"And you say you hitchhiked here?"

"That's right sir. Hitchhiked here from Minnesota."

"Well by God, that's something. Hitchhiked here from Minnesota. Say, you boys aren't 'run-a-ways' are you?", the office asked in a different tone of voice.

"No sir. Both of us are going to college in a few weeks. We're just hitchhiking around to see my cousin in Medford."

"Ah-ha", he said. "And tell me, again, what is it that I can do for you boys?"

"Well, like I said, my buddy Don and I just got into town and it's too late to get to Medford. It's raining outside so we can't camp out, and..."

"Camp out!", the office exclaimed. "You can't camp out in Boston. This is the city!"

"Well I know." The conversation was starting to go in the wrong direction. "We checked out some hotels in town but they are all too expensive and we don't want to waste our money", I explained.

"Are you boys vagrants?", the office asked. "If you boys are vagrants, we might have a problem."

Now I was really getting concerned, and whipped out my wallet as fast as I could. "Look at this. We have lots of money", I said as I fanned the four $20 bills in my wallet. "And Don here has plenty of money too", I said as fast as I could, hoping Don didn't say anything about only having about $8 left after the 'robbery'.

"OK, OK", said the officer. "But I still can't figure out what you want me to do about all this. Why are you here?"

So here is was: My Big Chance. The officer's tone had changed, and he looked truly interested in what I was going to say next. "Well sir, here is the deal. My mom always said that if I get into trouble, I'm supposed to find a police officer and ask for help. So here I am, asking for your help", I said in the most earnest voice I could muster.

.

"Let me get this straight" said the officer. "Your mother in Minnesota told you if you got into trouble you should find a cop and he'll help you out. So you hitchhike to Boston in the rain, in the middle of the night, find me - and now you want me to help you out. Does that about sum it up?" he asked in an equally sincere way.

"Well, I hadn't thought about it in just that way, but, yes sir, that is basically the deal", I said. "And Don here, and I, were wondering if we could stay in your jail, just for the night?"

 There, I finally said it. After I had gotten started, I knew that this was where I was going with the conversation, but it was a big surprise to the big, pale, Irish police officer.

"Is that what you want me to do, let you stay in the jail tonight", asked the officer.

"Yes", I said. "That's right. Just until morning and then we will go on up to Medford."

The look on the officer's face wasn't as encouraging as I had hoped. "I don't know how they do it in Minnesota, but in Boston we don't let people just stay overnight in the jails. What if we have a riot or something? Where would be put all the people?" he asked me.

"Well, it's so late I don't think there will be a riot, but if there was, you could just wake me up, and I'll wake Don up, and we'd leave. Right away. Really, we wouldn't be any bother at all."

"Boys, I don't know what to tell you, but you cannot stay in my jail tonight. It just isn't possible" he said as nicely as he could.

"What do you think we should do?" I asked.

The officer then sat back in his big leather chair and looked at me for what seemed like a long time. I didn't say anything and just kept looking back at him. Finally he said, "I have an idea. Would you boys be willing to stay overnight in a prison?" I smiled back at him, "Staying in a prison sounds perfect to me."

The officer picked up his phone, dialed a number, and began explaining in an abbreviated version of our dilemma. "Yeah Bob, that's what I said. They're from Minnesota; they hitchhiked here. Yeah, that's right. They want to stay in your prison. No, they look like some pretty good kids. OK, I'll send them over." Then he looked back at me. "OK boys, you're all set. My buddy Bob over at the Corrections Center says you can stay in the prison. It's only a few blocks from here - about a 10 minute walk. How does that sound?"

"That sounds perfect", I said. "How do we get there from here?" He gave me the simple instructions on how to get to the prison, I thanked him profusely, and Don and I walked out into the dark, dreary night on our way to Boston Correctional. Our problems were over.

Or were they?

Next week you'll find out how it went at the penitentiary in Hard Time; Part III.

Hard Time

Prologue

A couple of weeks ago an old buddy from Fridley High School walked through the doors of the Garden Center. "Do you remember me?" asked this well worn, graying man. "Absolutely" I answered. "You're my old buddy Don H. It's been over 40 years since we've seen each other." Don smiled back at me and said, "Yes, since the Fall of 1968. We both look a little bit different now."

 

I was anxiously awaiting my chance to ask him a question: "Say Don, do you remember the hitchhiking trip we made together to Boston?" Still smiling, Don replied, "Do you mean the time we ended up in the Boston State Penitentiary?" I started laughing, "Yup, that's the time. You know, when I tell that story to people they have a hard time believing that it's true." "Well, have them ask me then, because unfortunately for me, you got me into prison right along with you" Don said. We spend the next hour rehashing that time, so many years ago, in the late summer of 1968.

Those were turbulent times. The Democratic National Convention in Chicago ended in riots, Bobby Kennedy and Martin Luther King were assassinated, race riots were erupting everywhere, the Vietnam War was turning into a disaster and anti war protests were taking place on almost all college campuses.  However, it was also a time of 'Flower Power', free love and Rock 'n Roll. Right in the middle of all this, Don and I, two innocent kids from Fridley, MN., hitchhiked across the country. We had quite a trip!

Hard Time
When I graduated from High School in 1968 I was still 17; I didn't turn 18 until November. I had been hired by the Onan Corporation for a summer job while waiting to start at the University of Minnesota in September. It was a good job for the times, and close to home; I could walk to work.

Although I had been on what I considered some pretty good adventures, I hadn't really been on any real big ones yet. I wanted to strike out on my own with a long hitchhiking trip before I started college in the Fall. One of my rich cousins from Crookston, Jody E., was starting college at Tufts University in Medford, Massachusetts and I called her up to see if I could stay with her if I hitchhiked out to visit. "Well, I don't think you can actually stay with me 'cause I'll be staying in a women's dormitory. But I'm sure we could figure something out if you visited", Jody said. I told her the approximate day I would be arriving and went over the plan with my dad. "Sounds good to me", he said. That meant he would be able to clear it with my mom, somehow.

A few days before I was going to leave, I mentioned the trip to my high school buddy Don who also had a summer job at Onan's. "Man, that sounds like a cool trip! Do you think I could come with?" Don asked. "Well sure you can Don. Have you ever been on a hitchhiking trip before?" I asked. "No, but I know you have, so you can just show me what I need to do. It can't be that tough", Don said.

Ok then; the both of us would be going. Don and I talked about what all we were going to bring and how much money we would need. "If each of us had $100, that should do it", I explained to Don. "All we really need to buy is food. We'll be staying with people so we don't need money for a hotel." Don asked, "What people?" I really didn't have a plan figured out to cover this small detail, but I knew that sleeping in the country in a sleeping bag would be a last resort, so I said, "Well, I don't know yet, but I know I'll be able to find people to stay with. If I don't, we can sleep in the woods in a sleeping bag. This will be fun Don. An adventure."

So, we submitted our 2 week's notice to Onan's, and on the appointed day, we left town 'riding our thumbs'. We stayed off of the freeways as much as possible because, even then, it wasn't legal to hitchhike on freeways, but depending upon the rides we got, we alternated country roads with freeways. We never had to wait long for any rides, and by the end of the first day we were already in eastern Indiana.

On one of our rides through that first night, Don had most of his money stolen from a guy that gave us a ride. Well, I don't know if stolen is the right word, but Don had $80 in his sock, and while he was sleeping, the guy must have seen it and taken it, because for no reason at all, in the middle of a rain storm, the guy woke us both up and told us he had changed his mind; we had to get out of the car right now! In less than a minute, a wonderful long ride through the night had been transformed to us standing by the side of the freeway, in a cold, soaking rain, at 2:00 in the morning. Major bummer!

I spotted a bridge up the road a bit, and we ran for cover to get out of the rain. "Geez Don, what did you say to that guy to get us kicked out of the car?" I asked after we reached the bridge. "I didn't say anything. I was sleeping!" Don said. It took us a couple of minutes, but Don soon discovered his $80 was missing. The guy had spotted Don's money, slipped it out of his sock, and kicked us out of the car before Don would miss the money. He still had the better part of $20 and I had almost my whole hundred dollars so I figured we'd be ok as long as we didn't waste any money (or get robbed again). I advised Don to keep the rest of his money is his wallet where it belonged.

We slept under the bridge that night, and started out again the next morning. Unfortunately, it rained most of the day and everything we owned ended up in some degree of soggy-ness. It is hard to hitchhike when you look like a drowned rat, and it took us the entire day and half the night to reach Boston. Our last ride of the day dropped us at a subway station on the outskirts of Boston, and he gave us a quick rundown on how the subway system worked; neither Don nor I had ever ridden on a subway. We purchased a token, got on the train, and away we went into the heart of Boston.

The Boston Skyline
Photo credit: BellyButtonBoutiqueBlog

When we got off the train, we were in downtown Boston, it was dark and raining; we weren't having any fun at all. Don wanted to get a hotel room, so we starting checking hotel rates for a couple of hotels we found. The hotel rates started at about $50, and because Don had lost most of his money, it was my money that would pay for the hotel, and I wasn't about to waste any of my hard earned money on a hotel room!

As we were walking around in the rain discussing options, Don noticed that a couple big guys had started to follow us. I started watching the guys too; this could be real trouble. "What are we going to do John? These guys look dangerous!" I was concerned; Don was really worried. We were a couple of 17 year old kids lost in a big city with very little money - and one of us was really cheap (me).

My mom had always told my brothers and me that if we ever got into trouble, we should find a policeman; their job was to help us. Relying on that good advice, I proposed to Don that we find a policeman and ask for help. "What are you going to say to the cop when we find one?" asked Don. "Well, I don't know yet," I said, "but something will come to me. Come on, let's hurry up and find a policeman."

Just around the corner, we saw a small, precinct station. "There is a police station, Don. C'mon, let's go!", and we literally ran into the jail, leaving the seedy looking characters out in the rain. Once inside, there was a small lobby with a large desk at one end, manned by a great, big, pale police officer. "And what can I do for you boys tonight?" he asked in a disturbingly loud voice. 

Next week in Hard Time; Part II, the saga continues at the police station in downtown Boston.

Just a modest goal: Plant a million trees

Chris Mickman (Mickman Bros.), John Witkowski
(City of Ham Lake), Craig Pomplyn (City of Ham Lake),
and Joe Robinson (Mickman Bros.) with some of the 2,000
larch seedlings they recently planted in Ham Lake Park.

The reforestation of our planet may just have its headquarters in Ham Lake. 

At first, you might suspect that it’s just the opposite. Mickman Brothers Garden Center also operates a gigantic Christmas wreath business. They have created more than 600,000 wreaths over the years, helping scout and church groups to raise funds for their activities. However, you needn’t worry about their making the forests disappear. The bottom branches of balsam fir trees from northern Minnesota are harvested without hurting the trees. 

Perhaps it was their dependency on these trees that led John and Chris Mickman to want to work to preserve the forests. “My brother and I have always felt that it’s important to give back to the forests and the rest of the country,” said Chris Mickman. “So in 2008 we decided that we wanted to supply the money to plant one million seedlings in the next ten years, throughout all 50 states. So far, in the last five years we have planted seedlings in 19 out of the 50 states – usually between two and ten thousand evergreen seedlings in each state.” At this point, the Mickmans have planted about 300,000 trees out of their million-tree goal.


Each year, they’ve also provided money to the DNR to plant somewhere in Minnesota. “This year,” said Chris, “We wanted to plant in our back yard at our very favorite park, Ham Lake Park.” They’ve planted 2,000 colorful larch (or tamarack) seedlings around the swamps bordering Ham Lake and 300 shade-tolerant balsam fir seedlings on the south end of the lake.

Read the article as it was published in the Ham Laker monthly newsletter! Click here!


Source: The Ham Laker June, 2013 – Volume 28, Number 5

mickman.com

The Race Part 2

Back in the early 1960’s, the age of about 11, my brother Mark and I were in a hitchhiking race from Crookston, MN to our home in Fridley. Halfway home, we both ended up in the same car, which changed the dynamics of the race significantly.

After a long ride, the Plymouth finally pulled to the shoulder of Hwy. 65 at Mississippi Street in our hometown of Fridley. We were both so keyed-up and jumpy we could hardly stand it. Before the car was completely stopped, both the back doors of the Plymouth blew open and we both flew out out of the car at a dead run, each of us carrying our dirty clothes and moist swimming suits in our brown paper grocery bags. We lived a mile and a half away from the intersection and we were both great runners with lots of races behind us. But this one was different – our biggest race ever.

We were neck and neck, running as fast as our young legs could carry us. My legs began burning and my lungs were bursting, but I couldn’t let my little brother beat me. I pushed even harder, dredging up every last bit of strength I could muster as I pounded down the pot-holed pavement. Mark was doing the same. Our young hearts were pumping harder than they had ever pumped before. Sweat kept running into our eyes, blurring our vision and burning as we wiped it off with our already bare, wet forearms. Block after block we ran through total exhaustion. Can you picture this scene? When was the last time you saw anything like this in your neighborhood?

The last two blocks of the race were unpaved – the streets were still just sand and gravel. As we rounded the final corner into our street we left a little trail of sandy dust, and I could see our house. I had an idea of dropping my paper bag as soon as we got to our yard to lighten the load - certain that this would help me win. Mark had the same idea and he dropped his bag too. As we raced up the gently sloping yard, I thought my legs would give out, but we both kept running as fast and hard as we could.

My last idea was that I wouldn’t actually climb up the front steps; I would jump across the steps to get just a half second advantage and touch the front door before Mark did. My timing was perfect, and at the base of the steps, I jumped as hard and long as I could, reached my arm out, and touched the door with just the tips of my fingers.

At that exact moment of glory, I looked to my right and Mark had done the same thing. We both had touched the door at the exact, same, precise moment! Unbelievable; the race had begun hours before, hundreds miles away, and had ended in an exact tie! We were both kinda scraped up from our skid across the concrete steps and completely out of breath, the muscles in our legs were screaming and our lungs were bursting. But as we laid there we started to giggle – and the giggles turned into laughs, and the laughs kept up until our sides hurt too.

That is the last footrace I remember having with my brother Mark.

There is nothing else like brothers growing up together. Sometimes ‘partners in crime’ when something goes wrong, they are ferocious competitors when the opportunity arises. But, brothers are first of all best friends, discovering their world together with all of its wonder and adventure, developing passion’s and camaraderie’s that will be shared through a lifetime. I’m so glad my brothers and I shared those years together so long ago. I would not be the man I am today without them.

John S. Mickman

  

The Race

My mom and I disagree about how old we were when my brother Mark and I embarked upon our first long distance hitchhiking excursion. She says I was about 13; I’m sure I was no older than 11 and our dad thought that was about right. My brother was 20 months younger than me.

At any rate, we had talked our parents into letting us stay a few days longer at our ‘rich’ cousin’s lake house near Crookston, MN – about 300 miles from our house in the Twin Cities. How were we going to get home? We were going to hitchhike.

So, on the fine July day back in the early ‘60’s when we started our journey, Uncle Jack dropped us off at an unremarkable intersection in the Red River Valley – pretty much in the middle of nowhere. There wasn’t any traffic; all we could see were the rich green corn fields with a narrow ribbon of highway running through the middle of it.

Not long after we were dropped off, Mark and I got into a discussion of who was the better hitchhiker. I was older and had hitchhiked home from school way more times than brother Mark, but Mark was adamant that he was better at getting rides than I was. Being extremely competitive in everything we did, we ended up making our trip into a contest - a long distance race; the first one home would be the better hitchhiker, the winner of the race – no bones about it! We flipped a coin and Mark won. I slipped off into the cornfield to await my turn on the old, potholed, strip of highway.

The first vehicle to come by was an old, beat up pick-up truck which stopped and picked up Mark. Bad ride, I thought to myself; that old guy isn’t going to go very far. I jumped out of the cornfield and waited for my ride. The next car was a guy going about 30 miles down the road and I grinned and waved to Mark in the old pick-up when we passed him along the way. I was sure I was going to win.

My second ride took a little longer to get, and while I was waiting, Mark passed me by in the front seat of some car with a lady driving. Shoot! I wondered how far she was going to take my brother? We played ‘leap frog’ 3 or 4 times like this, each time waving to the other brother with a big grin, each of us gloating big time when we were in the lead. This was a great race! The day was warm, the sky was blue and all was well with the world.

Finally, some distance north of Little Falls, I picked up a ride with 2 guys in a new Plymouth who said they were going all the way to ‘the Cities’. These guys were really surprised that a little kid like me was hitchhiking all the way from ‘Up North’. I told them all about my cousins and how I talked my dad into letting me make the trip – not saying anything about my mom who didn’t like the idea at all, or my brother Mark, who I knew was in front of me somewhere. After quite a conversation, they offered to go out of their way and drop me off at an intersection only about a mile from our house. Way cool; I was going to win. There was no way Mark could catch up now!

Unfortunately, on our way through Little Falls, I saw my brother a few blocks ahead, hitchhiking near a stop light. The two guys saw him too, “Look at that”, the driver said. “Another little kid hitchhiking. Let’s pick him up.” I was horrified! “No, don’t pick him up”, I stammered. “There isn’t any room back here for another person”, and I stretched both arms as wide as I could reach across the huge back seat.  The two guys gave me a puzzled look, eyeing the skinny little kid with a crew cut in the back seat of the huge Plymouth, and said, of course there was plenty of room. 

Extreme frustration set in and I realized that Mark and I hadn’t thought of the possibility of both of us getting a ride in the same car all the way home. When Mark got in the car, I immediately explained to him that this was actually ‘my ride’; that I got into the car first, so I must be the winner.

“Na-ahhh”, Mark said. “The first one home wins the race, and we aren’t home yet”. We argued back and forth on this fine point regarding the revised rules for our race, there in the back seat of the Plymouth.

Sometime during this sophisticated discussion, the two guys looked more closely at us and realized that we were brothers. When we explained that we were in a hitchhiking race they had a hard time believing us. But, there we were; how else could they explain how two little kid brothers were hitchhiking alone, separately, through rural Minnesota?

Mark and I finally agreed to the new revision of the rules for the race: The first one of us to actually touch the front door of our house would win. Nope, not the first one in the yard; the first one to touch the door. OK, so this was going to end up being a footrace.

End of Part I

Find out who won the race in Part II of The Race in next weeks’ eNewsletter!

The First Ride Part 2

In Part one of this story, I was 6 years old and was hitchhiking home from school – the first hitchhiking trip of my young life. Part of the way home, a flock of farm geese was running (waddling) toward me as fast as they could go. I didn’t know what to think of them…

Well, about the time they got very close, they started honking, hissing and poking at me in a most unfriendly manner. Jeez, now what? I started backing away from the oncoming noisy white beasts, and when the first one got to me, the biggest goose of all, he pecked my leg and wouldn’t let go. What? I’m being eaten by a goose?! In an instant, the rest of the flock was on me and all these creatures attacked. Why don’t these geese like me??? I didn’t do anything wrong! I was completely engulfed and overwhelmed by hissing, pecking geese, each one being about half my size.

The onslaught lasted only a second or two before I kicked my way free of the attackers and ran like a gazelle down the road. They came after me, but they were no match for this fleet footed runner. No match at all. I ran for a hundred feet or so, then stopped and shook my fist at them and told them what was what – in no uncertain terms.

As I was finishing giving the geese the verbal thrashing of their lives, a car came around the bend and I stuck my thumb out in hopes of getting a lift away from the farmland attack geese.

The car stopped! This is it, I said to myself. My first ride!

I ran up to the car and opened the door. The man said, “Young man, are you hitchhiking?”

What a crazy question. Of course I’m hitchhiking; what did he think? I had my thumb out and everything. But, I was respectful, Catholic boy and said, “Yes sir, I am hitchhiking. I’m hitchhiking home from school. Can you please give me a ride? I’ve walked from St. John the Baptist School in New Brighton, and I think I’m only about halfway home.”

He smiled at me and said he’d be glad to give me a lift; get in. So I jumped in his car and we continued north along Long Lake Road toward my house. The man asked me what my name was. “John Steven Mickman, sir”, I replied. He wondered if I hitchhiked much and I told him, “No, this was my first time. Thank you for picking me up, sir.” He was pretty surprised that such a young boy would be hitchhiking, but I told him that my dad used to hitchhike all the time. He said that maybe my dad had been older when he was hitchhiking. “Maybe you are still too young to be hitchhiking? Don’t you think you could get hurt by something?” the man asked.

“Well gee, I don’t know how I could get hurt. I was just going down the road. I’ve seen lots of people doing it”, I explained to the man. Maybe he was talking about the geese that had attacked me, I wondered. That is certainly something to be careful of the next time I hitchhike anywhere. Mental note: ‘Watch out for geese when hitchhiking.’  I didn’t tell the man he was correct about being hurt by something - that I had had a run-in with geese just before he picked me up.

The man and I kept talking, but I changed the subject to school and my friend Cris Archibald who went to Rice Creek Elementary. “That’s where I want to go to school but my mom says St. John the Baptist is a better school”, I explained. That was the major topic of conversation as we rode along together, until I told him that I had to get off at the next turn.

Then he suggested that maybe he would drive me all the way to my house! “Well, that would be great”, I said. So he made the left hand turn on Rice Creek Road and I guided him along the way toward home. This was working out much better than I had imagined, and in spite of walking about halfway and doing battle with the geese, I wasn’t much the worse for wear, and I wouldn’t be home much later than if I had taken the bus. Neat. Maybe I’ll do this every day!

When the man and I arrived home, much to my surprise, he parked his car and said maybe he would say hello to my mother. That sounded just fine with me. “My mom is really nice. I’m sure she’d like to meet you sir”, I said with a smile. I was pretty pleased with myself, hitchhiking home, making a new friend with this man and all.

As my new buddy and I walked up the front walk to the house, my mom came out on the front step to greet us. “May I help you sir?” she asked the man.

“Yes ma’am”, he replied. “This is young John, and he says this is his house. Is that right?”

My mom looked at me, then back at the man and asked, “Yes, this is my son. Why was he in your car?”

Holy smokes, I thought to myself. This doesn’t sound very good. I better say something, and fast. “Mom, I was just hitchhiking from school and this man gave me a ride all the way home. Pretty neat huh?” There, that should solve any emerging problem with the situation, I thought to myself.

“That’s right ma’am”, the man said. “He is just a boy and I was concerned that he was in some kind of trouble when I saw him by himself out there on the road. Don’t you think he is a little young to be hitchhiking?” Hmmm, I thought to myself. I thought the man and I had gotten past that subject.

My mom looked relieved at that point and agreed that I was MUCH too young to be hitchhiking. “My husband and John are going to have a serious conversation about this when he gets home from work”, my mom said to the man – as she looked at me with a stern look. “I will make sure this never happens again”, she told the man.

WHAT IS SHE SAYING! Holy smokes; this is no good!  I could hardly believe my ears! My dad used to hitchhike all the time; why can’t I???

“Well, I’m glad you agree ma’am. I was really concerned. Young John here is a nice boy and I’d hate to hear about him getting into any kind of trouble”, the man said to my mom. Trouble? What trouble? Had he seen the geese coming after me?

The man and my mom talked for awhile longer, but I tuned out, wondering what my dad was going to say when he got home from work. I really didn’t think he would be mad. As a matter of fact, I had been thinking he would be proud of me. What a strange turn of events!

Finally, the man looked at me and shook my hand. “It was a pleasure meeting you, John. You’re an interesting boy. But, I do not want to see you hitchhiking anymore”, he said to me.  Huh! I thought to myself. We’ll just see about that after my dad comes home. I had had a really nice afternoon – an adventure!

My dad always arrived home from work just before 5:00 PM, every single day, and at exactly 5:00 PM every single day, our family ate dinner, all 7 of us. On this day, when we sat down for dinner, my hitchhiking escapade was the big topic of conversation. “Yes dad, I did hitchhike home, but it wasn’t a problem. I got a ride from a nice man and he drove me all the home. I want to do it again. Can’t I please hitchhike home again dad? I don’t like riding on the school bus anymore”, I implored.

My dad was kind of an unusual character (I guess is the way one could say it), and he thought that I should be able to continue hitchhiking. But, my mom would have none of it; no 6 year old son of hers was going to be hitchhiking all over the place. No Way. Not a possibility. Not going to happen.

Mom and dad had disagreements, as most couples do, and much of the time my dad won; but not this time.  Mom won this one.  I was told not to hitchhike home anymore.

 But, as it turned out, the school term was almost over, and in the summertime I had no place to go anyway, so I didn’t need to hitchhike. My friend Cris and I had plenty to do without leaving our neighborhood, what with baseball, fort building, throwing rocks, fishing, exploring down at Rice Creek and everything.

But, the next year I was a 2^nd grader. I was much older and wiser in the ways of the world. I started hitchhiking again, always wary of marauding, attack geese – and any other unfamiliar perils.

*  *  *  *  *

 I continued hitchhiking for another 20 years. Some of these trips were the best times of my life and I met many unforgettable characters during these excursions. Any good adventure has a certain amount of discomfort and risk involved, otherwise they wouldn’t call it an adventure. Right?

When was your last adventure?


John S. Mickman

www.mickman.com