Fiasco on the Paw Paw

Jim and Dick Woodruff

One crisp fall day in 1951, two brothers went drifting down the Paw Paw River hunting ducks. The younger brother was in the stern of the 18' wood and canvas Old Town canoe using a paddle to steer, while the elder brother sat in the bow, shotgun at the ready. Suddenly a duck flew up! The bow man followed the duck's flight until his shotgun was pointing 90 degrees to the long axis of the canoe at which time he fired (missing the duck). In accordance with Newton's Third Law, the canoe promptly tilted the other way, dumping the unprepared steersman, his paddle and his 16 gauge double-barreled shotgun into the river. To the elder brother's amazement, the younger brother demonstrated that it is possible to swim to shore, even weighed down with hip boots full of frigid water. The younger brother and his paddle were recovered; but, alas, his pet 16 gauge remains forever at the bottom of the river.

The rest of the story now needs to be told: My wife Elaine was visiting her folks in St. Joe at the time. My father Allen Woodruff was busy in his barn behind our Paw Paw Avenue house selling war surplus to multiple customers. Younger brother Dick and I pulled out of the river at Riverside and went into the local tavern to warm up, get a couple of beers, and call for help. There were no cell phones in those days, of course. We tried several times without success to reach Dad on the pay phone. Running out of coins I called Elaine at her folks' home and asked her to keep trying to reach Dad. She was eventually successful but Dad was abrupt with her, suggesting that he was too busy with customers to leave the store to rescue his two grown sons. Elaine didn't take that well at all and said that we could rot in Riverside then. Eventually Dad relented and drove to Riverside and picked us and the canoe up. The photo shows Dick and I and the canoe on Dad's pickup truck back at the barn on Paw Paw Avenue. Note Dick wearing his sweater upside down over his legs in lieu of wet pants.

I Remember Memorial Day (re-posted)

In remembrance of those who served and gave their lives for our country, I am re-posting my father's 2008 blog post about the speech he delivered on Memorial Day, 1987, at the Watervliet cemetery. The photo above is of the Memorial Day parade in Watervliet, not long after WWII. My Uncle Dick is second from the left.
--Karen Stock (Jim's daughter) 

May 25, 2008

During my professional career I made a lot of speeches, mostly about energy. But the last, best and probably shortest speech I ever made was at the Watervliet Cemetery on Memorial Day 1987:

                                I REMEMBER MEMORIAL DAY

I seriously doubt whether I can get through this program without breaking down, so strong are my feelings for this cemetery, this town, this state and this nation.

Buried in this cemetery is my great-grandfather, who came to Michigan before it was a state 150 years ago. And buried in this sacred plot is a native American veteran of World War I whose ancestors lived in this beautiful peninsula for a thousand years.

Up there is the grave of Uriah Wood, Watervliet's last living Civil War veteran. He survived the horrors of the Confederate's Andersonville Prison knowing that his sacrifices were not in vain, since his war ended slavery and preserved the Union. In my mind's eye, I can still see Mr. Wood as a white-haired, feeble old man, dressed in blue, riding in the back of an open touring car in the late 1920's or early 1930's. It was called "Decoration Day" then---and then we could decorate the graves of the veterans of but three wars---the Civil War, the Spanish-American War and World War I.

Back in 1868, General John A. Logan, the Commander-in-Chief of the Grand Army of the Republic, which was the Union veterans' equivalent of the American Legion and the Veterans of Foreign Wars, designated May 30 of that year "...for the  purpose of strewing with flowers or otherwise decorating the graves of comrades who died in defense of their country during the late rebellion and with the hope that it will be kept up from year to year." May 30 was known as Decoration Day until 1882 when the G.A.R. urged that the proper designation be "Memorial Day". By that time, however, the term Decoration Day was fixed in the people's  vocabulary.

I suppose it is an apt commentary on our times and values that by Congressional decree Memorial Day is now observed on the last Monday in May rather than May 30 each year, so that people and commerce can benefit from a three-day weekend in which to do just about anything other than honor this country's war dead. However, by whatever name or on whichever day, I am proud to be in my hometown on the 120th of these days which are set aside to decorate the graves and remember and honor those who served their country---and most especially those who gave up their lives in that service.

One of my most poignant memories of this day is that of watching and hearing my father, the first Commander of Watervliet's American Legion Post, reading the names of all the town's deceased veterans---three names at a time---pausing after each three while the bass drum sounded three solemn, mournful beats. Each year throughout my childhood, until it came time for me to go away to college and then to my own war, the list grew longer and longer; as it has each of the forty-odd years since I left Watervliet.

I remember as a grade school kid walking with my schoolmates---spring flowers in hand---along old US12 from the old school house to the cemetery; with a stop at the bridge down there to throw some of our flowers into the water of Mill Creek in honor of the sailors who died for their country. How proudly our local police stopped all traffic between Detroit and Chicago to allow the people of little Watervliet to parade in honor or their departed veterans.

I remember marching in parades with the Watervliet High School band in our maroon and white uniforms--and that the best trumpet player always had the honor of playing "Taps" for the cemetery ceremonies. I especially remember after I became a veteran myself, marching with the American Legion firing squads and honor guards--with two generations of proud ex-soldiers, sailors, marines and airmen--brothers, cousins, friends and comrades-in-arms.

With all of these memories I am particulaly grateful to the new Veterans of Foreign Wars post for reviving and preserving this fine and patriotic tradition.

Two hundred eleven years ago this summer, in 1776, the American Colonies declared their indpendence from Great Britain---but it took six more years of struggling, starving, fighting and dying by Washington's soldiers to make that declaration stick.

However, the overthrow of tyranny does not automatically create a viable nation or even lasting freedom, as we have often seen to our bitter disappointment. In their revolution, the Russians escaped the tyranny of the Czars only to be ensnared in a worse tyranny, that of Communism under Stalin. The Cubans overthrew the dictator Batista only to fall victim to the dictatorship of Castro. The Nicaraguans overthrew the dictator Somoza only to have their revolution pre-empted by the Communist Sandinistas. These are but a few of many examples throughout history of revolutions gone awry.

After our revolution Americans were either uncommonly lucky or uncommonly blessed, it seems to me, when in 1787 the 13 newly independent but weak and quarelling states chose their wisest men to gather in convention in Philadelphia to work out a framework of a republic, based on democracy, as an alternative to chaos or monarchy. The resulting document is our precious Constitution, and this year we thankfully celebrate its 200th birthday and its continuing vitality.

Although the Constitution created a nation, by itself it could not preserve that nation in the face of the awful dilemma of slavery. As was the case with the birth of this country, the preservation of the resulting union required the shedding of blood in armed conflict among men and armies. It should be remembered that the Civil War of 1861-1865 cost more American lives than any war since--percentage-wise far more. But although a civil war is a particularly bitter type of war, our Civil War--or the War Between the States, if you are of southern heritage--at least had lasting benefits. Slavery was abolished (though discrimination and racism persist). The union of the states which makes our country great was preserved (although crisis after crisis seems to be our national way of life).

As I have said, Uriah Wood and Watervliet's many other Civil War veterans who are buried here had the satisfaction, pride and peace that comes from knowing their struggles were not in vain. They did much permanent good for their county; and, by example, for the world
.

Contrast that with the situation of the Vietnam veterans. Much has been said and written about the futility if the sacrifices of our Vietnam veterans, but not having been able to share their experience, or to know first hand their anger and frustration, neither I nor others of my generation are really qualified to pass judgement on the worth of their sacrifices.

But what about those who 70 years ago in World War I fought "The  War to End All Wars", the "War to Make the World Safe for Democracy", and then little more than two decades later endured the heartbreak of sending their sons to fight and die in an even more deadly war against the most powerful totalitarian forces ever assembled?

What about those patriotic and eager Spanish-American War volunteers who in 1898 fought yellow fever and the Spaniards to liberate Cuba and the Phillipines? What would they think today about Communist Cuba or the Phillipines in chaos?

And what about the veterans of the Korean conflict? In 1945, I was with the U.S. occupation troops in Korea which expelled the Japanese after their defeat in World War II. That year, Korea was split in two at the 38th parallel--communists to the north, non-communist to the south--Russians occupying the north, Americans occupying the south. Yet only five years later after victorious, triumphant, foolish America had naively dismantled the mightiest military force in world history, out-numbered, out-gunned American soldiers were rertreating and fighting for their lives in Korea in a war they were not allowed to win--a war which was was not even dignified by being called a war.

What about the veterans of my war, World War II? We are probably most like the Civil War veterans in that we knew why we were fighting--for survival and to keep civilization from being submerged in totalitarian madness. Also we saw some real results--the destruction of German Nazism, Italian Fascism and Japanese Imperialism were triumphs of gigantic historical magnitude.

Our generation dared not fail in war, but let us hope that history does not find that we failed in peace.

Thus far, I have spoken about veterans who survived their wars and lived to remember and to learn what became of their cause. But what about those who did not live to become veterans, but who instead died violently in battle, or agonizingly from wounds or gas, or miserably from sickness which often killed more soldiers than lead or gunpowder or shrapnel? Surely nothing could have--or ever did--erase the hurt and sorrow and grieving of those whose sons died for their country. But who is to say that such a death, in the vigor of youth, fighting for a cause or fighting for each other is, after all is said and done, a worse fate than that faced by many survivors? True, they were denied the unmatchable pleasure of watching their children grow and the joy of grandchildren. But also they were spared many sorrows and miseries. Having died young as the consequence of war or service to their country, they could not die of the ravages of tuberculosis or cancer, or miserably abandoned in old age, or from alcoholism, drugs or A.I.D.S.

It can certainly be argued  that many did die in vain, particularly those who died in the long Vietnam agony. But do those tens of thousands killed year after year in automobile accidents not also die in vain? What has been accomplished by their deaths?  At least those who died for their country's cause (whether history judges that cause to be just or unjust or merely irrelevant) died for something, not for nothing! And they deserve to be remembered. That we are here today proves that they are remembered and that they are honored.

Thank you.

IN MEMORY OF MY BROTHERS DICK AND JOHN, WORLD WAR II VETERANS

L to R  Dick Woodruff, ?, Dick Bridges, John Woodruff, ?

Jim Woodruff

So what are two Watervliet boys doing in the Denver city Jail?

After the Pearl Harbor attack on December 6, 1941 several Watervliet boys signed up with the armed forces. Among these was Lewis F. "Louie" Long, a graduate of WHS with me in 1940. Louie had always dreamed of flying, and had nicknamed himself "Wings" and decorated his high school notebooks with flying symbols. Thus he naturally applied for flight training in the then Army Air Corps (now US Air Force). The Army sent him to Lowry Field east of Denver for some sort of pre-flight training. 

At the time I was a Sophomore at the Colorado School of Mines in Golden up in the mountains from Denver. One day Louie got a pass from Lowry and he and I got together in Denver for some good ol' Watervliet-type hoot-and-hollering. 

Among other indiscretions, he and I made dates with two bar maids in a disreputable drinking joint in downtown Denver. The only problem was they didn't get out of work until 1 a.m., while Private Long's Army curfew was midnight. I had the brilliant idea for Louie to take off his Army cap and put on  my civilian overcoat to hide his uniform. So we are waiting in front of the bar for the girls to come out when a Denver police car slowly passes, the cops eyeballing us. I said to Louie "Let's get out of here!" so we cut through the alley and guess who's waiting for us at the other end? The cops, of course. 

Well they put us in their car and haul us to the City Jail, Louie and I protesting innocence all the while. At the jail they discover Louie's camouflage and turn him over to the Military Police. Me, I'm protesting that they should do to me whatever they were going to do to my buddy. Not smart. A kind police sergeant (larger than me) takes me aside and suggests that I go the hell back to Golden. Humbly taking his advice I go to the Interurban Station and lay down on a hard bench until the first streetcar to Golden leaves in the morning.

So what happened to poor Louie? The MPs deliver him to his Company Commander back at Lowry, who had just got a promotion and was feeling so good that he just let Louie off with a lecture. Louie went on to become an expert Army pilot and after the war had a career in the Air Force. I don't know the details about what he did but I know he flew transport planes in the Berlin Air Lift and flew 100 missions during the Korean War.   

My Operatic Career, Part 2

The next show, Gilbert & Sullivan's "The Mikado", was performed during my sophomore year in 1938. I played the role of Ko-Ko, the Lord High Executioner of the Town of Titipu, again the comic baritone lead. Contralto lead Darlene Selters played the ugly old bag Katisha whom I had to romance, otherwise I would be beheaded and/or boiled in oil.

Cast of The Mikado,  WHS, 1938 (author 5th from right - the tall guy)

This led to me singing the sorry song about the poor little birdy who committed suicide by drowning. It is my family's favorite since
they sweet-talked me into singing it at my 89th birthday party. It goes: "On a tree by the river a little Tom-tit, sang willow, tit willow, tit willow...." etc. etc. for six choruses ending with "...an echo arose from the suicide's grave; willow, tit willow, tit willow."

Pete Yancich again played the tenor lead as Nanki Poo, son of the Mikado of Japan, Leonard Krall. Pooh-Bah, the Lord High Everything Else, was Ed Hawks. Pish-Tush and Ping-Pong were Bob Curtis and Bob Brown. The "Three Little Maids from School Are We..." were Betty Geisler, Lydia Pitcher, and Frances Webster. The entire cast included 78 WHS students, many probably progenitors of current Watervliet Facebook fans.

The third Gilbert & Sullivan operetta was "Iolanthe," performed in the spring of 1939. I was the Lord High Chancellor, my most difficult role. In it I was required to sing the song "Love, unrequited..." that included nine stanzas of of four-line rapid patter starting with "When you're lying awake with a dismal headache and repose is tabooed by anxiety; I assume you may use any language you choose to indulge in without impropriety..." First problem was memorizing the damn thing, the second was to sing and breathe at the same time. I deliberately cracked my voice a couple times for comic effect. When I finished the audience applauded spontaneously. That had to be the high point of my operatic career.

"Iolanthe" was mostly about fairies, including Helen Jackson as the queen, Maxine Ray as Iolanthe, and fairies Natalie Smith, Lillian Muller, and Rose Koshar. Then there was the Sheperd Jim Palmer and the Shepherdess Helen Warsko. Others with prominent roles were John Palmer, Ed Hawks, Harvey Faram and Tony Sweeney. The entire company was only 64 students for this operetta.

My Operatic Career, Part 1

While in Watervliet High School I performed in several musicals including three Gilbert and Sullivan operettas, "The Gondoliers," "The Mikado," and "Iolanthe." In my senior year we did a hokey musical I think was called "Hollywood Bound." Earlier in junior high or sixth grade I vaguely remember being in a minstrel show, complete with burnt cork makeup and fake Negro accents. That I remember so little of it may be the result of a subconcious guilt at being involved with something so politically incorrect by today's standards. 

I sang the baritone lead in all three Gilbert & Sullivan operettas and the hokey "Hollywood Bound." That was the result of kind of a fluke. My freshman year for "The Gondoliers" I was the understudy to upperclassman George Keiger for the part of the Duke of Plaza Toro, not expecting do do anything except sing in the chorus. But George came down with scarlet fever, thus thrusting me into the comic baritone lead of the Duke. I did such a good job that I was ever after the automatic choice for the baritone lead every year.

Here is the Watervliet Record write up about me in that role: 

"James Woodruff will sing the baritone role of the impoverished but gay Duke of Plaza-Toro, [gay didn't mean in those days what it does now] a Grandee of Spain, and is expected to gain the favor of the audience from the start with his interpretation of this difficult but interesting role. He is one of the youngest members of the Glee Club, this being his first year with the organization, but his keen appreciation of subtle wit, together with his capacity for hard work and his newly developed voice are all factors which point to success for him". 

The News Palladium said: "James Woodruff carried the honors as a character actor in his role of the Duke."

Author (L) with fellow cast members

The contralto lead, the Duchess of Plaza Toro, was played by Viginia Keefer. The tenor and soprano romantic leads were played by Pete Yancich as Luiz, my attendant, and Betty Geisler as Casilda, the daughter of the Duke and Duchess. Ed Hawks was the Grand Inquisitor. Ken Shimer, Bob Curtis, Ferris Norman, Warren Willmeng, and Leonard Krall were Gondoliers. The Venetian Maidens were played by Lydia Pitcher, Lois Doolittle, Darlene Selters, Helen Curtis and Isabella Crumb. In all, there were 79 students in the cast.

All of these shows were chosen and directed by Mildred Shelters, the school's excellent music teacher and the wife of Superintendent "Buck" Shelters. Marion Scherer accompanied us on the piano.

The First Thanksgiving Part 3 (re-posted for 2010)

(This post was originally sent as an email to family and friends in 2008.)


You all remember Squanto from grade school, don't you? He was the English-speaking Indian who helped the Pilgrims by teaching them to put a dead fish in every hill of corn they planted. He and Samoset, another English-speaking Indian, were both at the three-day harvest feast in the fall of 1621 and acted as interpreters so that all the communication between the Pilgrims and Massasoit's tribe didn't have to be confined to sign language.
 
Samoset was actually the first Indian to help the Pilgrims. In March of 1621 he walked into their compound and asked if they had any beer. He was an Abneki from Maine who had learned some pidgin English from some fishermen (and had learned to like beer). It was Samoset who talked Squanto into coming to Plymouth to help the Pilgrims. Squanto was fluent in English and had been Christianized.
 
Squanto, whose real name was Tisquantum, was a member of the Patuxet sub-group of the Wampanoag tribe who had been captured in 1605 and taken to England as sort of exotic curiosity to prove that his captors actually had been to the New World. He got back to his native land in 1612 only to be captured again in 1614 for the purpose of being sold into slavery in Spain. He was saved by some religious types who converted him to Christianity (I'm sure he preferred that to slavery in Spain). He was able to get back home again in 1619 only to find that his tribe had been decimated by a plague, probably smallpox. So it was that he was in the neighborhood and able to join up with the Pilgrims in 1621 at Samoset's behest.
 
I am now going to indulge in some more speculation about what went on during that three-day FirstThanksgiving fest. Winslow said "..whom for three dayes we entertained.." and "...amongst other recreations..." Thus it is plain that there was more going on than eating and sleeping.
 
How about the Indians playing a demonstration game of Lacrosse? The game was more than fun. It was also important to the Indians for conflict resolution, the training of young warriors and as a religious ritual. Certainly the Pilgrims would have been interested, probably fascinated.
 
And foot racing, I can imagine white girls vs Indian girls and white boys vs Indian boys. My Mother, who could outrun any of the three of us, said young girls loved to run and race despite long skirts. Maybe Joseph Rogers raced.
 
And how about the Wampanoag braves demonstrating their archery prowess with their bows and arrows? The Pilgims had probably already "...exercised their Armes..."
 
And Captain Miles Standish surely put his small troop through some close-order drill to demonstrate their marching and manual-of-arms proficiency.
 
I can also imagine a race between the Indians in their canoes and the Pilgrims in their long boat. Plymouth was located right on the water.
 
I can even imagine a wrestling match between two muscular Pilgrim youths. I think I read one time that wrestling was popular in those days. Improbably, one of the Pilgrim boys was named Wrestling Brewster.
 
Can you visualize ceremonial groups of Indians doing their shuffling tribal dances around campfires? And super-devout Pilgrims hym-singing? And a long-winded Pastor intoning    seemingly endless invocations, benedictions and prayers of Thanksgiving? I can.
 
Well, there's my story of the First Thanksgiving. I hope it adds to yours.
 
Elaine and I wish you all a happy Pratt-Woodruff Thanksgiving. 
 
The Patriarch

The First Thanksgiving Part 2 (reposted for 2010)

(This post was originally sent as an email to family and friends in 2008.)

I am trying to visualize what that first Thanksgiving at Plymouth was really like. You all have seen illustrations of immaculately dressed Pilgrim families: men, women and children, sitting around neatly set tables outdoors. So where are the Indians? And it was the Pilgrim custom for men to eat first, served by the women (I don't know where the children and adolescents fit in). Indians normally ate sitting on the ground on skins and just used their hands to eat with, and Indian men and women ate together. Some accounts have the Indians joining the Pilgrims at the tables. Did the squaws sit with the braves and Pilgrim men while the Pilgrim women still stood behind? Another question, where did the 53 Pilgrims get enough tables to seat 90 Indians? Pilgrims ate three meals a day, their big meal being at mid-day and their breakfast being leftovers. Indians just ate when they were hungry from continually simmering kettles rather than having meals (that is when they had food). And we know the Pilgrims had beer. Did they share with the Indians?

The accounts by Winslow and Bradford that I sent you yesterday are the only primary sources of information on the First Thanksgiving so everything else that has ever been written about that three-day harvest celebration is second-hand speculation at best. Thus I feel free to make up my own account (with the help of a lot of Googling) and share it with you.

My guess is that it was more like a three-day tailgate party than a sit-down banquet. I would also like to think the Wampanoag women and children were included ( Winslow said "...some nintie men..."). Probably it was a sort of long-running buffet interspersed, as Winslow indicated, with "rejoycing'", " Recreations" and discharge of "Armes". Certainly some prayers of thanksgiving.

Massasoit's hunters went out with their bows and arrows and brought down five deer (probably fat does instead of bucks in rut). They had to have been butchered and roasted outdoors. Did that much venison all get devoured in three days? Probably, there were 143 mouths to feed plus the dogs (the Pigrims had a female Mastiff and a small Spriger Spaniel that survived the Mayflower trip. Did the Indians leave their dogs back at the wigwam with no food for three days?)

In addition to venison the Indians would have contributed corn (as meal and cornbread) and beans and turkeys. Lobster, eels, clams and mussels were plentiful as were fish. Winslow indicated that the four men sent "fowling" were very sucessful. The"fowl" would have been migrating waterfowl; ducks, geese, swans and maybe cranes. They were probably shot on the water. The Pilgrims' "fowling pieces" were muzzle loading, funnel shaped matchlock shotguns, not hardly suitable for shooting birds on the fly like in skeet-shooting. Wild turkeys were very plentiful.

Wild food collected by the Pilgims in the fall season would have included grapes, both red and white, plums and rose hips. Strawberries, raspberries and blackberries would have been gone by then. I think that the huckleberries would have been gone too. Cranberries would have been avilable, but not for cranberry sauce (they had no sugar). Likewise they had pumpkins but no pumpkin pie (not only no sugar, but also no shortening or wheat flour or ovens). They collected walnuts, butternuts, hickory nuts, acorns and maybe chestnuts. Indians harvested wild onions, wild garlic and watercress to jazz up their diet.

What else did they not have that are part of traditional Thanksgiving menus today? No mashed potatoes. White potatoes were not yet in cultivation anywhere. No yams or sweet potatoes either. Sweet potatoes were rare, thought to be aphrodisiacs, affordable only by the wealthy. No apples or apple sauce. Apples were not native to North America. (Also no ham or bacon. The Pilgrims had no hogs).

So what did they have? They grew corn, onions, garlic, parsnips, collards, carrots, parsley, turnips, spinach, cabbage, pumpkins, squash, beans, sage, thyme and marjoram. Maybe radishes and lettuce. And they had salt and pepper but they didn't put a pepper shaker or mill on the table, using it only for cooking. In Pilgrim houses, all cooking was done in the fireplace.

As for table manners: As I said, the Indians used their fingers. The Pilgrims did not use forks. Their "silverware" consisted of a spoon and a knife. At that early stage they used wooden plates. It is said that they also handled food with a piece of cloth. I can't quite figure out how that went. Did they reach over and pull off a drumstick with the cloth? (I devour drumsticks with my bare hands and then use a piece of cloth to wipe my mouth and fingers).

NEXT: Communication and Recreation

The First Thanksgiving (reposted for 2010)

(This post was originally sent as an email to family and friends in 2008.)

The traditional "First Thanksgiving" was a three day feast in the early fall of 1621 at Plymouth Plantation involving 53 surviving Pilgrims and about 90 Wampanoag Indians.

Three of our ancestors were there, but unfortunately two were in the graveyard. Pratt ancestor Degory Priest and Woodruff ancestor Thomas Rogers died that first winter. Thomas' son Joseph, then an adolescent teenager, survived and participated. Pratt ancestor Phineas did not arrive until 1622. His famous run through the snow took place in the late fall of 1622. Degory's daughter Mary, who would eventually marry Phineas, was still in Holland.

William Bradford tells of their situation (modern spelling):

"They began now to gather in the small harvest they had, and fit up their houses and dwellings against winter, being all well recovered in health and strength and had all things in good plenty. For as some were employed in affairs abroad, others were exercised in fishing, about cod and bass and other fish, of which they took good store, of which every family had their portion. All the summer there was no want; and now began to come in store of fowl, as winter approached of which this place abounds and when they came first (but afterward decreased by degrees). And besides waterfowl there was a great store of wild turkeys, of which they took many, besides venison, etc. Besides, they had about a peck of meal a week to a person, or now since harvest, Indian corn to that proportion. Which made many afterwards write so largely of their plenty to their friends in England, which were not feigned but true reports."

PERSONAL NOTE: As I type this I am looking out over my back yard towards the river. The yard is snow covered and there are 17 wild turkeys foraging. One tom is displaying. Two are pecking at an ear of corn hanging by a small brass chain from a maple tree. That ear replaces one that was stripped overnight, presumably by deer. I have seven that regularly visit my yard and meadow.

Edward Winslow describes the feast (17th century spelling):

"our harvest being gotten in, our governour sent foure men on fowling, that so we might after a speciall manner rejoyce together, after we had gathered the fruits of our labours; they foure in one day killed as much fowle, as with a little helpe beside served the Company almost a weeke, at which time amongst other Recreations, we exercised our Armes. many of the Indians coming amongst us, and amongst the rest their greatest king Massasoyt, with some ninetie men, whom for three days we entertained and feasted, and they went out and killed five Deere, which they brought to the Plantation and bestowed on our Governour, and upon the Captaine and others. And although it be not always so plentiful, as it was at this time with us, yet by goodness of God, we are so farre from want, that we often wish you partakers of our plentie."

NEXT: Menu and table manners

Best laid plans

Karen posting here: Well, for your news of the Verlen Kruger Memorial you'd best rely on the Memorial website, as Pa did not complete commentaries for the construction (despite my nagging).

However, I ran across emails he sent in 2008 about Thanksgiving, and our family history therein, and thought you might enjoy seeing those.

The next three posts will tell that story.

Verlen Kruger Memorial - May 6, 2010

Dan Smith sent photos of the work in progress as the memorial was constructed. I've selected a few that represent the steps toward completion of the memorial.


May 6:  This photo shows the concrete being poured to make a base for the engraved bricks that surround the statue. A landscape architect designed the compass-in-brick that is a main feature of the plaza. Dan Smith is ramrodded the project. The location is in Portland's Thompson Field which is between Dan's house and the river.

Acknowledgements: Goose Creek Foundations; photos by Dan Smith and Steve Willard. 

Verlen Kruger Memorial

We are going to update the blog with a series of posts to tell the story of the final days of the Verlen Kruger Memorial project. The project climaxed with a dedication ceremony in Portland on Saturday, June 26, 2010, in the presence of Jenny Kruger, Verlen's widow, and her family, along with hundreds of Verlen's friends and admirers. At the ceremony the artist-sculpter unveiled a full-sized bronze statue of Verlen leaning on his paddle and gazing down the Grand.

The craftsmen sign their work

Mike is looking quite pleased with himself, don't you think?

More on the Old #10 - it will be ready tomorrow

New look for the bow. The wood burning looks great.

Old #10 in process

Mike Smith has been documenting his restoration of Old #10.  Here are a few to whet your appetite to see the finished product on Saturday. Notice the restoration is being supervised by Verlen himself.

Mike and Mark Racing Old #10!

This is a post from the Verlen Kruger Memorial website about Old #10.

MIKE & MARK RACING OLD #10
IN THE 10th ANNUAL HUGH HEWARD CHALLENGE
APRIL 24!

As a good story goes, this one got even better by Mike suggesting he and Mark put Old #10 to the test, Mark agreed to team up and a new tradition is born. Although the Hugh is not a race, the plan is to race #10, then begin offering the boat up to other teams during future Hugh's, to challenge previous records set paddling in Old #10. Mike & Mark are both accomplished racers, though never before on the same team, resurrecting Old #10 becomes historical in its own right and an exciting day to be a fan of paddle sports and Verlen Kruger, who said it best, "All things are possible." Thank you Mike & Mark for a great new tradition. And of course, thanks to Jim Woodruff's never ending vision. 

2010 Hugh Heward Challenge - not just for racers!

The Hugh Heward Challenge is an annual paddling event commemorating British fur trader Hugh Heward and seven Frenchmen’s 50 mile sprint in two birch bark canoes down the Grand River on April 24, 1790.

One thing I want to make clear is the Hugh Heward 50 miler, though many racers participate, is a re-enactment of an historic journey, not a race. Anyone can participate, and there are shorter segments to paddle for those who don't want the full 50 miles - a Half-Hugh is about 25 miles, and a Quarter Hugh is about 13 miles.

For full details, visit the Verlen Kruger Memorial website: http://www.verlenkrugermemorial.org/id34.html

Old # 10

I wrote this for the Verlen Kruger Memorial website. You can read it there, or below:

"Old #10"
by Jim Woodruff

Sherry Schmits has a one-chair barber shop in Delta Mills, located only a couple hundred yards from the Kruger Canoe Base on the Grand River. She says she cut Verlen's hair once in a while. One day she was cutting my hair (she spends more time hunting the hairs than cutting them) and I was talking about my "Following Verlen and Valerie" Email project. Then out-of-the-blue she announced that she owned Verlen's 10th canoe. Well, as you can imagine, that got my attention.

On investigation I learned that she had acquired the canoe from Leon Tillitson, Jenny's next door neighbor, and that there were pictures of it in Phil Peterson's book about Verlen's career, All Things Are Possible. Page 39 is a full page photo of Verlen and Clint Baird paddling a dark colored racing canoe with the number 10 on the bow. On page 285 is a photo of a stack of canoes in Verlen's yard including two #10 canoes, one green and one black. Phil's caption says "Derilect canoes, designed, built and raced by Verlen, still rest at Kruger Base". Sherry's canoe is the black one. I call it "Old #10" for the race number, not the tenth one built by Verlen.

I felt that she had an historic artifact and that it should float again on the Grand River. I volunteered to make it happen and she enthusiastically agreed. She Emailed me photos of the canoe which I showed at the Quiet Water Symposium. Then via Email I pushed the buttons of Dan Smith, Mike Smith, Charlie Parmelee, Mark P (still paddling in Florida) and Stacy Krause.

Shortly I got a response from Mike Smith saying that he had had some "seat time" in that canoe when he and Verlen used it to train on the Grand for the 1991 AuSable Marathon. In short order after a minimum of questions he volunteered to take on the restoration project. You can expect to see "Old #10" at Thompson Field during the Hugh Heward Challenge and the Statue Dedication Ceremony. When you see it on the river depends on Mike's progress (with Scott Smith's help).

According to Stacy Krause, Mike's daughter, Mike and Verlen paddled #10 while training for the AuSable Canoe Marathon. He was pretty animated describing it, "piece of junk training boat." He added, they were both pretty poor and it was all that was available for training at the time, not to mention they didn't even have a racing canoe yet. Training began with #10 in April 1991; not sure at the time whether they would even compete in the AuSable. They took #10 up and down the stretch in front Verlen's house during Mike's lunch breaks while he was employed at GM. They also paddled it in Portland near the Weber Dam practicing wider stretches of river. Mike remembers him and Verlen getting caught in a massive thunder and lightning storm there in May describing it as, "nasty, it was pouring so hard we couldn't see each other, it came up quick and it wasn't pretty." They paddled back to the car in near zero visibility. #10 was the only tandem they practiced in, he doesn't think there was anything printed on the canoe at the time besides Verlen's name and #10, "hard to recall," Mike said. He doesn't know where the #10 canoe came from, and until now had no clue it was still out there. Of course, there was no way to know at the time it would come back into his life, 19 years later and needing a little touch up. They eventually borrowed a racing canoe and competed in the 1991 AuSable Canoe Marathon, finishing in a respectable time thanks to hard work and old #10.

The Topologist in front of his display at the QWS

This is daughter Karen posting. What a great picture of The Topologist, Jim Woodruff, standing in front of his display. It's like a traveling library of river and canoe lore - only he wrote half the books in it!

Thanks to Project Lakewell for the photo.

Charlie Parmalee is 2010 Verlen Kruger Award winner

The Topologist with 2010 Verlen Kruger Award winner Charlie Parmalee

The Verlen Kruger Award is given annually to a person who has supported and promoted conservation and paddle sports in Michigan. 

I'm proud of my "ulitimate son" Charlie. Prestigious award, well deserved.

Quiet Water Symposium Saturday March 6 at MSU Pavilion

At last year's Quiet Water Symposium

The Quiet Water Symposium runs from 9 to 6 on Saturday at the MSU Pavilion off Mt Hope Road at the South end of the MSU campus (out in the farms). I will have an exhibit of my stuff. Son Jim will be displaying his new Bell Rob Roy 15 canoe with an exhibit on the history of the Rob Roy (circa 1865) which I have prepared. Erik Vosteen and Kevin Finney will be nearby with their elm bark and whitewood dugout canoes. Signed copies of Kit Lane's "Grand" are being given to thank financial backers of Grand River Expedition 2010. If they have any left they will be selling them at the QWS.


http://www.quietwatersymposium.org/