Sunday Stories: I Remember Sutherland by Ronald Fye Part 3

Part three of the reminiscences of Ronald W. Fye as recorded in the 1881 - 1981 Sutherland Centennial Book.

My wage was $20 a month. When Waldo Warren got me, he also got The Log, the local high school paper, of which I was the editor, and he was thus guaranteed a weekly supply of school news, to which he devoted an entire page each week. I was given complete freedom over style and the content of that page I was responsible for weekly. When I left his employ after a year, he said, “If I were you, I’d forget about ever being a printer. You don’t really have the aptitude for that end of it. You’ll do much better if you concentrate on the editorial and writing part of publishing and stay away from the ink and presses.” I think I had just allowed the giant presses to chew up several yard of newsprint. Whenever that happened, hundreds of stamp-sized pieces of paper had to be picked off the drum and out of the ink which had the consistency of molasses.

My job at the Courier transformed me from a rebel without a cause into a responsible teenager with one. Whereas my overactive mind and energy had been devot3ed to thinking up ways to punish and thwart the school authorities for what I thought was their authoritarian lack of attention to our social needs, I now had the “considerable, I thought) responsibility of producing weekly something of value for the community, for which I was earning approval, praise, and encouragement, commodities which, with but a couple of exceptions, I’d found in short supply in my relationship with school administrators.

I got encouragement from Beth Sarrah (Mrs. Marvin McNeel) to get a college education and pursue a writing career, but she was an exception among my teachers. Some had already written me off as a failure in school and were willing to wager on lack of success in life. I’ve been a teacher (Subject: English to the brightest 40 students at the best high school in Utah). I know now that I was a problem student at Sutherland and I would be classified as a juvenile delinquent today in any high school I’ve ever taught. I have to admit that in my approximately ten years of teaching young adults, I’ve never taught a student as challenging as I must have been. I was even expelled from high school in one awful, terrifying moment. The words still thunder in my ears: “You have been an organizer and a disruptive influence. We do not want or need your kind in our school. You are expelled and you are not welcome to ever come back.”

I know now I probably deserved to be expelled for a lot of reasons, but not for the reasons I was given. If only I’d had a Bill Fulcher to challenge me and show me how to afford a college education, I might have been so busy preparing for college I knew was possible that I think I would not have had time to be a problem to anyone. But best of all, I would not have had to struggle so hard the next fifteen years to get a college education. I was so convinced after my high school experience I was without academic ability that it came as a tremendous shock at 35 years of age to discover that not only could I handle regular college work, I could even go to graduate school.

I became the first in my mother’s family in 100 years to get a college education and only the second in my father’s family to earn an advanced degree. A college education was an expensive luxury people of our class did not expect to attain. Class consciousness in Sutherland? (Yes, in my growing up years, Sutherland possessed a class consciousness that exceeded anything that exists in sophisticated San Francisco).

My parents had such complete and unquestioning confidence in the school system that any punishment I ever received in school was doubled on my arrival home. And to make sure, my mother seemed to have spies everywhere in the faculty who made sure the news of my misbehavior preceded my arrival at the dinner table. On the day I was expelled, my Grandfather Combs was so disgraced, he refused to speak to me or even acknowledge my presence in the room for the shame I’d brought on the family for being “an organizer and a disruptive influence.” He was a law-and-order man who once threatened to whip me good when he heard I’d attended a dance without paying the 50 cents admission. “No grandson of mine will ever fail to pay his own way…” etc.

My mother was beside herself on the day of my expulsion, filled with as much shame as if I’d been excommunicated from the whole educational process for all eternity, which I in fact had been. There was nowhere to finish school if not Sutherland; although for a week until I was invited back to school I was secretly making plans to relocate to Hershey and graduate there under an alias. In short, I was well served by every experience in my home town except school. As a former educator myself I know things for me could have been / should have been better. I am truly sorry for my teachers, especially for those whose lives I may have shortened, that I wasn’t more cooperative. I’m gratified to see the conditions are better for today’s SHS student than they were for me in 1946. I have good reasons to support the alumni fund as generously as I am able if it will save just one student from the agony I experienced trying to overcome unnecessary obstacles in getting a college education.

Creative Energy Solutions - Right for Nebraska?

I'm spending the next month in the Antelope Valley of California, anxiously awaiting the birth of my granddaughter. Since sitting at home staring at my daughter trying to detect signs of labor isn't our idea of a good time, we have been out exploring.

Lancaster/Palmdale is in the high desert north and east of LA. Local leadership, whether in community administration or in the business community is serious about capitalizing on renewable resources to power their town.

There are small wind generators on the light poles in the Sams Club parking lot. According to what I can find out, these 17 wind turbines are expected to generate 76,000 kWh annually, enough to power approximately 6 homes. There has been so much controversy lately over Nebraska wind energy and the dismal record we have of capitalizing on this renewable resource, small projects like this might be a way for us to move forward.

Wind energy doesn't have to mean huge wind farms like these that are seen on the largest wind farm in California in the mountains north and east of Lancaster. These look almost like they sprouted from the mountains, but would be much more disruptive on this scale in the beautiful Nebraska Sandhills (not to say that the stark mountains here aren't beautiful).



According to the Nebraska Energy Office, Nebraska ranks 4th in the nation in reliable wind - I think we can all attest to that. Historically, using the wind to generate power is nothing new for Nebraska. Wind generators were not uncommon before rural electrification. While Nebraska may not have quite as many days of Sunshine as Lancaster, CA. We do average nearly 70% sunny days. Perhaps we could also follow the lead of Lancaster mayor Rex Parris in his goal of "being... the first city that produces more electricity from solar energy than we consume on a daily basis." To that end, local businesses and government facilities erect sun shades to protect cars in parking lots, and those sun shades double as solar panels. Win win situation.

'Atta Boys and Aw Shucks

I am coming to embrace my inner crankiness. Here is evidence.

Grand Island Masonic Temple

Congratulations to our friends in Grand Island who have recently announced the renovation of an historic Masonic Temple in their downtown into a $12 million luxury hotel. I am so happy for their community and am looking forward to seeing the incredible transformation this will mean for their downtown. Kudos to the energetic and far sighted leadership in Grand Island for making this project happen.

Contrast that with North Platte. In 1974 our community awoke on a Sunday morning to rubble where the beautiful historic Union Pacific depot once proudly stood. The walls that for five years had sheltered more than six million of America's finest troops on their way to the front lines of World War II had been demolished in the blink of an eye. Fingers are still being pointed at Union Pacific Railroad and our community leadership at that time with both saying the other is to blame. 

Hardly a day goes by when I'm telling the story of the North Platte Canteen that I don't hear the comment "It's such a tragedy that the depot was torn down." I concur.

Next came the 1930's building at North Platte High School. Years of

deferred maintenance had turned it into a sorry and dilapidated structure, yet still beautiful and stately. With the school needing to expand, alternatives to demolition were actively being sought. A strong plan was put the voters by the North Platte Public Library which would have involved a bond issue for total renovation. Despite community outcry over North Platte's propensity to dispose of our structural heritage, it was soundly defeated by the voters and the beautiful building is no more.

Recently we heard of the plans for the St. Patrick's Parish of the Catholic Church to demolish the beautiful, historic McDaid building. And only a small murmur of outrage over the terrible gap in North Platte's cityscape this decision is going to mean. While I understand the Parish is under no obligations to involve the public in their private decisions, the right thing to do would have been to let the community know this was the direction they were moving and mobilize a task force to seek and fund alternatives. It is going to be a sad day when the wrecking ball claims another victim.

And that brings us to the endangered Pawnee Hotel building. If you have ever been in the Pawnee, you know of the beautiful art-deco architecture in the two-story atrium, the classic mezzanine, the previously elegant Crystal Ballroom, the fun of the Tom Tom Room and White Horse restaurants. We are kidding ourselves if we think this beautiful historic building is safe from the fate of the Depot, 1930's school building and the McDaid building. It is no secret that the current owners are financially strapped. When the decision is finally made to shutter the current use of the building, is there a plan in place to save it? Are alternatives being explored? Is funding quietly being sought? Is there any LEADERSHIP anywhere in North Platte stepping up to the plate?

Thankfully, there is one bright spot in the dismal skyline of downtown North Platte, and that is the 1913 Post Office currently being renovated into the Prairie Arts Center by Creativity Unlimited Arts Council. Thank God that these wonderful men and women had

the vision and the drive to make this happen. Having been involved with this energetic group for many of years, I can tell you that fundraising to save this building has not come easy. With all of the outcry over the loss of the Depot and the 1930's school building, one would think that donations would come pouring in to save this local landmark, but sadly, that isn't the case. However, this is a very determined group of people and they will get the job done.

So what's next, North Platte? What is the next loss of our architectural heritage we will wake up to? And where is the leadership to keep it from happening?

Sunday Stories: I Remember Sutherland by Ronald Fye Part 2

Part two of the reminiscences of Ronald W. Fye as written in the 1891-1991 Sutherland Centennial book.

Those were the days before small towns lost out to regional shopping centers, when Sutherland streets were filled with people every night, but especially on Saturday night. That was when farmers and ranchers came to town with their families to shop and to visit. Everyone’s favorite pastime, it seemed, was to drive downtown early enough to watch the passing parade of friends and neighbors.

From the advantage of our cars, shared with friends or relatives, we had an endless stream of topics passing before us we could discuss. Depending on who was with us, we likely heard a lengthy recitation of the genealogy and family connections of the subject who had caught our attention. With such rich background available to us, we were invariably able to draw conclusions and to make assumptions that either condemned or excused the person so caught in the focus of our gossip. It seemed no scandal, no mistake, nor no misbehavior went unnoticed or unpublished or, I might add, unremembered.

Those were the days that the great transcontinental Lincoln Highway 30 snaked through town past the north side of Grandma and Grandpa Fye’s property. I often stood on the north sidewalk with cousins in the late afternoon of a summer day. We would eat warm, ripe tomatoes from Grandma’s abundant garden and we would watch an endless stream of vehicles pass into the sunset. We imagined those places from whence the vehicles had come being far-off license plates and the places to which they were headed. The romance of the moment was overpowering as we contemplated the possibilities in the sunset filtering through the dust. Those were also the days the railroad’s steam engines were just beginning to be replaced by new diesel locomotives, still so new and novel that we would often race to the corner for this glimpse of the future. Travel posters fueled our dreams and pictures of happy couples on the platforms of observation cars always disappearing romantically into a golden sunset beyond mountains that had to be located in Wyoming, Idaho, California, or some other of the playgrounds of the rich and famous.

Best of all, Sutherland was right on the path of all this movement and excitement. I never thought of Sutherland as isolated. I saw Sutherland as an observer on the national scene, but hardly an important participant (except for the extraordinarily large number of servicemen in the town contributed to World War II, perhaps more per capita than any other town or city anywhere). At any rate, perhaps it was inevitable that I would become a newspaperman. When I was about fifteen, I had written an anonymous letter to The Sutherland Courier complaining that the school administration had refused to allow students to use the new gymnasium for parties for any purpose but athletic events. The reason the school gave us was that wartime shortages (including presumably teachers to chaperone such events) prevented such luxuries.

Months later when he was interviewing me to become a “printer’s devil” or his apprentice in the newspaper office, Waldo Warren, publisher of The Sutherland Courier, explained to me pointedly that “it is not the policy of The Sutherland Courier to ever publish anonymous letters.” Waldo left no doubt in my mind that so far as he was concerned the letter I’d written was not and never had been anonymous to him. I seem to recall that he had published my letter anyway, because he agreed with what I’d written, but he added a disclaimer and a warning about any more unsigned letters to his newspaper.

I was bored with school and became an unofficial party planner. If nothing else, I had plenty of ideas and was willing to share them with others anxious for a project, not always constructive. I had finished my four years of high school in three so I could get a head start on college. But I had not a penny for an education. I had never had any encouragement from teachers (except Beth Sarrah McNeel) to go on to college and consequently had no confidence I was even college material. If I were to be completely honest, my efforts to complete four years of high school in three was not so much to get an early start on college as simply to escape from the tyranny and boredom of high school one year sooner.

No one ever explained that grants and scholarships were sometimes available. If I had known there was financial help to go to college, I could have made everyone happy by getting on with it. As it was, I languished an extra year in high school, taking only one class and working full time at the Courier office, learning to set type, run the presses, and mail the paper.

I am becoming a crank

You all know a crank. Someone who is single minded and who thinks their opinion about a particular issue is the only one that's right. I recognize the symptoms. As a public servant, I've had to deal with them many times. Now, I know that I am one.

I have criticized the Lincoln County Department of Roads for their plans to tear down the historic North Platte River bridge north of Sutherland.

I have criticized the Village of Sutherland for tearing down a downtown building.

I have criticized the Village of Brule, Nebraska for tearing down a downtown building.

Now I have to turn my crankiness to the St. Patrick's Parish in North Platte for their plans to tear down the historic McDaid building and replace it with "six classrooms and a large meeting room."

The Parish Priest who helped to build the McDaid school once helped Father Flanigan found Boys Town in Omaha.

I also have to criticize our Nebraska Legislature for proposing a budget that eliminates funding for Nebraska's Main Street program - replacing the entire organization with a part time person within the Department of Economic Development who will also have other duties in addition to administering the Main Street program.

The Main Street Program has been hugely successful in helping Nebraska's small rural communities retain the historic integrity of their downtown districts, thereby improving the economic well being of their citizens - attracting entrepreneurs and visitors. What is wrong with us?

These old structures were built to last! Many are approaching 100 years, and with a little TLC could easily last 100 more, which is more than can be said for the cheap metal buildings they will be replaced with.

So yes, I know I'm a crank, but until the rest of Nebraska falls into step with preserving our built environment, you're all going to have to put up with it!

By Muriel Clark

Legacy

Sadly, we recently attended the funeral of a dear family friend, Don Arnold, a man who deservedly wore the title of "pillar of the community." It seems we have lost too many of these recently, and I wonder where the next generation of community builders will come from.

His son Dave, who I believe will one day be a force to be reckoned with in Nebraska politics, gave his eulogy. The poise and character of this articulate young man gives me hope for the future, as does the legacy his father left behind.

Our friend lived by three abiding principles: Work hard; Have faith; Serve others.

Dave left us with a challenge. After our time of mourning is over, let's honor Don's legacy by living our lives according to the principles Don lived by.

Wouldn't our communities be wonderful places if everyone did?

Thanks for stopping by. The coffee is always on.

Sunday Stories: I Remember Sutherland by Ronald Fye Part 1

Excerpted from the 1891 - 1991 Sutherland Centennial Book.

Because it is so long, I almost overlooked this reminiscence in the Sutherland Centennial Book. I'm so glad I didn't, as it resonates on so many levels. As I said, it is VERY long, so please bear with me as I share it over several weeks.

The best search results I have found show Ronald Fye as an 84 year old, currently living in San Diego, California. That sounds about right for a 1946 graduate of Sutherland High School. My heartfelt thanks to his wonderful family who was/is so tight knit and who raised such an intelligent, articulate man, and of course, as always, to the team who curated the Sutherland Centennial Book to preserve these stories.

Part 1
It has been nearly 45 years since I decided I would probably never find my future in Sutherland. I left Sutherland that long ago to get my education and to find my place in the world. Since then, I have become increasingly appreciative not only of the first 20 years of my life in Sutherland but also of the small-town values I’ve carried with me from those early years.

As we get older, the earliest memories we have of the forces that shaped us become stronger and more vivid. I remember a Sutherland so long ago and so far away that I sometimes wonder if the Sutherland I have come to idealize ever really did exist at all. I hope so. But I suppose I need confirmation from others that the Sutherland I remember is not one that I’ve created in my imagination. There’s a reason that’s important: If the best parts of the Sutherland I remember really did exist, perhaps there’s hope we can recreate the best parts of our past for a better future.

I remember with nostalgia a Sutherland that was at its romantic best in the 1930’s struggling through the depression years. I remember a Sutherland that was at its patriotic best in the 1940’s when we were working together to win the war. In the 1930’s, we were poor together. In the 1940’2, we worshipped together, we danced together, and we cried together and grieved together as we buried our dead together. Then after the war, when life was still simple and we could keep most of the money we made, we began to prosper together.

My mother was a Mormon convert. She had us baptized into her faith. But it was too expensive and

 inconvenient to go to North Platte for Mormon Church services there, except on very special occasions. That’s why I was raised in the Methodist Church in Sutherland, because my mother had been a Methodist and she loved the old Methodist hymns. She claimed, however, that her brothers refused to take her to church because, to their great embarrassment, she would sing “Old Black Joe” when she didn’t know the words to the hymn. She probably perfected the art of singing the wrong words and the wrong notes at the same time.

I know now from experience in my own faith something of the effort and commitment that Sutherland congregation enjoyed from such wonderful members as Pansy Cox. She painstakingly taught us children to sing “Up on the Housetop” and other children’s songs almost before we could talk. Then she coaxed those songs back out of us at the annual Christmas programs and at other specials. Ray King was another dedicated member. He managed with such good humor to teach dozens and maybe hundreds of Sunday school lessons to generations of restless young men. I was too young then to appreciate the examples these good people were setting each Sunday for a whole generation of us simply by their faithfulness.

There were other such pillars of faith I remember clearly, though I was barely in grade school: Ray’s parents were in their pew every Sunday, and toward the front of the chapel in a pew along the east side, there regularly sat an elderly Mrs. Shoup, the mother of Wesley and Bert. She spoke with great precision and authority, and I was impressed more than she ever would have imagined. I seem to remember she had a cane and she wore a fox fur stole which gave her a regal and aristocratic air whenever she stood up to bear testimony of her faith in God and to thank Him for his many blessings to her. Perhaps my memory of Mrs. Shoup standing regularly in Methodist service was why Mormon testimony meetings did not seem at all strange when I was older and began attending my own church.

Later, in high school, because so many of my friends were also either Presbyterian or Catholic, I sampled those services too, and was influenced permanently and positively by the Presbyterian Sunday School classes taught so excellently by Lucille Shoup.

More to come.