Old Lady Erb Narrowly Escapes the Devastating Effects
of Gravity
The "Valley" is a picturesque place
mainly because of the steep hillsides of limestone created patiently by the caress and occasional bite (at flood stage) of
the Eau Galle River. The riverbed itself contains ancient geological treasures like agate and the iron ore obligingly deposited
by glaciers and to which the town owes its existence. The wooded hillsides, once denuded by the iron making industry, are
home to one of my favorite wildflowers, the trillium, and of course, rocks --lots of rocks. . I imagine that even the Indians
that inhabited the Valley investigated the effects of gravity on these rocks as we did. The rocks could be rolled down the
steep hillsides and we felt the speed and power of these rocks as we helped Mother Nature get on with the inevitable. The
hills above the Rutherford and Klanderman homes had also become a stash for refuse which included old tires. The tires did
not escape the notice of Bob and Jim Rutherford, who, to put the best face on it, extensively explored the valley for bloodstones,
Lake Superior agate, and chunks of iron ore.
Thus it was that I found myself with Bob, Jim and Schuyler, on top of the hill with
the tire cache. It seemed like a good idea to test the effects of gravity on some these tires. The first tire we shoved on
its way down the hill was stymied by a tree, fell over, and stopped. The second tire had a better ride, bouncing off a rock
or two before hitting a tree. We were now getting the idea that picking an optimum path through the trees and rocks would
give us a more satisfactory roll. It was tire #4 or #5 that starred at demonstrating the effects of gravity. It hit several
rocks and bounced straight up into the air rather than to the side. Each bounce was more spectacular than the previous one
and we thrilled as we said things like; "Wow, look at that bounce", "That sucker is really flying now". Clearly this tire
was going to escape the trees and roll straight down the street that dead-ended at the bottom of the hill. As we gloated over
what we had done the acceleration of gravity suddenly became more like e = emcee squared (and I'm not talking here about the
maturing of Geraldo Rivera). Old lady Erb, on foot, had just entered the street, as the tire was about to go at a 90-degree
angle to her path. The relative speeds were; Old Lady Erb 100 steps per hour (though in fairness much of that hour was spent
sitting), the tire 30 mph. Old Lady Erb's glasses were so thick and heavy (lighter plastic lenses had not been perfected yet)
that they slid down and closed off her nose. But at best she did not see well. We knew she could not see the tire bearing
down on her. As she tottered toward the middle of the street the tire narrowly missed her by less than three feet. She must
have heard the swoosh or sensed something and she stopped and looked around though the tire, well beyond her now, didn't.
She continued on to cross the street unharmed.
We died and were resurrected in an instant and I for one never rolled any more rocks
or tires down a hill.
Dick Gueldner
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SHENANIGANS
I was born in Eau Claire, Wis. (not WI as it is known now) in my Aunt Laura's
house. My earliest recollection is of Eau Claire in our rental house on Bellinger St. I was about three and one-half years
old at the time. At Christmas (1939?) the cute young femme fatale, my age, who lived upstairs, invited me to see their Christmas
tree and the gifts under it. The stairs were dark and creaky and for a moment I wondered what I was getting into. Their apartment
was dark too but I guess that was to better show off the Christmas lights. Perhaps I remember the occasion because her parents,
who were not at all scary like the stairs, gave me candy and cookies. I liked my friend upstairs too, though I don't remember
her name.
The fire station was located at the end of the street and was very close to
the house. I don't remember the truck with sirens blaring but there was often some interesting activity at the firehouse.
One day Ruth, my sister (she was often seeking adventure) and I went to the fire station, uninvited I am sure. I remember
how impressed I was by the red fire truck, polished and with bright chrome. Another interesting feature of the firehouse was
the vivid yellow fireman coats with helmets hanging on the walls for easy access. I think I remember a pole coming from the
upstairs for the firemen to slide down to the ground level for easy access in case of a fire.
Uncle Bunny (Gust Heidemann) and Aunt Laura lived only a block or two away
and I remember we visited them after we left Eau Claire. One of the most interesting things about this house was that they
always had a pet canary, Pally. Actually there were a series of canaries but they were all named Pally. As one died a new
Pally was acquired to take the old Pally's place.
When I was about four, we moved to a farmhouse just outside Mondovi but I
don't remember this at all. I do remember later, living in my grandmother's house in the town of Mondovi, about 25 miles from
Eau Claire. My grandfather Frank had already died. My Grandmother was large and intimidating and appeared not to like noisy
children. "Children are to be seen and not heard". I tried to stay out of Grandmothers way. My Mother may have helped me by
insisting, though I protested, that I take an hour nap every afternoon in the summertime. Those were the longest hours I ever
spent in my life.
The street was very pleasant and in the summertime shaded by the large elms.
But in spite of the bucolic setting there was plenty of action on the street. The urchins up the street, past the Canar's,
had a brother who ate angleworms (as we called the earthworms named for their only known, practical function, angling or fishing).
He had enough, one day, for all to sample and was generously offering them to the small crowd gathered for the spectacle.
I was not inclined at all to eat an angleworm and became worried that everybody else would gladly accept this supposedly gourmet
food. Luckily, the rest of the crowd declined the delicacy and I was off the hook.
The street also provided me with my first cigarettes. My Dad smoked and, at
five years old, I was curious as to what the attraction was. It did not occur to me that this was a cool thing to do. I thought
the taste of the cigarette was the important thing. It was common to see somebody throw a cigarette butt out the window of
a passing car. Since the recent economic depression was still fresh in everyone's memory, this luxury item was smoked down
to a small butt and a live one might burn your fingers if you were not careful with it. Also if it was not retrieved promptly
after it flew out of a car window the butt would go out and couldn't really be smoked. Learning these things allowed my evaluation
of cigarettes to proceed for a period of about five days. The first butt I harvested tasted terrible and I thought maybe I
just had a gotten a bad one. On each succeeding day with different butts the verdict was the same, TERRIBLE. I decided that
smoking was not for me. Thus it was that I quit smoking at age five! A goddam child prodigy.
Speaking of butts there was the time that my brother, Bob, was wrestling with
neighbor John Broadfoot, underneath the elms in the yard of my grandmother's house. John was older and bigger than Bob and
it looked to me like Bob was getting the worst of it in spite of the fact that it was a friendly tussle. I was feeling a little
left out and wanted some of the action. I decided to help Bob out. Since Bob was getting bested he was on the bottom and John
was on top, butt up. With all the aplomb of a civil war general I mounted an attack from the rear, on the rear, and bit John's
butt. John, surprised, cried out, He bit me and momentarily I was afraid that he would beat my butt. But (or
is that butt?) instead John doubled up laughing and everything was OK.
It was in Mondovi that the genetic tendency of the Gueldner children to chip
their front teeth first appeared. Bob fell off the Smith's brick wall and chipped his front tooth. Ruth dove into the city
swimming pool and chipped her tooth on the pool bottom. I waited until I was living in Spring Valley before my tooth-chipping
episode. I was throwing a full Coke bottle with a cap on it up in the air, catching it, until it descended with the cap striking
my front tooth. A neat piece was removed, mostly off the back side of the tooth.
Hopefully this is a recessive gene.
Dick Gueldner
