N.C.Berg

I was getting ready for Winter, cleaning out the old gene pool and came upon something interesting near the bottom. My grandfather and namesake, Neil C. Berg emigrates from Denmark at the age of 16. He went to back to school, learned English (no accent), and volunteered when WW I broke out. He returned a shell-shocked Gunnery Sergeant, baggage he dragged around the rest of his life. 

Then things get a little murky. I know he went to the Moody Bible Institute in Chicago, before marrying Grandma in 1920, and possibly after. He also worked in California, but I'm not certain of the timing of that. I do have records that indicate he was ordained as a Baptist minister in 1920, the same year as he married and took his first church in Nebraska.

The report card below and a diploma indicate he apparently went back to school and graduated later from Des Moines University in the Spring of 1928, The sequence of events becomes a bit fuzzy. He had nice neat consistent report cards right across the board. No one every implied that N.C. was not intelligent or well read. Hell, he even picked up bonus points for Chapel Attendance.

These dates only came important when I Googled the history of the demise of Des Moines University. I recall him talking about student unrest, but apparently more than I realized and he was in the last graduating class.

"...things came to a head when board chairman Thomas T. Shields fired the entire faculty on May 11, 1929. A few hours later a riot broke out among the students. Angry students marched on the administration building in the afternoon, and that night 150 students attacked the building where the board of trustees was meeting. They threw eggs and rocks and attempted to break down the door to the room where the board members were hiding. Eventually police drove the students from the building, but not before they had wrecked the front office of the school administration building. The school closed in September 1929."

Adena, Starjumper

This one from my daughter's blog made me smile really deep inside.

Buffer

The dog's name on the papers was Berg's Buff Orpington - my Father's quirky sense of humor. The Buff Orpington is actually an old chicken breed of the same color. We just called him Buffer. He was a Field Bred Cocker Spaniel, the hunting dog Cockers were before breeders wrecked them by downsizing and citified them. They were the local breed of choice for pheasant hunting, all of the same line of sturdy brush busters, most the same color.

Now people buy "free range" chickens. In the small town 1950s, all the dogs were "free range". The only dogs that were chained or leashed were runners or biters. The dog adopted me as his sidekick. As long as I could remember he was a constant, by the bed when I woke up, with me everywhere I went all day, and up the stairs when I went to bed. When I started school he went with me, did his doggy things all day, and was back waiting for me by the door when I got out. I didn't think of him as a pet. He was more like an extension of myself.

That closeness occasionally got us in trouble. One time we were chasing Mrs. Andrew Hanson's miserable old cat. We came barrel-assing around the corner of her house, the cat running for it's life, the dog trying to end it, and poor little Gunnar just trying to keep up to watch the ensuing fight. The old lady opened the screen door for the cat and slammed it hard. Buffer never missed a stride. He went through the door like it wasn't even there. Hence fore, we were banished from that neighborhood. One more place we couldn't go.

The one that was the worst was the "peanut incident". Two things you should know. One, peanuts were sold in bulk from large burlap bags which sat on the oiled wood floor of the grocery store. Two, it was not unusual for my dog to follow me into the store. Yep, he marked those peanuts really well. Another place we were banished from for life. It seems like a lot of people swore at my dog.

Like most dogs, Buffer was a superb judge of character. He got along with just about everyone, except that old bastard, Alfred Johnson. Now Buffer was oversized for his breed, a substantial animal. Old Alfred was not allowed to pass. He had to cross the street to get by to get uptown and pick up his mail. This may have been a tactical error by Buff. Alfred had a reputation as a dog hater, a poisoner, and probably finished off Buff. At least I blamed him. We found Buff dead under Rhoda Jensen's back porch. My buddy Polecat and I buried him in the backyard. Polecat's father was the preacher, so we marked it with a cross made from a yardstick, assuming he was a Christian dog, and quite likely a Baptist.

Rest in Peace, Buff Orpington Berg.

More BICYCLE

This is also for Fritz. And for Cheri. And for Dorothy. And Debb. My sister. And all the others who have expressed indifference, distaste, hatred and outright contempt for all things bicycle.

Tough. I got a McLean fabric badge from Dale Brown today! Whoopee!

The West Bank

Through college my daughter lived in the Cedar Riverside or West Bank neighborhood of Minneapolis. It's arguably the hippest place in town, but the music bars are slipping away. When I was young I liked the Triangle with it's 4 foot square stage over the door. It was good enough for Bobby Zimmerman, but I frequented it because the bartender was David "Douche" McLeod, who would slip me drinks. It's gone now. Addy said she used to listen to the music coming out of the open door of the Viking Bar up the street from her apartment. It was THE blues bar for fifty years. The kind of place Bonnie Raitt would go play AFTER her show in some "better" place. It closed the summer Addy turned 21, so she could never go in there - legally anyway. They say the 400 Bar is about the last of the old stations still left. These guys are some of the regulars. Musicians who just never quite got around to making a business out of it like Bobby Dylan did. Every town's got'em. The Koerner, Ray and Glover is interesting. John Koerner played the Viking every Sunday for 20 years. Now he builds boats and does a little remodeling. (Note the tape measure on his pocket at the awards ceremony.) Dave Ray died about five years ago. Paul Metsa is a little younger. I posted it because in his opening jumble of musical stream of consciousness he threw in We're Goin' Win Twins. Reason enough. Go Twins. Willie Murphy used to front Willie and the Bees. This one is notable because he seems so out of place at a grand in a lounge, it's usually a guitar in a dive. Appears to be at ease at the keyboard though.

"...Koerner became a hapless victim of gravity"

Summertime?

One of my favorite songs. I have an LP with a killer version by Vassar Clements. Of these three, I'm giving my vote to Ella and Satch. Hard call - so different.

Reynolds 753 McLean?

Stuff that damn few people care about:

Reynolds 531 is tubing that was introduced in 1935 and still used occasionally even today for traditional bicycle frames. Reynolds 753 was introduced in 1980. It is essentially heat tempered 531 which allows for thinner walls. A lighter bike results, but it is more expensive and difficult to work with. So maybe there is a 753 McLean out there - certainly an ultimate bike. Dale Brown is the gate keeper for all things McLean. Following is part of a response to the posting of the Performance catalog.

I had forgotten (or not sure I even knew) that McLean agreed to be in the Performance catalog.

Also interesting is your mention of Reynolds 753. I remember him sending back the qualification kit. He shouldn't have had any problems there as he only used high (56%) silver brazing compound but I am not sure if he ever actually made a 753 frame! Again, I never saw one nor heard him talk about making one for anyone... But who knows? Be nice to see it if he made one.

Cheers
Dale

If you are interested in vintage lightweight bicycles, join Dale as his guest at: http://www.classicrendezvous.com/

Rum and Bicycles

Lucky Lestrud was over a couple of days ago and we spent 5 hours getting in trouble. Lestie is a rum connoisseur and is sitting on 5 cases of a Barbados rum that is so obscure that it can only be purchased in one equally obscure liquor store in the world. And that is not hyperbole. Even with the aid of the internet and a credit card with a high limit, you cannot acquire this stuff. Sworn to secrecy, if I told you any more I would have to kill you... just let it be said that this is the Nectar of the Gods and after five hours we had not finished tasting it, nor finished discussing religion, bicycles, politics and family. The third passive aggressive phone call from his wife convinced us we were finished ...temporarily.

Lestie had a bicycle shop at one time and he brought over some books, tapes, old Campagnolo catalogs and some 1982 Performance Bicycle catalogs. At that time Performance Bike was 28 pages of high end components, one of the places where guys in Jerkwater, Minnesota could get outfitted with Campagnolo gear or fine frames. On Page 6 of the Fall/Winter catalog, along with Pinarello and DeRosa, there were McLean framesets! One of the things that jumped out at me was that in 1982 you could buy a Pinarello frameset for $495, for $595 a DeRosa, and for $695 a McLean. If you wanted a McLean made from the new exotic Reynolds 753 it was $930! I don't know how much inflation there has been, but $930 had to be about as much as you could spend on a bicycle frame in 1982. My McLean is virtually identical to the photo, even in size and color, except my mine has fastback seat stays and the older Cinelli pressed steel lugs rather than the investment cast lugs advertised. Also, even though M05030 is apparently also a "Perfect Pleasure" model, it does not have the fender eyelets shown. It is kind of poignant, by the time the catalog was printed and distributed, McLean Fonvielle finally making the bigtime, he had died unexpectedly of a heart attack at the age of 29.

Marking the Passing of Time

Years ago the beautiful young woman left her small rural village on a long journey. Out of the corner of her eye she probably caught blurred fleeting glimpses of the mile markers slipping by as she traveled through life. Today she arrived at Milestone 60.


Happy Birthday Lorna, from Gunnar and Addy.

New Ways To Feel Old

I just noticed something on my avatar photo to the left. Look at the cars over my shoulder. And the little girls playing in dresses. Things change I guess. I'm glad I haven't.

From Soup to Nuts

"Andy Warhol is everywhere. He's in Europe. He's in Asia. He's quoted in papers every day. He has energy still. He's just, you know, still alive".

The soup cans are from a 2004 Campbell's limited run. They aren't really slanted. They are shot at an artsy angle just to irritate the viewer.

The quote is from an article in ARTnews. As I was reading it, I was struck by the distance from New York City to Jerkwater Lake, Minnesota. Andy Warhol was never taken seriously as an artist out here. He was a odd P.T.Barnum blip on the evening news that soon vanished into the News of the Weird, to be forgotten forever. He is not "everywhere" nor "alive". In general, art here in the outback involves recognizable scenes that are populated by either children with oversized eyes, running horses or flying ducks...but not rows and rows of soup cans or Marilyn Monroes.

(Disclaimer: I was an art major. My daughter began life as an art major, only to switch later to philosophy, for better job opportunities.)

McLean Redux, Redux, Redux

No more pics? So I lied. I "found" some Cinelli toe clips. Also, I stuck domed Indian head nickels in the bar ends. Close up photography makes one see the lint and fuzz around old Iron Tail, and the fact that the bar ends should have had the saw marks buffed out a little. Eh? If Cino Cinelli thought they should be shiny, he'd have made them that way.