By LARRY WICKSTROM, FHS Class of 1966

It’s a week before Christmas, our last one as students at Falls High School.

As is usual this time of year, the snow is crunchy underfoot and the cold air penetrates through everything we wear; but we are used to it, so we are not hunkered down at home trying to stay warm. TV reception is often times marginal anyway and there are better things to do. The five of us have had a typical Saturday and we are making plans for the evening hours. Our Saturday bowling league has just finished and as we walk outdoors, the talk is about what we will be doing this afternoon and later, after supper. Larry Sjoblom (Sjobie) thinks he can get the family car for the evening, so that means we will spend at least part of it cruising up and down the streets of International Falls, listening to some far-off radio stations that actually play 60’s music, and getting on each other about anything that comes to mind. Fred Gunderson (Freddie) drove to bowling because he lives in South Falls, which would be a long, cold walk to the Border Bowl. Paul Anderson (Andy Jr.), Robert Julien (Bobby), Sjobie and me (Larry Wickstrom – Weasel) pile into Fred’s car and he drops us off at the corner of Third Avenue and Eighth Street, where the rest of us live within two blocks of each other. We agree to meet at Sjobie’s house at 6 and drive out to pick up Fred for the evening. The afternoon will be spent doing chores, homework or as little as possible at our respective homes.

Nighttime
When supper is over, Andy and I meet at the corner and walk the block to Sjobie’s; Bobby comes from a block away the other direction and we head out to Fred’s place. There are no games or dance in town tonight, so our early cruising eventually lands us back at the Border Bowl, where we talk Abby (the manager) into free shoes to go with the three games for a buck deal, and our bowling team gets in another practice round. Sjobie tries his best to break pins with sheer speed and strength, Paul and Fred knock pins down with their smooth styles, Bobby screws around trying all sorts of unique approaches and I do my best (though not very good) imitation of those left-handed pros we watch on TV. Bowling is one of our main attractions/distractions in the long, cold winters we have in the Falls.

When the bowling is done, we start a couple of hours of serious cruising, getting as far south as Roger’s Corner on Highway 53 and as far west as the golf course cut-off road on Highway 11; then we turn around and do it again. And so it goes, until the gas we bought is almost gone, so we stop at the little café on Highway 53 next to the Red Owl for French fries and a coke. Sjobie always has the most money, so he eats his own plate of the best fries in town, while the rest of us share a large order. Not ready to call it a night, we head for the Wickstrom house to play a few games of our favorite card game, whist. Since it is a four person game, we rotate in a new player each game, so one of us gets to kibitz while the others play.

We walk into the skinny, two story house at 503 8th St. My father, Clifford, is sitting in his favorite chair watching one of those cowboy shows we all watched in the ‘60s, the ones where both the good guys and bad guys were obvious to all. Mom is in the kitchen, punching down bread dough for the second rising, and we all immediately start thinking about caramel rolls and hot buns fresh from the oven. I knew right away that the card games would be going on at least as long as it took for each of us to inhale one or more of both the buns and rolls.

We fiddled with the old tube radio in the kitchen and scored with WGN out of Chicago, the occasional loss of reception not bothering us in the least. The cards were dealt and we settled in to wait for those warm, fresh baked goodies to come out of the oven. My mother was Mom to all the guys at times and there was a lot of talking and kidding around while she worked. Soon, the main sound coming from the living room was the ample swells of my old man’s snoring and things were quiet upstairs, where the three youngest boys had finally settled into sleep, a couple of hours after Mom sent them up there to go to bed.

Baked goodies
Time passed and warm baked goods started making their way onto the kitchen counter. Soon there was milk (fresh from my uncle’s cows that morning), real butter and hot buns and caramel rolls that melted in your mouth. The last card game was over and we sat and finished off our late night snack. By now it was early Sunday morning, so the rest of the gang headed out the door to go home. It was at least 25 below zero and icy snow crystals had fallen while we were indoors in the warmth of the kitchen. I watched, listening for the telltale sound of a cold engine groaning, but coming to life. Then, as I headed back into the warm house, I reminded myself I had to get up at 5:30 to deliver Sunday papers along with my brothers, Clifton and Robin. TV programming had ended at midnight, so Mom turned off the snowy screen and she and I rousted the old man out of his snoring so he could continue sawing away in bed. Mom said she would clean up and sent me off to bed because we had papers to deal with in the morning.

I stumbled up the steep stairs in the dark to the second floor, checked quickly to see that the three J’s (John, Jim and Jeff) were covered and made my way into the north room, which I shared with Robin and Clifton. The two girls (Marietta and Marjie) shared the south room, through which we passed to get to the bathroom we all shared upstairs. I thought about brushing my teeth, but since it was already Sunday morning, I rationalized that it could wait until after the papers were delivered. The door to our room was stuck, as usual, so I carefully worked it open and undressed in the dark, quietly slipping into bed, so as not to wake my sleeping brothers and the family dog (Tootie), which I knew was snuggled in under the covers somewhere.

The ice on the inside of the windows was at least a half inch thick and the glint from the corner street light shined through the thin curtains that covered the windows. Outside, you could see large plumes of smoke rising straight up from the paper mill downtown on the river, casting a large shadow on the moonlit snow and promising cold winter fog to go with the 35 below zero temperature at 5:30 in the morning. Another typical, cold December night in the Falls I thought as I drifted towards sleep — but then I smiled to myself, for Christmas was only a week away. Church did not start until 11 a.m., so once the papers were delivered and the oatmeal or cream of wheat was eaten, I could slip back into bed for a few more hours of warm sleep.

Christmas time memories — life was simpler then, sometimes hard, but always good. Best wishes for a memorable 2008 Christmas and a great 2009 for you and your family.