Never Really One of the Guys, the story of Minnesota's first female Conservation Officer

Acknowledgements

To Mike, the love of my life, thanks for being the best friend a girl ever had and the most caring human being I have ever met.

To Jamie, Thanks for bringing me inspiration and Love and two beautiful grandchildren, Brody and Kylie.

To Megan, Thank you for sharing Mike with Jamie and me, and for Sullivan.

To my Mother, Thank you for being such a blessing in my life and for your Love and undying support.

To Larry Nelson, Thanks for your red pen guidance; and to Sandy for volunteering Larry.

To the following officers; THANKS for making a big difference in my career: Wayne Forsythe, George Jurgenson, Denny Lang, Pat McGuire, Jim Nickish, Brad Schultz and John Vadnais.

To Kathleen Wallace, Thank you for the great example you set for women in the DNR and for fighting for me when I needed it.

To Laurie, I know you are looking down and smiling, thanks lady, I miss you.

This is my account of events that occurred over the course of a 30 year career in Natural Resources Law Enforcement as a Minnesota Conservation Officer as I broke ground for the women who would follow while I battled the men who tried to keep their world intact by attempting to put women in their place and out of their way.

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to my Father who passed away a short time ago and leaves an enormous unfillable hole in my heart and life. He was my best friend, my greatest supporter and the man who brought a smile to every life he touched. From my Father came my love of the great outdoors. Our fishing and camping trips inspired me to become a Conservation Officer. He never once questioned my career choice or wondered why I wanted to work in such an unusual profession. I am so thankful to have had him in my life and wish everyone could have someone in their life who loves them so unconditionally and fully as my father loved me.

Prologue

Herring Gulls stood just beyond the rolling Atlantic’s reach, a pair of brown pelicans glided by in formation just inches above the breakers. Like me, the gulls relaxed on the soft, warm sand here at Humiston beach in Vero Beach, Florida. The sky was a deep blue, the water aqua, and the tan sand unique to this beach along with the rhythmic beat of the surf made for an exquisite scene.

As I sat there enjoying my newly retired life contemplating my good fortune, along came an elderly gentlemen with his perfectly trimmed white hair and impeccable tan, as is the norm there, and we struck up a conversation.

Great day isn’t it? How do you like Florida? he asked with his east coast accent.

Yes, it is another awesome day here in Florida, I love it. I answer with my Midwest accent.

"Do you live here? He inquired with a tilt of his head.

Yes, I do now. Where are you from originally?

New York, you?

Minnesota. What did you do for a living in New York?

I was an insurance salesman. How about you, what did you do?

I was a Minnesota State Conservation Officer, or Game Warden, and I recently retired.

He repeats Minnesota with his version of a Minnesota accent, OHHH how nice, Min-neee-SOHHH-ta! He chuckles, and his face lights up and he excitedly asked several questions all at once; Game Warden, Wow! That sounds like an awfully fun job, was it? Are there a lot of women in that field? How the heck did you decide to be one of those?

I looked into his inquisitive eyes and said, You got awhile? Pull up some sand and I will tell you my story….

Chapter 1-Growing up

I grew up in a suburban neighborhood on a five acre wooded lot seven miles north of downtown St. Paul, Minnesota in a small town called Little Canada. I was raised by my stay-at-home mother, Diane, and construction laborer father, Norm. My family included two older brothers, Dick, and Stu, and a baby sister, named Stacey. My mother is a beautiful woman, whose childhood ended suddenly with the early death of her father. She raised us to believe that life was short, do what you enjoy and live your dreams. When it was time for chores I chose to cut the grass over washing the dishes because it got me outdoors. She never tried to force any of us into a certain mold. I was never told by my parents you can’t do that because you are a girl, I was taught to dream big and work hard.

My Mother is an extremely capable, very independent, lovely lady who always puts everyone else’s needs ahead of her own. She is an awesome cook, but can also repair a lamp or lawnmower. She always did whatever it took to keep things running around the house. My strong will definitely came from my mother. I don’t ever remember her saying, Wait ‘till your Dad gets home and he will look at it. Of course, she never waited for Dad to get home to discipline us either; we got it right then and there. One time when I was quite little, she had spanked me and sent me to my room for disobeying her and spilling green food coloring on her ivory carpet (yikes). When Dad got home from work he rescued me from my room and took me outside with him for a walk. That had to have made her furious, but she never let it show.

My Dad had the strongest work ethic of anyone I have known. If there was any work to be done he was on it, whether it was at his house or yours. He worked all year long when most of the other construction workers in Minnesota were laid off in the winter. My Dad was also very patient with people, especially his family. When he got tired of me borrowing his tools to build tree forts and chugs (go-karts without motors) with the neighborhood kids, instead of complaining, he just bought me my own tool box of used tools. On a northern Minnesota camping trip when I was 12 a friend of mine and I took my Dad’s small boat out fishing on the Big Sandy River. The many rocks there quickly cleaned off all the hooks one by one on every fishing line in the boat. When we got back to shore and showed the lines to my Dad, he just laughed it off and said, At least you two aren’t quitters, way to hang in there. Then he showed us how to tie on new hooks. No yelling or getting upset, just a great attitude, a quick smile, and a helping hand. That was my Dad. I had the extreme privilege of having a father whose face lit up every time I walked into the room. No one in the world was ever as happy to see me as my Dad, every time too, not just once in a while. What a great love to have grown up with and what a blessing he was in my life.

In grade school the neighborhood kids, mostly boys, and I spent most of our waking hours, outdoors, coming in only for meals and bedtime. I was known as a tom-boy; playing sports, climbing trees, building tree-forts, and racing chugs we built by hand. Our neighbor’s Dad, Floyd, was a Boy Scout leader organizing great stuff with their troop like camping, swimming, and outings. It looked like a lot of fun. I tried to join and was told: No way, no girls allowed. I joined the girl scouts instead and quickly learned it was not the same kind of fun. We made puppets, and canned jellies. I soon quit. Nowadays things are much better, but back in the early 70’s they were still teaching girls how to be housewives and mothers. Although probably good skills to have, and enough for some girls, I knew that wasn’t enough for me and was ready to push open whatever closed doors were in my way to make things change.

Growing up my brother Dick cut the grass for Mr. Kerfoot down the street, he paid well and it was a nice job for a kid to have. When Dick got old enough for a better job and a car, my other brother Stu took over the job. As he was getting older I could not wait for my turn to cut the grass. But when it came time for me to take over, Mr. Kerfoot decided that was not a proper job for a girl and gave it instead to Chucky next door, two years younger than me. I was very upset. I cut the grass at our house all the time and would have done an excellent job for him, but when I explained this to him he just offered me a little polished agate bracelet he had made as a way to make me feel better. I did not want a sympathy gift, I wanted the job so I could buy my own stuff! Who made these stupid gender rules anyway?

People are shaped greatly by the events that occur in their middle school and early high school years. A big one for me was the Vietnam War, which took my brother, Dick away from us for a few years along with all the neighborhood guys he hung out with. I vividly remember protestors at the airport spitting at some of the soldiers coming back from the war. Although I was only 11 years old, I started questioning decisions made by those in charge. It was the start of my need to always ask why.

Early on I knew that things were different for girls, and I didn’t much like which end of different girls got. Change was happening all around me. Issues like Gloria Steinem and the women’s liberation movement were underway. I watched the battle of the sexes tennis match between Billie Jean King and Bobby Riggs, where she kicked his butt and thought here we come, look out world. Songs like I am Woman, with the lyrics, I am strong, I am invincible, I am woman; along with Woman in the Moon, that starts with, I was warned as a child of 13 not to act too strong, try to look like you belong but don't push girl, and ends with "keep on pushin', don't believe a word about things you heard about askin' too much too soon, cause they can hold back the tide, but they can never hold the woman in the moon."

I got my first real job at 15 in 1973 working at United Artists at Maplewood, a newly opened multi-screen movie theatre. At that time, six theatres in the same building, was a wonder that people toured. Nowadays there are 20 plus theatres in a building, and no one thinks twice about it. I started out as a candy girl, working behind the candy counter at $1.69 an hour. I had a blast working there, working with kids my age. It was managed by a crazy boss we all made fun of, which gave us something to unite around, plus we were treated to all the free movies and popcorn we could want. A few months into the job I wondered what it would be like to be an usher. The manager was having none of that and sternly advised only boys could be ushers. I thought that was a crummy deal, why couldn’t girls do that job? One night when the manager was gone I traded places with one of the ushers. Their job had a lot more freedom and time to talk with people, much more to my liking. But when the manager found out, he put a quick stop to that. Candy girls were supposed to look cute, wear short uniforms, and not carry any heavy stuff or make waves. All of the girls hired had been asked if our hair colors were natural and what dress sizes we wore to ensure a variety of hair colors, and so we would all be within a dress size or two of each other. When you go to a movie now, people would think that it was very odd if people of both sexes did not work in the ticket area, concessions area, or management office, but back then our roles were very well defined.

The theatre was my first experience in ethical choices between following my friends and doing the right thing. First, I noticed one of the projectionists was a technological wizard and had rigged up a system to bug the manager’s office. I thought it was clever, but could not for the life of me, think of why anyone would want to eavesdrop on the boss. Even more shocking, I noticed some fellow United Artists theatre managers were coming over with extra keys and borrowing our theatres candy. I had worked with several of these people and considered them friends. When I learned about these shenanigans going on and asked them to stop: they declined. I thought about it for a couple of days and then went to my manager. Now, this guy was highly unlikeable, ornery to most of us, a total chauvinist, and showed plumbers butt every time he bent over. Even so I just didn’t think what they were doing to him was right. I told him he needed to change his locks and give his office a good going through for electronic devices. He of course, wanted to know how I knew about it. Ratting out my friends was one line I couldn’t cross, but allowing this to continue was something I couldn’t do either. I said he could ask around but the truth would not change. Eventually he followed my advice, changed the locks and cleaned his office which put an end to it. Going against what my friends were doing wasn’t easy, but what they were doing was wrong. I was so glad when it was all over and things got back to normal, at least as normal as things ever got around there.

One weekend night while I was 16, several robbers in ski masks burst through the front doors just as we were closing out the box office and concession stand for the day. A couple of girls and I were still behind the candy counter doing that night’s inventory. The manager had already taken our cash into the office. As one of the robbers banged his gun on the box office Plexiglas window and demanded money, one of the others pushed all the ushers and one poor movie patron, into the men’s room. The last guy stood in front of me nervously waving his gun in my face and demanded money. When I said ours was already taken, he went ballistic screaming and frantically waving the gun around.

The box office was not opening, so that guy moved around to the office door in the lobby and began pounding and kicking on it. Of course the manager did not want to open the door, so there we all stood, scared to death as to what they would do next if the door was not opened. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the manager opened the door, gave them some money and they fled. When the police arrived, I couldn’t give a good description of the robbers, but remembered quite vividly the snub nose stainless steel .38 Smith and Wesson revolver that had been held on me for several minutes!

That helpless feeling of standing there hoping the police would come before anyone got hurt or killed was never forgotten. It sparked something in me that made me take an interest for the first time in law enforcement. After that night, wanting to become a police officer took on a whole new meaning for me. My boyfriend’s family thought I was crazy and said, Oh no, that is way too dangerous, you better think about doing something else. The greater my attraction to law enforcement became, the more I knew it wasn’t going to work with this guy and we broke up a few months later.

In 1975 while I was a senior attending Frank B. Kellogg Sr. High, and sitting in my Office Education class, our teacher, Mr. Weber placed a pile of envelopes in the front of the room. These envelopes held the names of available jobs that our class would be applying for. As usual, I was busy talking in the back of the room, and by the time I got to the front of the room, the only envelope left was for a job with the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources (DNR). I had never really heard much about the agency even though my family had visited state parks many times and had fished and camped a lot. I had never met a Conservation Officer either, even though one lived a half mile up the street from my parent’s house. I was kicking myself for missing out on all the good lawyers’ office jobs and real estate office jobs some of my classmates had picked up. It was not the first, nor would it be the last time my talking would get me into trouble.

Chapter 2-Starting with the DNR

The phone number listed on the envelope for my job interview was answered, DNR Southern Service Center. I thought I might be interviewing at a gas station!! Once again, talking too much may have my classmates becoming lawyers and realtors, and I would be pumping gas!

It turned out not to be a gas station at all, but rather a center that serviced the field operations of the DNR for the southern half of the state of Minnesota. My interview landed me a job as a student worker for $2.59 an hour. Ironically, my bosses there were Diane Moe, and Norm Kordell, the same first names as my parents. I remember thinking, no matter where I go I can’t get away from Norms and Dianes telling me what to do! Diane’s maiden name, Newman was even the same as mine. What were the odds of that??

Norm and Diane were a great team to work for and made our jobs enjoyable. Diane was a very nice, hard-working lady with no kids of her own who back then always treated me sort of like a daughter or little sister. She had a lot of patience with my bad typing and encouraged me to explore the things I was good at. Norm was full of energy, and wore a fabulous smile almost continuously. He loved to tease me and pull my long blonde hair. He taught us the meaning of customer service and hard work. We were all taught to drop whatever we were doing, whether work, or a lunch break, and get whatever supplies drop in field personnel needed, no questions asked. We did whatever we were asked to do there. I filled in at the warehouse when needed, delivered items to other field areas as needed, picked up supplies, and was happy to do it.

I attended high school classes for three hours every morning, then worked at the DNR for four hours earning class credit. I continued working nights and weekends at the movie theatre. My schedule was full, but even at 17, I always loved staying busy. The very small office Diane and I shared was out on the uneven concrete floors that eventually became the auto repair shop. Large overhead doors left open during warm weather provided our air-conditioning. My equipment was a small desk and an IBM Selectric typewriter, no auto-correct, no computers. I only typed about 60 words per minute and it took me three attempts to pass the typing portion of the test for my clerk typist job. I remember spending quite a bit of time on a perfectly typed letter for Diane, feeling so proud of myself and then along comes a bird flying through the open overhead door and drops its little surprise signature on the page! I was not at all happy, for a half-second I wondered if Diane would notice and then started it all over again.

A big part of my job was issuing uniforms which took days and days to do by hand. We had 800+ uniformed employees throughout the state, (Foresters, Fisheries technicians, Park rangers, Wildlife technicians) in addition to the 170 game wardens. All individual uniform requests were compiled then hand written on a spreadsheet, so fabric and items could be ordered. Since we had our fabric custom dyed we then would have to roll out these huge fabric rolls, measure off the right amount to fill that year’s orders and send it off to be made into pants and jackets. The process for issuing them was tedious and time consuming. Nowadays it is all done by an outside vendor, an excellent change!

Issuing uniforms I learned you had to keep a close eye on game wardens, if they had the chance to pick up an extra uniform piece their sticky fingers would show up. I would later learn they even borrow things from each other given the chance. They never thought of it as stealing I guess, because it was all property for state use and not your individual property anyway. Officers going to be away from their squad with other wardens nearby had better lock it up or things could disappear.

I had just turned 17 and the contrast between my job at the movie theatre and my job at the DNR could not have been starker. Most everyone who worked at the theatre was a teenager except two managers who were only five years older, and two projectionists. At the DNR only three of us were teenagers. The atmosphere at the theater was mostly fun, with a little work mixed in. The DNR was the reverse. The exception was Holiday parties and after work volleyball, and softball games. As years went by most of the after work activities were gone and all the Holiday fun was pretty much squashed by all the rules coming down from the main office.

One younger person who worked there with me was Dave; he was a great guy, just a year and a half older than I. Dave was a little shy, with bright blue eyes and a willingness to help whoever was in need. He worked as a laborer, fixing and maintaining things around the building. Since our building was pretty ancient, it gave him lots to do. We dated a time or two, but it was not meant to be. He was so nice I ended up thinking of him more like a brother which is not a good mix for dating.

Dave was among some coworkers who liked to play practical jokes. Once Dave played a little joke on me by leaving a dead mouse he had trapped in the building under some papers on my desk. After my loud screams and embarrassment subsided, I knew I had to get even.

Eventually the day came when we had another mouse that was trapped in our office; so I knew this would be my chance. He always brought his lunch in a lunch pail with each item wrapped individually in wax paper, even candy bars. At the end of the day after he had eaten his lunch I found his lunch pail and took the dead mouse, wrapped it up in a piece of his wax paper and put it back in his lunch pail. I thought when he gets home to clean it out, BAM there will be the mouse, he will probably jump and scream like a little girl. The next day he came into the office and said with no expression. Thanks a lot you nearly scared my Mother to death when she cleaned out my lunch box. Oh, I felt about two inches high, apologized profusely, and learned some people are better at practical jokes than others! Come on though: Shouldn’t a guy clean out his own lunchbox?!

Minnesota had its worst fire season ever in 1976 with over 3400 wildfires. To meet the challenge a fire center was set up in Grand Rapids, MN. In the Southern Service Center we ordered all of the fire-fighting supplies and equipment. We worked many evenings and weekends painting fire boxes for the equipment, stenciling every piece of equipment that went into the boxes and on the trucks and did whatever it took to get the equipment up to the foresters working the fires. Once we got a late shipment and were told the equipment was needed up north right away so Dave and I drove all the way up to the fire to deliver it. When Dave and I arrived at the fire site a few hours later where we had been told to go, flames were shooting up all around us in the ditches, and crowning across the tops of trees, I had never seen such a thing. I was very nervous and a little scared. Dave was worried about all of the equipment onboard. We were not sure which way to go to get out. Do you back up? Do you push forward? We could not tell which way the fire was moving just that it was all around us at once. We drove on farther and finally flagged down a local fireman and said, Hey where is the DNR? The guy shouted back, They pulled their people out of this area two hours ago; you guys better get out of here too.

We drove back through the area and into the nearest town where many of the tired, smoke-faced foresters sat outside the local fire department resting and figuring out their plan for the next day. Understandably exhausted by a long day, they had little interest in unloading our truck or tell us where we could unload. I found a phone and called Norm Kordell knowing he needed his