Off in a Cloud of Whaledust: A Snapperback's Life

Off in a Cloud of Whaledust

A Snapperback’s Life

Copyright © 2005 by Stefni Prestegaard Westphal, Kristi Prestegaard Bolstad and Pete Prestegaard

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ISBN-13: 978-0-595-36078-9 (pbk)

ISBN-13: 978-0-595-80528-0 (ebk)

ISBN-10: 0-595-36078-5 (pbk)

ISBN-10: 0-595-80528-0 (ebk)

CONTENTS

Introduction And Acknowledgements

Off In A Cloud Of Whaledust—A Snapperback’s Life

Some Family Photos

Remembrances Of A Snapperback

Appendix 1: Paul G. Prestegaard Financial Precepts

Appendix 2: A Prestegaard Family Timeline

A Legacy Chronicle

In Memory of Paul Gerhard and Doris Louise Prestegaard

- - - - - - -

Two People Who Mattered

INTRODUCTION AND ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

On April 27, 1911, on the kitchen table of the house on the southeast corner of 9th and H Street in Lincoln, Nebraska, a modestly signal event occurred: the birth of Paul Gerhard Prestegaard, who was to be the only surviving son of Gustav and Carrie Prestegaard, and their third child of four (an older brother died at childbirth).

Over the next 86 years, this child and man wove a fabric that affected, controlled, stimulated, blessed, sometimes hurt, but substantially overall enriched the lives of many, in some cases deeply, in some ways paradoxically. He was, to some, stand-offish and inexplicable, to some even cold, but to nearly all who met and got to know him, he was a character whose life made theirs different and better. I think it is safe to say that few who knew him went away totally unaffected.

My Dad, this same Paul Gerhard or Gay Prestegaard as he was known before those words took on a pejorative cast, (and now by implication could have provoked him to fisticuffs), was surely private all his life, an outgrowth I believe of being almost painfully shy growing up, and clearly dominated by his strong sisters, two older and one younger. He also had a lifelong burden of feeling he did not achieve academically, that is, to the degree that his family, and ultimately he, wished he could have. He wasn’t the lawyer, doctor or minister his parents wished for at various times, but he was something just as notable, an able engineer, a diligent worker, an excellent provider, a family man, a story teller, and an inventor of some note.

Since my Dad’s passing in 1997, a blessing these past few years is that fate has allowed me time to research and reflect on who he was, as well as who our earlier family forbearers were, and, in truth, in the process, better come to grips with who I am. I now know much better the why of him, what he stood for and what those roots, his roots, meant for him and mean for our family.

In a real sense, we who come after him serve as his legacy and are his immortality just as those who follow, are for us. In this regard, this book is but a signpost to that legacy. Like many who transit our brief time here, in the best of circumstances it is hard to capsulate just what the mark on history or progress might be of any one person. Perhaps my Dad’s time here was not the signal kind of life to which monuments attest or results are known to all.

But then, it rings true, doesn’t it, that even the most luminous of men are only able to emboss small marks on the long term minds and memories of others as time goes by. And often we note, books transcend the sturdiest and longest lived of monuments.

So, in this modest work, posthumously, he spins his last tales, and reprises his snapperback role one final time, for now and always!

I would like to especially thank friend Donita Moorhus who prodded and pushed to get this oral history done while we still could. The timing for doing this was while my parents visited sister Kristi, who then lived in suburban Washington DC in 1995, and where Donita had moved after many years in New York. Without Donita’s wise queries and quiet guidance, (and she ultimately became a friend of Dad’s too), his thoughts and memories in this cameo work would surely have been lost.

Thank you to sister Kristi Bolstad too, who initially transposed, or as she calls it, transmogrified, the tapes to paper and computer, and created the idea and initial draft for the valuable Timeline in Appendix 2. Thanks too to both sisters Stefni and Kristi, and to Don Warner, all of whom provided valuable editorial, factual, and grammar input that helped to focus, elaborate and clarify what is here.

Thanks also to Chris Westphal who spent many hours organizing and transmitting pictures, some of which are shown in this work and to Gary Bolstad who helped to pull the project together on computer and tape, and who provided copies of Dad’s voice recorded during the oral history process.

Finally, thanks to my wife Barb who provided help with grammar, encouragement, picture research, reflections, sustenance and needed editing and critique.

Any errors that remain are surely my responsibility alone.

There are many others who also played a role in this book as the reader will find in the remembrances section, which was inspired by a similar work by the Toftey family. Without a doubt, there would have been many more had I not unfortunately waited so long to finally get this done. At this stage, so many good people and friends of Dad’s have already passed on.

Great grandfather Oley Nelson cut a wide swath, as a legislator in Iowa, a founder of the town of Slater, in service to the country in the Civil War, later as an oft quoted patriot eloquent in speaking about the US, as a participant in the founding and handling the finances of St. Olaf College, and as a writer who chronicled his life and migrations of his families. Thanks to him, as well as to Peder and Ingeleiv (Lena) Saelthun Prestegaard for daring to make their families into something special in Amerika, and to Oley’s wife Ingeborg (Lizzie) for helping to steer Oley so well too.

Finally, we must recognize too Gus and Carrie Prestegaard, Dad’s parents, for their success, sound life qualities, resources, guidance and motivation for their families, especially in areas of education and finance. As shown in this work, Gus was a constant help and guide as Dad sought to make his way in business. Appreciation goes too to Polly and Sig Mundhjeld for their meaningful contributions to the lives of their adopted kids, all of our family, and for creating the magical family place of Aftermath.

_________________

As I wrote the first draft of my remembrance, shortly before 7 am on November 30, 2004, gold fingers of dawn reached out in glorious panoply through my office window facing east. Due to our high vantage, one can actually see in the clouds the curvature of the earth, not so large a place after all. Brilliant variegated colors, of azure, umber, pink, and orange interspersed with white and grey flecks as night departed. The whole scene appeared like some oriental fantasy painting.

To the right, some 30 miles south, one could just make out man’s self importance in the form of a few buildings of Manhattan, truly small specks when compared to nature’s rolling hills in the Palisades to the East. To the South too, on special occasions, twin fingers of light at night can be seen that memorialize the site of the World Trade Center, the lights projecting limitlessly skyward from places Mom and Dad visited, and near where they invested their resources, and to where they now rest.

Another day was soon to launch. My parents, their parents and their parents’ parents helped assure that we who follow can enjoy this country, and with it, a great measure of personal freedom. They made a base and heritage for us, that is, in fact, truly priceless…and defined what it means to be Prestegaard.

PP            

Editing note:

As much as possible, surely more than 99% of the time, the words that follow are printed as P. G. Prestegaard, Dad, spoke them. In some cases, commented in brackets, latter day corrections have been made for clarity or where we are sure there was a consequential factual mistake, which could detract from the message Dad was trying to communicate.

As was his way, there are some places in this book that reflect Dad as a forthright, strongly opinionated person, as well as a good looking Norwegian squarehead. (This phrase sometimes has been extracted to the term blockhead, one he probably wouldn’t really argue with either.)

The title of the book comes from a favorite saying of his, and his lifelong pride of connection with the sport of football.

In the interest of reporting the man as he was, contents are also presented with the hope that, in a few instances, others will understand these to be his opinions colored by events, the full scope of which may not be clearly known today. By presenting the material in this manner, we hope the reader will better understand the dimensions of a real person. For a real person is surely who he was.

Goodparents…give their children roots and wings. Roots to know where home is, wings to fly away, and hopefully good judgment to exercise what’s been taught them.

—Dr. Jonas Salk as reported by Bettie B. Youngs in her book

Values from the Heartland.

OFF IN A CLOUD OF WHALEDUST—A SNAPPERBACK’S LIFE

Following is a transcript of Paul G. Prestegaard’s interviews with Donita Moorhus, taken in November 1995. DM is Donita Moorhus. PG is Paul G. Prestegaard. The transcriber is Kristi Jo Prestegaard Bolstad.

Tape 1 Side 1—November 22, 1995

DM: This is an interview with Paul Prestegaard, conducted November 22, 1995 in Vienna, Virginia. The interviewer is Donita Moorhus. We’re on the recorder now, and I want to ask you about the family into which you were born. Tell me about your parents.

PG: Well, I’d rather start chronologically, and I’d rather talk about my parents’ parents.

DM: Oh, excellent!

PG: My mother’s grandparents, Oley and Lizzie Nelson, came from adjacent farms [in the area of Hordeland] in Norway. [This area is] located about 3 or 4 hours…south of Bergen. There were somewhere between 20 and 30 farms…and my grandmother came from a family called Ersland; the name of the farm…was Ersland, and [not too far away] was another farm which my grandpa—her husband’s family came from. His name was Oley Nelson.

I think Oley’s wife’s name was Ingeborg. Kind of a pretty name. Oley was actually born in the United States. But he was conceived in Norway. In other words, he came from Norway, but he didn’t come in the normal way (laughs). [Ed. The initial text here said Halsnoy, an adjacent island to Hordeland, but this in fact was where our relative Ade Toftey emigrated from, not our family].

DM: He didn’t emigrate in the normal way…

PG: No, he didn’t. And they came through [New York], and they came up the Hudson River… on a river steamer to Albany, and then they came across northern New York State on that canal that leads over there to—

DM: The Erie Canal.

PG: Yeah, the Erie Canal. His mother did. Oley was riding inside! Because one time we were standing on the bank of the Erie Canal and Oley was talking about the fact that he had passed through that canal that way.

DM: That’s a great story.

PG: And then they—he—came down the Great Lakes from, what’s the name of that city on the Great Lakes up where the Erie Canal ends and joins either Lake Erie or Lake Ontario?

DM: Buffalo?

PG: Whatever, not Buffalo.

DM: Oh, you’ve got me—

PG: I suppose he was in Buffalo, but there is another town there. They got on a lake steamer, and they came over to Milwaukee down the Great Lakes. Then he came across, riding with his mother from Milwaukee to that Norwegian community just south of Madison—he was born there. What’s the name? [Rock County]. He was born in Wisconsin.

DM: I’m afraid I don’t know.

PG: And he spent his first years in that town south of Madison. Until he was 10 or 12 years old, then he came across Wisconsin with an oxcart, with his mother into central Iowa. So from the time he was 10 or 12 he was growing up in a small community on a small farm with his mother—I don’t think he ever had any sisters and brothers. On a small farm.

DM: What did they raise on the farm?

PG: Oh, they raised chickens and pigs, some garden crops. It wasn’t a big farm; it was a small farm. I think—I’m sure that it was a small farm, because when the Civil War came along, [they were still in Wisconsin then] his father left to join some volunteer group to fight for the North in the Civil War. This is Oley’s father, my great-grandfather, Nels Olson. And he never came back. He died in the Civil War and he was buried in a Civil War cemetery [in Keokuk, Iowa]. He left Oley and his mother, just the two of them, on this small farm and Oley was looking after it when Oley was either 13 or 14 years old.

DM: My goodness!

PG: And when the word came that Oley’s father had died, Oley decided that he should go into the army of the North, and he was only 14, or maybe he was 15. I think he was 14. And he walked to wherever he had to go to join up with some unit that was being formed in Iowa, and he left his mother alone on that little farm. And he became a drummer boy in some Iowa unit. [Later, when he was 19, he joined a regular infantry unit].

Well, some way or another, he got mixed up in one of those battles down there near Chattanooga, Tennessee—Missionary Ridge: there were 4 or 5 battles down there—and he actually fought in one of those battles down there near Chattanooga. Then he came back to his mother on that farm and there were neighbors, and he some way or other got together with this Ersland girl, Ingeborg—oh, he only had one eye when he came back! He was always blind in one eye. He had a glass eye.

Oley and Ingeborg started having babies. Of which my mother was one. I think that my mother had—Let’s start with the youngest, that was Mattie (Martha)—no, she had two brothers. George, who wound up in Portland, Oregon, her older brother, and Elmer, who was her youngest brother, younger than my mother, who was, long as I can remember when I was just a little guy, the chauffeur for Mr. Hubble in Des Moines. Hubble was a very wealthy man. They lived on a big estate, and Elmer and his wife Viva lived in a sort of carriage house down the hill from Hubble’s big house in Des Moines.

We used to stop there, my mother and Dad and I, when we were driving from Lincoln, the town I was born in, on our way up to Minnesota to spend the summer at a lake. We stopped overnight in Des Moines and stayed with my mother’s brother Elmer.

Then, I started to tell you about my mother’s family. She had a younger sister by the name of Mattie (Martha), she had Belle for an older sister, she had Ann for an older sister, she had Beatrice for a younger sister, she had another sister who lived in Minneapolis—older—I’ll think of her name in a minute, Elsie, who married a fellow named Larson who ran the Buick agency in Minneapolis and lived on Lake Harriet in a big house. Quite well off, I guess.

We used to spend some time in Minnesota in the summertime at that house, too. I think that Oley and Ingeborg had at least 12 kids. Some of them I’ve told you about already. I don’t know what happened to the whole crew and I can’t even name them, but we used to visit them in the summertime.

DM: What was your mother’s name?

PG: Carrie, that’s spelled C-a-r-r-i-e, not Kari, but it’s kind of Norwegian anyway.

DM: So she was kind of in the middle of this?

PG: Yes, she was. She was kind of in the middle. Ann—I didn’t mention Ann. She was an older sister, too. Ann had, when she was very young, a son out of wedlock whose name was Kermode. And because Kermode didn’t have a father, but he was there, my Grandpa Oley adopted Kermode. You follow?

But Oley, when he came back from the Civil War, somehow learned to be a surveyor, and he worked for the county and the State of Iowa as a surveyor, to start with. In fact, if you go to Iowa today and you look at the plats of the land divisions north of Des Moines, you’ll find that the drawings of the land divisions—plats—from those years after the Civil War, the original plats, sections, layouts, are signed by a man named Oley Nelson—

Portion of Oley Nelson’s family in front of Slater home; Carrie has the viola. Ingeborg is in center.

Note the bird in cage.

DM: That’s wonderful!

PG:—who was my grandpa. And then, as his family was growing, Oley became sort of the key man financially in that area: Story County, Slater, Iowa. He became the owner of the bank, he became the owner of a mercantile store, and he became active in the Legislature in Des Moines as a Legislator.

He became the Chairman of the Board of St. Olaf College in Northfield, Minnesota. He was very active in church. So he was quite a guy. [To this day, the citizens of the community call him The Honorable Oley Nelson. In Slater, they also named the town park after him.]

DM: It sounds like it.

PG: And he lived with us in Lincoln for 2-3 years in our house when I was a little guy, and he was a handy fellow to have around. He made chests and stuff like that out of wood for us, my 3 sisters, my mother, and myself. Big chests and little chests.

He was a very handy guy with his hands and he only had one eye and I used to go down into the basement with him when he was working and making stuff. He also had eczema and he had a machine with an electronic source in a box that he plugged into the wall, and it had a glass wand on it, a tube. When he turned a switch and turned the dial, the tube lit up like a neon tube—purple light—and he rubbed it all over his eczema at night. That’s not important, either (laughs).

DM: Was this something he invented himself, do you think?

PG: No, he bought it. It was called a Tesla coil, T-e-s-l-a. I remembered the name of it and how it worked. Some Doctor over in Iowa