Thursday, October 4, 2012

My 2012 Summer Tour to Norway Was a Family Affair

I chose to go with the Gudbrandsdalslag Norway tour this summer mainly because the itinerary included places that I hadn’t seen on my first two trips to the land of my ancestors in 2000 and 2010—but much to my delight the 2012 tour turned out to be much more of a “family affair” than I could have ever hoped for!
I am a member of Gudbrandsdalslag due to the fact that several generations of grandparents emigrated from the area during the mid-1800’s.  They were g.g.g. grandfather Hans Olsen Torgersrud, g. g. grandparents, Ellev Erlandsen Skogen (Ellef Ellson in America) and Ronnaug (Rena) Hansdatter Torgersrud; g. g. grandparents Christian Larson Gjedrud and his wife Anne Olsdatter Saeterbakken; and great grandparents Mathia Ellson Skogen (at age 6) and Matias Christiansen (Martin Larson in America) at age12, who eventually married each other in Wisconsin in 1878.  I was excited to see the areas where they came from but since they left Norway so long ago, I never expected to make contact with any real people.
Even Bergengstuen with Dianne Snell and Shirley Augustine
at the final tour banquet in Oslo

Fortunately, before the trip I had corresponded with a g. grandson of Ellef and Rena, James Ellson of California, who had been researching the family for some years.  He told me to get in touch with Even Bergengstuen who was a local genealogist in Svingvoll, but all he had was a postal address for him.  I wrote to Even but not in time to receive an answer before I left so I really didn’t expect to make contact.  Much to my surprise, when we arrived in Otta for the Kringen celebration I was told that Even planned to come and meet me there with information on the Skogen and Torgersrud farms.  Even was involved in compiling the bygedebøks for the Brottum area which also included the information on the Nordhagen and Gjedrud farms of Christian Larson.
            True to his word Even came to Otta and met with me and my cousin Shirley Augustine.  A few days later he picked us up at the picturesque Glomstad Gård where we had a dinner stop, to transport us to the Skogen and Torgersud farms.  In Otta I had given Even a copy of my family tree back to the Ellsons and he informed me that he had compared my line to his and we were sixth cousins. Another relative gained!!
Our first stop was Skogen, and Even went ahead of us to talk with the woman of the house.  She was delightful—her name—Gerd Ingrid Moen, the wife of Oddbjørn Skogen who was then up higher on the mountain with their sheep.  With her at home was her 25-year-old son Gudmund who had just returned from a summer of working in Saudi Arabia.  Gerd showed us around and told us that her husband’s ancestors had purchased the farm from my ancestral family.  She brought out a hand-written family tree showing my three times great grandparents, Erland Christensen, 1794, and Kjersti Eriksdatter, 1795, and their seven children.  Eldest son Even Erlandsen Skaugen, 1834, had taken over the farm after his father and after him his son Ole Evensen.  The farm was sold in 1886.
Gerd also had the information on my g. g. grandparents, Ellef Erlandsen Skogen 1842, and Rena Hansdatter Torgersrud, 1841, who left for America in April of 1868 on the ill-fated ship Hannah Parr.  After being shipwrecked and stranded in Limerick, Ireland, they arrived in America 107 days later. The Ellsons left Norway with three daughters and arrived in America with only one, my g. grandmother Mathea Ellefsdatter, age 6.  Their two younger daughters, Christine, 3, and baby Hanna, had both died on the voyage.  Also traveling with them on the Hannah Parr was Rena’s father, Hans Olsen Torgersrud, my three times great grandfather, who was a widower. He died in Norcross, Minnesota in 1882 at the age of 88 years and 5 months.

Gerd Ingrid Moen and her son Gudmund in front of the cabin on the Skogen farm.

From the Skogen farm we piled back into Even’s car and headed for Torgersrud.  When we arrived there the gate was closed and it looked at first glance as though no one was there. Even went into the yard and found the current owner Halvor Torgersrud, who just happened to be there.  He is a journalist in Lillehammer and he and his wife Liv Danielsen now use Torgersrud as their vacation home.  They were just leaving to have dinner with friends, but stayed back to talk with us and show us around.
Halvor knew the history of the farm and where the older homes had been located.  As a crowning gesture of hospitality he gave both Shirley and me a book of poetry, “Det gol ein gauk, og andre vers og viser” with verses by his father, Ole Arnfinn Torgersrud, who passed away in 1974.  Halvor added this inscription:  August 26, 2012. Dear Dianne, Nice to meet you in Gausdal, Torgersrud. Best regards, Halvor Torgersrud.” What a treasured keepsake!

Halvor Torgersrud, owner of Torgersrud, and his wife Liv Danielsen

Shirley Augustine and Dianne Snell at ancestral farm Torgersrud

          Dusk was beginning to close in and it was time to leave—we still had a couple of stops to make.  First, the large stone Østre Gausdal church, and second,  the smaller Follebu Church.  After that it was too dark and Even made just a quick “drive by” of the Fåberg Church, where g. g. grandfather Christian Larson was baptized, before dropping us off at our Lillehammer hotel.  We saw Even again at our final banquet at the Grand Hotel in Oslo, and he said that when we came back to Norway he would take us to Nordhagen and Giettrud farms. I plan to take him up on that promise!

         
Østre Gausdal stone church,  partially burned during the Seven Years war in the 1600’s and enlarged in 1715. and the smaller Follebu Church.  Both churches were built in the 1300's with later additions and restorations.

          The next day I learned that a scheduled group stop at the Fåberg church had been cancelled, so our tour guide Arna had arranged for a caretaker to provide a private tour for those of us that had family ties to Fåberg.  Arna served as interpreter and four grateful immigrant descendants met at the church just outside of Lillehammer—Sandy Aune, Kathy Peterson, Dick Lundgren and Dianne Snell. We were excited to climb the stairs to the bell tower to view the two historic bells, the oldest from the 1100’s.  Our tour guide gave us the history of the church and four cameras were clicking a mile a minute.  Definitely a major highlight of the tour!
The Fåberg Church near Lillehammer where g. g. grandfather Christian Larson was baptized.

The oldest bell (right) at Fåberg Church is from the  1100's with no markings. The newer bell (left)
from the 1700's was made in the Netherlands. Both bells are rung simultaneously for services.

Four awestruck immigrant descendants by the Fåberg Church pulpit;
From left, Dianne, Kathy, Sandy and Dick


An authentic runestone pillar in the church yard indicates an acient worship site on this spot

            When the Gudbrandsdal tour ended on August 30 Shirley and I traveled by bus from Oslo to Honefoss to begin another wonderful week with relatives on our fathers’ side of the family in Ringerike and Sigdal and we also joined the Sigdalslag tour which was already in progress. (That's for another blog!)
            I will conclude by saying that although the beautiful and historic places we saw and events we attended on the 2012 tour were wonderful experiences, for me the family connections were the best part—priceless!  When’s the next tour??  I’ll start packing!

A view from the top near Skogen and Torgersrud farms
in Gausdal, Oppland, Norway







Sunday, June 10, 2012

The Bergans--A New Branch on my Family Tree

One of the "mystery photos" in my collection, from Tacoma, Washington.
Which one is Peder O. Bergan?  I now know he is the one on the left!!

Update on December 29, 2012
EUREKA! I FOUND IT!!
After all these months I have located an identified photo of P. O. Bergan (see below)
This photo, possibly a wedding photo, is identified as P. O. Bergan and his wife Anne Hadland on the left,
and N. Hadland (brother of Anne) and his wife Gina on the right, therefore the top photo
is an older version of P. O. Bergan on the left, in Tacoma.
           
The title of this Blog may be a little misleading.  The Bergan family is not exactly “new,” they have been there all the time, but I have just recently pieced a part of the puzzle together to connect our relationship. 
            This mystery has been plaguing me since 1993 when there was an Enger family reunion in Kindred, North Dakota, and a family member from Spring Grove brought some unidentified vintage photos.  She knew they were family and showed them around to all that were there, but no one knew who the people were.  Then she offered them to anyone who wanted to take them and do some research to find out the identities.  I volunteered, of course, because one thing you need to know about me is that I hate old photographs without names;--what good are they to anyone if they are unknown?  I get almost nauseous when I see vintage photos for sale in antique shops of marriages, and babies, and grandparents, with  no names.
            I took the photos with perfectly good intentions of finding out who these people were.  Most of the photos had photographer logos from Spring Grove, one or two from Moorhead, Minnesota and then one very intriguing one of two dapper looking gentlemen, taken in Tacoma, Washington.  The Spring Grove and Moorhead photos were understandable since our Enger ancestors had settled in both of those places, but Tacoma??  No one knew of anyone in our family who had gone to Tacoma!
            Well, these photos have rattled around in the depths of my genealogy materials since 1993—(Someday I will probably be found in my office suffocated under a mountain of paper).  From time to time the photos would surface when I was looking for something else, and then I would vow once again to put names to the people who were staring back at me—all with vaguely familiar “family-looking” faces.  Each time I would work on it for a few days,  hit a dead end and then put them back in the box for another time.
            Fast forward to 2012 when I was working on this blog—I went back and re-read the Enger family history that had been written by Ida Enger Berg back in the 1960’s and had been distributed to us at the aforementioned family reunion by her nephew Keith “Skip” Enger.  I guess I read a little farther and a little deeper than I ever had before, and all of a sudden when I came to the section on the Bergan family, this sentence jumped out at me: 
            “Peder (Bergan) had an urge to write so after locating in Tacoma, Washington, he published a paper called “The Budtikken.”  This rang a bell loud and clear, those mystery photos were more than likely the Bergan family.  So now I will start from the beginning and tell where the Bergan branch fits in the Enger family tree.  Again, I will quote Ida Enger Berg:
            “Ingeborg, the eldest daughter of Peder and Aase Enger, was born near Eggedal, Norway in 1838.  In 1860 she was married to Ole Kristiansen Jokstad.  A son Kristen was born to them in 1861 and shortly after that Ingeborg’s parents emigrated to America.  Peder Enger sold them the Elling-Engar gaard (farm) and the newlyweds chose to remain in Norway.  They were the parents of eight children. Kristen 1861; Peder 1862, died 1864; Peder (2) 1865, went to America in 1882; Martin 1867; Aase 1869, died 1874; Ole born 1873, came to America in 1890; Jorgine 1875, died 1884; Anne Marie born 1880, died 1900.
            Ole Kristensen Jokstad died in 1898 and his wife Ingeborg in 1893 and son Martin took over the farm.  Kristen, the eldest son, married Berte Asle Saastad of Bergan and three of Ingeborg and Ole Jokstad’s sons adopted the last name of Bergan since they lived on the Bergan farm with Kristen.
            Peder Bergan came to America in 1882 (changed to Peter) at the age of 17 years. He went directly to Spring Grove, Minnesota to live with his grandparents, Peder and Aase Enger, and later he went to Moorhead where his Aunt Sigri (Enger) lived.
            Peter Bergan married Anne Hadland Bakkos who was about 14 years his senior.  She had saved her earnings so they decided to go west.  Peder had an urge to write so after locating in Tacoma, Washington, he published a paper called Buttiken (The shop).
First issue of the Tacoma Budstikke, December 25, 1889



            I have now learned that the paper published by Peter Bergan with partner Peter Julseth,was actually called “The Tacoma Budstikke” and I was excited to locate copies of three editions of this newspaper at the Tacoma Public Library.  (Note:  I was nearly as excited about the fact that they were in Tacoma as I was in finding out who they were.  Finally, a chance for me to do family research in my neck of the woods.  The Tacoma library is about ten miles from my house!)
The Budstikke was only published for a short time, from December 1889 to 1891 when Peter left Tacoma for other adventures.  Two of  Peter and Anne’s daughters, Ilma and Olga, were born in Tacoma.
                 Ida Berg quoted from a granddaughter, Adell Swanson:  “The venture (Budstikke) was not too successful, not because of Peter’s lack of ability (he loved journalism) but because he and his fine friends would party and forget to get the money-making part of the paper--namely the ads--into their publication.  The subscribers soon lost faith and he was forced out of that business.” 
Tacoma City Director of 1890
Peter T. Julseth, solicitor of Tacoma news, and Peter O. Bergan, publisher, Tacoma Budstikke

            In 1891, with his family, Peter Bergan and his cousin Ole Rustan moved to Britton, South Dakota where they bought a section of land and started farming.  A third daughter, Nora, was born there. Their living quarters in Britton was a sod house with the inside plastered over the exposed roots.  There was no floor but the ground inside the house was covered with mint as a protection against sand fleas. 
The Indians and cattle barons resented the farmers who interfered with their hunting grounds or pasture lands and would retaliate by setting fires to force the settlers out.  One day the fire came and the Bergan family was forced to take refuge on a square of plowed land that had been prepared for just such an emergency.  Everything was completely burned and after that the family moved to Felton, Minnesota where they lived for twelve years.  While there Peter was assessor for 9 years.  As quoted by Ida:  “He was a true frontiersman, he loved to break the first furrow in the sod but when it became everyday he was ready to move on.”
            Politics and local or national issues were always Peter Bergan’s big interest and he constantly contributed articles to local and national publications.  After his death clippings from the San Francisco Examiner and Hearst Publications were found among his possessions, all bearing his trademark signature “P.O.B.”  He was a strong advocate of Free Trade and most of his writings were on this subject.  One of the reasons he contributed to so many publications was to get free subscriptions and reading material.  “Not only did he read the newspapers from headlines to ads, but also all the magazines available,” his granddaughter stated.
            In 1906 the Peter Bergan family moved on again, this time to homestead in Saskatchewan, Canada. On the way they stopped off in Moorhead, Minnesota where daughter number 4, Anne, was born.  Saskatchewan was wild and unsettled when the region was acquired by the Dominion of Canada, but when the Canadian Pacific Railroad was completed in 1886 the settlers started moving in.
            Peter’s claim was at Invermay, Saskatchewan, and because of a chain of sloughs in the area the land needed drainage before it could be cultivated, so Peter the entrepreneur, preceded his family to Canada and went into the dredging business.  His family at Felton were left behind to do the harvesting and the moving.  Daughter Olga remembered helping to drive the cattle to Kragnes station and loading them into cattle cars.
            Meanwhile Peter, in Canada, had built a log cabin at Invermay where the family lived for nine years.  The farm prospered, Peter continued the dredging business and became the sales representative for an imported Swedish cream separator.  During the time in Invermay, two Bergan daughters, Olga and Nora, married brothers Ole and Nels Espeland. 
            In 1915 the Bergans moved to St. Joseph’s Island, Ontario, a beautiful wooded island abounding in wild flowers and fruit.  Daughter Nora and her husband, Nels Espeland, joined Peter Bergan there in buying abandoned property and they had quite a profitable little real estate business for a while.  For three summers they went to Flint, Michigan where their daughters Ilma and Annie lived and worked.  Mother Anne did practical nursing and Peter was foreman on a road construction project.
            Later they raised sheep and sold wool and lambs and Peter cut cord wood and sold it.  They only received mail two  or three days a week, and the day after they received the mail Peter was so busy reading he hardly took time to eat.  He became active in local government and wrote stirring articles in local newspapers trying to get a law passed forbidding hunters to shoot deer on the island when they were swimming.  On November 16, 1927, the day after hunting season opened, Peter was informed that hunters were in the area, he took his gun and posted himself where the deer usually came into view.  He died there of a heart attack at the age of 62.
            There ends the saga of Peter Oleson Bergan, a colorful character and a truly adventurous pioneer.  His wife Anne died of a ruptured appendix just six months after her husband’s death, so as quoted by Ida from the granddaughter Adell Swanson, “This was the beginning of the end of a fun time at Sterling Bay (St. Joe’s Island).”
              From Barbara Davies of the St. Joseph Island Historical Society I have learned the following about the Peder Bergan family:
  • Peter Bergan died Nov. 16, 1926 and is buried in the Tenby Bay Cemetery. His cause of death was “chronic myocarditis.” 
  • His wife Annie, nee Hadland, Bergan died on May 12, 1927 at the Red Cross Hospital, Richards’ Landing, St. Joseph Island. The cause of death was appendicitis.  She is also buried in the Tenby Bay Cemetery.
  • Their daughter Anne married Einer Gilbertson on April 3, 1920 and she is buried at Tenby Bay Cemetery, death date unknown.
  • Nora’s husband Nels Espeland died October 14, 1937, “Death by hanging--suicide.” His birth date was May 12, 1873, born in Norway and is buried in Tenby Bay.  His parents were Osten Espeland and Asloug Boen, both born Norway. His brother Ole Espeland was the informant.
  • The sawmill purchased by Peter Bergan was Peter Chesterfield’s Mill located at Sterling Bay.  After the mill closed it was the site of a summer boy’s camp in the 1930’s.
Family members who visited St. Joseph Island at a later time placed stones on both the Bergans’ and Espelands’ burial sites.  Daughter Anne’s was unmarked, and when the Tenby Bay Cemetery Board raised enough money through bake sales etc. simple stones were placed on all the known unmarked grave sites, including Anne’s.


Postscript to P. O. Bergan Story: (Dec. 29, 2012)
          An article found on the Genealogy Bank website under Historical Newspapers, comes from the Grand Forks Herald dated 9-16-1892, and intimates that P. O. Bergan and associates  may have been involved in some questionable real estate activity in Washington State. 
           The article states that the following advertisement appeared in Normanden of February 25, 1892.
    
       "The Bergan City Real Estate Building Association, with a capital of $25,000, and with one-third of the original townsite under its control, will next spring, as soon as the rainy season is over, commence the erection of several business and residence houses and a shingle mill in Bergan City.  For that purpose this association has issued under the laws of Washington 500 shares of stock at $30 per share, that can now be obtained from officers in the association or its authorized agents.  A similar organization commenced business about five years ago with a capital of $30,000 and have today a taxed evaluation of $2,000,000.
     Friend, wherever you might be, whoever you may be, young or old, rich or poor, man or woman, "go thou and do likewise."  Here you are offered a rare opportunity to invest your savings in an enterprise that cannot but bring you 100 and probably 1,000 fold in return. You run no risk as the shares are backed by real estate that will enhance in value every day that passes.  "He who don't risk don't win." the proverb says. By securing shares in the Bergan City Real Estate and Building Association you have no risk, but everything to win. A half dozen shares may secure your financial independence and become the foundation for a fortune.
For further particulars address any of the trustees and directors of the association.
M. O. TEIGEN, President; P. O. BERGAN, Treasurer; H. A. FOSS, Secretary."
         
       The author of the article goes on to say " Now the spring is gone and the fall has come and there has not been erected a single business house, nor a single residence, nor a shingle mill.  Excepting P. O. Bergan's claim shanty there is not a single house in the "city." The writer intimates that the enterprise is a swindle, plain and simple, and that "the company with a capital of $20,000 has as yet been unable to pay for their advertising they had done in our paper." 
        I guess my next research will be to try and find out where "Bergan City, Washington" was located. I remember that when I accessed  the available copies of the "Tacoma Budstikke" (P. O.  Bergan's newspaper) at the Tacoma Public Library last summer there were some advertisements for property for sale on the Olympic Peninsula which involved P. O. Bergan.  Now--back to the library at the first opportunity!

  OLE BERGAN
            Another of the Bergan brothers, Ole, born in Norway in 1873, came to America in 1890 at age 17.  He wrote Peter Bergan of his plans to come to America, and asked advice of his older brother.  Ole asked Peter how the men shaved in America.  Peter responded by saying that American men shaved off their eyebrows, so Ole, in good faith did just that.  When he arrived in America and discovered that his brother had fooled him he was much embarrassed and justifiably angry!  But, as Ida noted, this type of humor seems to be typical of the Enger men—a bunch of practical jokesters!
            Ole Bergan was evidently not an entrepreneur like his brother Peter.  Ole came directly to Washington State and spent his entire time at Issaquah, (then called Gilman) King County, Washington (about 20 miles from my home.) He worked in the coal mines for Kaiser Coal.  According to Ida Berg he continued to work in the mines until he was in injured in an explosion accident which put him in the hospital for three years and reportedly his face was almost blown off.  Later he was crippled by arthritis and remained in a wheel chair for the remainder of his life. He died in 1944 and he never married. (See postscript for an updated version).
            Since learning about this relative who lived near my present home, I went to Issaquah to try and find  more information about him.  From the New York Passenger Lists on Ancestry.com I found that he arrived in America on July 5, 1890 in New York on the ship Island, which departed from Copenhagen, Denmark.
In the 1900 Federal Census he is living in Gilman, King, Washington, age 26, single.  In 1910 he is living in Newcastle, (another coal mining town) King, Washington in a boarding house of William and Marguerite Gill. In 1920 he is living alone in Gilman again, and in 1930 he is still in Gilman with Herman and William Hagland and he is not working, so that was apparently after he was disabled.  My research on Ole is ongoing.
           
I still don’t know the individuals names in the photos in my possession, but at least I know what family they belong to.  I guess that’s progress!  I will publish some of the photos on this site in the hope that a family member will see them and be able to identify the people.

Here are some of the unidentified photos. Can anyone help?

                      Caledonia, MN                   No location, could be Norway

      
Both photos from Spring Grove


Both by C. Engell, Spring Grove


Moorhead, Minnesota
Possibly the youngest Bergan daughter, Anne, who was born in Moorhead Circa 1905 (?)

Postscript to Ole Bergan story: 
         Since publishing this blog initially, I was delighted to receive some new information about Ole Bergan from the Issaquah Historical Society in the form of an obituary,  published January 20, 1938, in the Issaquah Press.

             "Suffering from a heart attack, Ole Bergan died at the Alfred (Boss) Anderson home Friday afternoon (Jan. 14) of last week. He was sitting talking with friends, got up and walked around the floor to get a drink of water and fell over, dying immediately."
           "He was born in Norway 65 years ago.  He came to Issaquah in 1892 and worked in the old mine and Grand Ridge until he became too badly crippled to work.  He owned a small home and a lot on the hill immediately under the water tanks.  Ole was a cousin of the late Gilbert Weston.  (Should be Rustan).  Buried at Hillside (cemetery)."

              It is interesting to note that Ole Bergan died in the same manner as his older brother Peter, from a sudden heart attack. 
           After receiving this obituary I visited the Flintoft's Funeral Home in Issaquah and the director kindly did a quick search of Hillside Cemetery records for me.  Ole Bergan is not on the cemetery maps, and I learned that there are many unmarked graves in the old lower part of the cemetery.  Apparently the previous funeral home did not keep accurate cemetery records, but I did go there and take a photo.

          A peaceful resting place for Ole Bergan in Hillside Cemetery, Issaquah, Washington

Additional information was that his house was located east of town in the plat Issaquah Park.   He bought the house on March 26, 1920. The house was later moved to Fall City in about 1956.  It was located in Block 5, Lots 8, 9, & 10 lying southerly of Sunset Highway, less mineral rights.   I am in the process of obtaining a picture of the house from the King County archives.

Ole Bergan cabin as it was on March 14, 1940;
It even shows smoke coming from the chimney!

Postscript #2 to Ole Bergan story:   I received a scan of the Ole Bergan property and cabin in  Issaquah, as part of a project to photograph all King county properties with improvements done by the WPA in 1938, the same year Ole Bergan died. The information states that Ole bought the property March 26, 1920, and the cabin was built in 1915 so the cabin was in place when he bought it. The building is only 12x20 (240 sq. ft.) with a 4x12 shed. The type of construction says "cheap"(!), condition poor. It had a stove for heat, a spring for water,  and a dugout basement.  The property was sold to the state of Washington in 1952 and the cabin was moved off to make way for the new Sunset Highway.  So ends the story of Ole Bergan, bachelor coal-miner, who came to America for a better life but apparently didn't find it!  Although, his obituary states that he died in the company of friends, so maybe he was happy anyway.  Rest in Peace, Ole!
Scan from the King County archives
          
       


Monday, May 14, 2012

Bill and Effie Enger, The Final Chapter


This is the blog I have been dreading but the time has come--the final chapter in the lives of two incredible people--my parents!
In 1960 my brother Billie and Ruth made a life-changing decision to throw in the towel on the farm life and they moved from Mora to Princeton, Minnesota where they lived for the rest of their days.  A very good move for them.  Billie went back to his former occupation as Auto Parts manager for Odegard’s garage in Princeton.  Ruth obtained her LPN license and worked in the Princeton Hospital until her retirement in 1990. Billie died in October of 1982 at age 61 after a difficult  battle with lung cancer, and Ruth continued her life as a widow until she passed away in July of 2011 at age 84.  Together Billie and Ruth raised six wonderful children who, all but one, live in the Princeton vicinity with their families and I have enjoyed my time with them so much when I go back East in the summers..
Gale and Cece stayed on the farm with Dad and Mom for several more years after Billie left, but in 1966 Father Bill was finally contemplating retirement  from the farm, and Gale started putting out feelers for jobs further west. That year he and Cece and son Larry packed up and headed for Palisade, Colorado a beautiful fruit-growing valley on the western slope of the Rockies.  Alan stayed behind to finish his senior year in high school before joining his parents in Colorado. Gale first worked for a lumber company in the mountain town of Colbran, quite a drive morning and night, and eventually was hired as manager of the Clifton Sanitation District where he stayed until retirement.
Bill and Effie’s last  home together at
3043 F ¾ Road, Grand Junction, CO


Meanwhile, Bill and Effie put the farm up for sale and Gale had talked them into coming out west to Colorado.  The farm market was bad at that time, but Bill finally made a deal with a buyer, had a huge and very traumatic farm auction where they sold the farm equipment and most of their furniture, and Bill, still the perpetual farmer at heart, found a six acre mini-farm about two miles outside of Grand Junction with a small two bedroom house.  He soon had horses, a few chickens, a tractor, and a garden, and Effie—once again—dutifully followed her husband in this new venture.
A challenge for Bill in this desert country was learning the ins and outs of irrigation—water was a precious commodity in the Grand Valley—and the irrigation water was jealously guarded and highly regulated.  My Dad, as usual, made friends right away with all the neighbors, dabbled in race horses, got involved in politics, wrote letters to the editor, started a taxpayers association and even sued the Grand Junction Port Authority for making million-dollar improvements at the Grand Junction Airport without a vote of the people.  He won!
All of us at Mom and Dad’s 50th anniversary in March 1970, in
Grand Junction, CO; Gale, Billy, Mom, Dad, Dianne, Hope

Effie gradually retreated more and more into herself and in the early seventies began having health and anxiety problems.  She found a doctor who believed in treating every complaint with a pill, and gradually  Effie was taking prescribed pain pills, tranquilizers, sleeping pills, anti-depressants—all at the same time.  During one visit I made to Grand Junction my dear Mom spent most of her day sitting in the chair watching the clock for when her next pill was due. It was heart-breaking to see her in that state of mind.
Bill tried to get Effie away from taking all the pills and one time in frustration he flushed them all down the toilet, but somehow she was able to get more.  In the mid-1970's Effie began showing signs of paranoia about being left alone, so whenever Bill got in the car to go to town, even it was just for a newspaper or to fill up with gas, she would jump in the car with him.  During the Christmas of 1975 Bill went on a brief trip back to Minnesota to visit his brother Earle who was dying of cancer.  Effie didn’t feel well enough to go with him so he left her at Fort Morgan, Colorado to stay with Hope and Swede.  During her stay there Hope was alarmed by her mother’s mental state, and was broken-hearted when one day she asked Effie if she would make a graham cracker pie for Christmas dinner and her reply was “I don’t know how.”  That had been our whole family’s favorite dessert that our Mom had made for special occasions all the time we were growing up!
When Bill came back from Minnesota Effie clung to him like a child and said, “Don’t ever leave me again!”  We all knew something was wrong, but none of us could have ever envisioned the tragedy that was to come.
On a memorably infamous day in February of 1976, the phone was ringing as I walked into my real estate office in Quilcene, Washington where I was living with my husband, Don Kirst, (another story for later).  I answered and on the other end was the sobbing voice of my sister Hope. “Nonie, you’ve got to come right away, something terrible has happened, Mom shot herself!”  I was stunned, “Are you kidding? Hopie, that’s not funny!”  “No, it’s true and she’s not dead, she’s in the hospital, you’ve got to come right away!”
In a virtual daze, I ran across to the Quilcene Café where my husband was drinking coffee with the usual crowd.  I called him outside and told him I had to leave for Colorado right away.   I was like a zombie, packing my suitcase, the two hour ride to the airport, the flight to Denver and the shuttle to Grand Junction.  All the while the thoughts were rolling around in my head, “It must have been an accident, she must have been moving Dad’s gun and it went off. I’m sure the bullet just grazed her and she will be all right.” I didn’t allow myself to utter the word “suicide” or think about the possibility of her death—that is until that night when I walked into that hospital waiting room and I saw my grief-stricken father sitting there with his head down and his hands over his face.
The story I pieced together is that on that fateful morning Dad had come in from outside and told Mom that he was going to run to town and to the gas station, did she want to go?  And for once she answered,  "No I think I'll stay home this time."   Dad was surprised but also happy to think that maybe she was starting to feel better.  He was gone for less than an hour, and when he got in the house he found her, on the floor, with a bullet wound in her head.  She was alive but unconscious, then the ambulance came and took her away.
When I arrived at the hospital, after consoling my father, I was directed to the  hospital room where they told me my mother was.  There were four beds, and I  first walked up to the wrong bed where there was white-haired lady.  That wasn't my Mom!  My sister led me to the bed  of an older woman with a bandage around her grotesquely-swollen head and two black eyes.  She was unrecognizable, but that was her.
 For the next 24 hours we talked to the person in the bed who didn’t look like our beautiful Mom,  we listened to the mournful sound of the life support machine which I wanted to smash but I knew it was the only thing that was making her chest rise and fall..  It was surreal, like some horror movie but it was real life!  The next day the doctor came to us for a family meeting and told us point blank, “Your mother is brain dead, if she survives she will be in a coma, perhaps for years, and be like a vegetable.  It is the family’s decision whether or not to take her off of life support.” 
 None of  Effie's children could bring ourselves to say the words, and we left the decision up to our Dad.  He knew that my Mom would never want to be left in that state, and he finally  gave the okay to the doctors to remove her from life support and let her die peacefully.  From that moment on I watched my father slowly fade away and turn into a small frail old man until his death six years later.  Bill and Effie were just one month away from their 56th wedding anniversary when the tragedy occurred and he was never the same. Somehow we got through the funeral which all of us thought, for obvious reasons, was to be a closed-casket service.  But just before the end of the service the funeral directors walked up and opened the lid for a viewing  The funeral home had done their best to make my mother presentable for viewing, and when my father saw her he thought she looked so beautiful (compared to what we had seen at the hospital) that unbeknown to us he had asked the minister to have the casket opened at the end so everyone could see her. One of  her grandchildren fainted!
                                                                Effie’s Memorial on March 3, 1976
Her untimely death was a shock to all who knew her!

Bill tried batching it on his own for a couple of years after Effie was gone but he became increasingly more lonely and sad, and due to a few “mini-strokes” which affected his speech and his driving ability, he finally decided to sell out—the house, his beloved  horses, the household goods—everthing but a few keepsakes, and move in with daughter and son-in-law Hope and Swede Reyman across the mountains in Fort Morgan, Colorado northeast of Denver.
Hope and Swede did everything they could to give him a good home and to make him happy.  They encouraged him to go to the Senior Center to play cards, which had always been his passion, but Bill seemed to have lost his zest for life.  He just didn’t want to do anything.
My Dad came out to stay with me in Washington a couple of times while he lived with Hope, the last time in the fall of 1979.  He would spend most of his waking hours sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee, a bottle of wine, and his cigarettes.  He would check the balance in his checkbook over and over.  Since he had liquidated everything he owned, his money was all he had left to worry about. 
He was always a chain smoker but now he was dangerous.  If he took the cigarette pack out of his pocket first and the matches next he was fine; but sometimes he would take the match book out first, and then light a match, set the match book on fire, and throw it on the floor when it flared up.  We found that we didn’t dare leave him alone.
Iconic pose of  Bill after Effie’s death, by the kitchen table with
red quilted jacket, Stetson hat, cards, wine bottles and ashtray.

My father had always been a great story-teller—all my life I had loved listening to his tales of years past—but now he would tell the same story over and over.  He would start telling about an incident that involved his mother and his two sisters, and by the end his story it had evolved to his wife and two daughters.  Everything was all jumbled together in his mind and he was definitely in the throes of dementia. 
Because of the  TIA's  (small strokes) sometimes the words Bill wanted to say just wouldn’t come out of his mouth and he would start stammering.  If we tried to guess what he meant and we were wrong he would get really mad at us. (He never forgot the cuss words!)  The funny thing was that my youngest son Donnie, who was just six at the time, always knew.  He would say, “Don’t you know what Grandpa is trying to say? It is (whatever)!” And he was  right.  Those two had a special bond!
My Dad was in Washington with me on his 80th birthday, November 19th 1979, and we invited some friends and family over for a birthday party.  The next week was my 40th birthday and Dad had stayed in bed most of the day as he wasn’t feeling well.  I didn’t think he even knew it was my birthday, but by the time my husband came home from the office that afternoon Dad was up and sitting at his usual spot at the table.  He said to Don, “You have to take me to town because I have to get something.”  That was a slight problem because in Quilcene, Washington where we lived the “town” consisted of a grocery store, two gas stations, a small appliance store, and a tavern.  The next town for shopping was 30 miles away!  So that left only the appliance store for the shopping trip.

Bill’s 80th was celebrated in Washington, November 19, 1979
The scenario, as I heard it later, went something like this:  The Quilcene Appliance owner Herb Nylund showed my Dad several small appliances such as mixers, toasters and the like, but he didn’t want any of those, and he was getting disgusted with the two guys that were trying to help him.   Finally he spotted a microwave oven, and his eyes lit up. “Hopie has one of those,” he said. “I’ll take that one!”  So here they came back home with my very first microwave, a Deluxe Amana RadarRange which covered a huge piece of the kitchen counter.  That was the last present I ever received from my Dad and it was so special to me that I couldn’t bear to get rid of it for nearly 30 years, long after I had stopped using it.
One other time on that last visit, my husband Don was trying to get Dad interested in doing something and asked him if he wanted to go out and cut some wood for our wood-burning fireplace and a wood stove in the kitchen.  Don figured that since my Dad was an old lumberjack that it might bring back memories for him and he would enjoy it.  A couple of hours later they were back with a trailer full of wood, but Dad had only thrown in a couple of pieces and had sat in the Scout the rest of the time. 
The next week Don said, “Well Dad, do you want to go cut some more wood?  Bill looked at him with a glare and said, “The hell with you!  How much does a cord of wood cost?”  Don told him about $30 a cord.  “You call them up and tell them I want two cords!”  When Dad went back to Hope’s house in Fort Morgan he told her, “I fixed that guy out there;--he wanted me to work but I fooled him, I just bought two cords of wood!” 
Back in Fort Morgan, the dementia, his health and his behavior became increasingly worse.  Even though he was only allowed to smoke at the kitchen table he would sneak the cigarettes into his bedroom and light up, and the ashes would fall on the bed or carpet.  When Hope would take him uptown to the bank or to a store he would cuss out the tellers and the clerks, one time because they didn’t have the right underwear that he always bought. Finally a very difficult decision was made—mostly by his doctors—that he be admitted to a local nursing care facility in Fort Morgan. 
The next summer when I visited him he didn’t know me at first, and then he finally said, “Oh yeah, you live with that guy out there. He was a cop, and he made me work!”  (That memory stayed with him!)  He didn’t know my brother Gale when he came either, after they had been together in the lumber yard, the farm and Grand Junction—Gale’s entire life.  That was a hard pill to swallow for my brother.  He just couldn’t bear to go there again.
Bill’s last birthday at the Fort Morgan nursing home,
November 19, 1981.  He passed away May 26, 1982


In the meantime Hope was at the nursing home every day making sure that Dad was well taken care of.  In the spring of 1982 my husband had been hired as a deputy by the Clallam County Sheriff’s Department and we had moved to Sequim, Washington.  In May I talked my sister Hope into coming out for a brief visit, and Swede promised that he would watch over Dad and visit him everyday.  On May 26, 1982, towards the end of Hope’s visit, the phone rang in the late morning and Swede had to give us the bad news that our Dad had passed away in his sleep.  Hope was devastated (and still is) that she was gone when he died but for her sake I have always believed it was better for her that she wasn’t there.

Bill and Effie's grave in Memorial Gardens, Grand Junction, Colorado
Rest in Peace Mom and Dad. I love you always!

So there ends the Saga of Bill and Effie Enger.  How two such unique and totally opposite individuals stayed together for 56 years is a wonder—the dynamic, volatile, impulsive, fun-loving, entrepreneurial husband and the quiet, stoic, poetic, artistic and long-suffering wife.  But one thing is certain—the two of them together were the most wonderful parents any child was ever blessed with. 
That’s all for now  I have been working on this blog for weeks, but when I would come to the bad and sad parts I couldn’t make myself go on—the memories were just too painful.  Today I decided it was now or never.  Every story has a beginning and an end, but the good part is that the story of Bill and Effie Enger never really ended.  They still live today in the minds and the hearts of those of us they left behind, and I truly believe that they are still together in Eternity.
Love you always, Mom and Dad!
Your daughter, Nonie