Mr. Herman Olson

p. 399 to 401

On February 4th, 1979, Mr. Herman Olson celebrated his 90th birthday in the Spalding Town Hall, at which time a host of relatives and friends gathered to mark the occasion.

Herman’s father [Ole Haroldson Olson] came from Norway, his mother [Nellie Caroline Peterson] from Winnipeg. They met, married and settled down in North Dakota, where they raised their family of six girls and three boys. Here Herman grew up, married and started his own family.

In 1910, along with his wife, Tina [Annie Turina Gubberud], baby Ella and Grandpa Peterson [Olaf Peterson], he migrated to the Spalding area by train. Grandpa was quite a character and over fond of his whiskey, tho’ he would have denied that. Because of his broken English and the liquor he embarrassed his family a time or two, and Herman had to explain away a lusty kick administered to a fellow traveler whom he had misunderstood. Because of his age and his spunkiness, the injured person and the conductor were simply amused.

When they stopped at Winnipeg, they had to transfer from the C.P.R. to the C.N.R., -- with horse and buggy in those days. Grandpa rode along, tho’ Herman was afraid he would overbalance in his inebriated state. All the time he carried on a running conversation with the driver who didn’t understand a word of Norwegian, but could only reply “Oh, yah” or “No, no” as seemed indicated. On the C.N.R. Grandpa again encountered opposition when he took out his loose tobacco, filled his pipe and prepared to smoke it. The conductor stopped him and Herman had to act quickly to prevent another encounter.

They reached Watson on May 10th, 1910 and proceeded to their homestead in the Home School area. Herman’s nearest neighbours were: Ole Hagen, Christ Amundsen, Albert Gustafson, Merne Simpson and brother, Ollie Suddeth and old Lokebo. Herman continues:

My first home was a log shack, -- one room to start with. I had to buy my machinery a little at a time. The nearest store was Hutchison’s about 13 miles away. Sometimes we got to Watson, a larger town 20 miles farther south. We raised mostly oats and barley; it was a long time before we could raise wheat because of early frosts. I tried horse-dealing but regretted it. I lost horse after horse, seemingly of some contagious disease, but the vet when called said that no two horses had died of the same disease.

We had only one child, Ella, when we first arrived; we raised the rest of the family all on the homestead, -- four girls and two boys. Church was held in Dumbarton School, later in Home School. Some early pastors were Rev. Hegg from Dahlton and Rev. Peter Nelson. In an emergency we got a doctor from Watson, but for most child-births Mrs. Lokebo or Mars. Hagen attended. They delivered all of our first children but Eunice and Ella. Mabel often got twitted in later years for arriving before the midwife, -- in no time flat.

One emergency Herman well remembers was when building his shack. A ten-pound broad-axe had struck him cutting three cords half an inch and also severing an artery. He was taken to Watson where he remained for three weeks while recuperating. One day when he was just about ready to go back, he noted a familiar-looking dark-complected fellow heading towards the livery barn where his team were being cared for, and on inquiry found that he was Elzear Coutu, an old neighbor and friend from North Dakota. Who had taken up a homestead between Watson and Spalding. The two past friends were delighted to meet up with each other, They had dinner together and returned to the bench at the livery barn where they continued to get reacquainted until supper time. When Mr. Coutu returned home he was accused of having been drinking. Herman was glad to assure Mrs. Coutu when he later visited the Coutu family that Elzear “never had a drop”. Herman was very fond of the Coutu children and continues to call Florence “my baby” to this day, tho’ she is now over 70.

Herman recalls how the accident occurred: One of the workman had cut a green willow to use as a handle for the broad axe he was using because his own was too dull. But, laying there in the hot sun, the handle had shrunk so that at the first blow, the head sharp as a razor, flew off straight for Herman’s face. His arm took the blow with the disastrous results mentioned elsewhere. There was a quick trip to Watson with horses, only to find on arrival, that Dr. Mulholland was away, and his replacement only came from Quill Lake every other day. What to do! He was now downright sick. There were a couple of druggists in town at that time; one refused to tend to the wound as he had been pinched for doing such work. But Chris and several others persuaded the other druggist to dress it. He was confident that he could do as good a job as the doctor. Herman now felt much better and the next day Dr. McCutcheon arrived to take over. He would not let Herman go home; it was too risky. Herman protested that he had no money, but the good Dr. replied that he hadn’t asked for money; he was doing all for his reputation.

Another emergency was when during the 20’s Herman had pneumonia and Tina, his wife, took convulsions. Herman felt that the homestead was a hoo-doo.

There were fires too. One in particular he remembers when with his team of horses, wife and baby he raced ahead of it and made home in safety. There was one very wet year, several rather dry ones, but always a crop of sorts. In the early days the road were just rabbit trails around sloughs and through mud-holes. Speaking of rabbits. Were they very thick! “I had fenced a hay stack on my Grandpa’s homestead to save it from cattle which some neighbors allowed to run at large. But rabbits ate away the lower part until it looked like a mushroom. There were also a lot of moose, deer, jumpers, wolves, rabbits and partridges which were our main diet at one time.

On the other hand there were weddings and funerals too. There were house parties with dancing and music. Albert Gustafson used to play the accordion, and Emil the violin as he grew a little older. There were Chivarees, box socials and shadow socials. There was Lake Edward where we went boating or fishing. He remembers a drowning about 1936 when Tim Fynn got frightened and jumped from a boat that was drifting with no paddles.

“Well, we decided to quit the farm and moved to Spalding in 1942. I had bought the dray before I came into town and went to work the very next morning. I was told that I should buy a license, but asked for three weeks. But it was fall and a lot of stuff was arriving by train. Claude Ballard put the pressure on and so I bought my license after two weeks and was in business. Monday morning I hooked right on to the coal wagon. I had two teams and a helper most of the time. The train came morning and evening every day but Sunday. We hauled groceries, machinery, repairs, coal, lumber, what not. I worked at that for 9 years. My son, Lester finished the tenth year and then we sold out completely to Art Dunn, and his son-in-law, Art Lavis. We saw what was coming and that was the big TRUCKS, so it was the right time to sell.

The new draymen had their problems and Frank Brown was after me to handle 2 carloads of lumber a carload of bricks as I still had my dray and horses. But I refused and informed Art Dunn who reluctantly took on that job. Somehow they wouldn’t give him the ice-tongs, the bricks were frosty, he was recovering from a leg injury and his wife was in the hospital. So they hired two men with a small tractor and spent two days unloading that carload. Lester couldn’t resist informing him in the beer parlor after supper that we had done the same job in one day, and one of the workmen who had been with us was there to verify that. The poor cuss had only $2 left after he had paid his men!

I had several jobs after that. First I worked for Lorne Pederson, checking gravel on the road for four summers. After that we went visiting friends at Eastend and when I came back, I was glad to see that Jack Nelson had taken over that job.

But the R.M. had a job ready for me, -- Weed Inspector. I don’t know how to say “No”, I guess, so they talked me into it and I carried on at that for several years.

After that they talked me into being dog-catcher, and then I was in trouble. I wasn’t involved, nor the cops, but Harvey’s dog and several others were poisoned. There were those who could have identified the culprits, but they chose to remain silent. I was sure it was a man in town. They poisoned dogs from here to Pleasantdale. I had been dog-catcher for a couple of years but some blamed me, tho’ I have never to this day ever bought strychnine, the method used. It was just too much! So I got good and mad, threw the badge at them, and quit.

Then I was foolish enough to be a town cop, for a couple of years. And you know, that’s a hopeless job. I had some pretty rough experiences. I had to deal with a big bully who was making himself and the customers miserable in Con Woo’s Café, by calling them names and shaking his fist under their noses. He had blackened one fellow’s eyes and hurt his back for nothing at all. I persuaded Con to lay charges, but the police said he could do nothing till after New Years; he was on holidays. Noticing the injured man in the beer parlor later on, still with the blackened eyes, I persuaded him to also go to the police. He did and the bully was charged $60.00, -- enough to make him think twice before throwing his weight around again.

I had also worked with Keller, the butcher for all of 15 years, helping him at the slaughterhouse every Wednesday afternoon. In those days Wednesday afternoons were always business holidays, so this was the time we’d butcher.

In due time I got my old age pension, and did very little after that. My wife passed away in 1968, and I have remained a widower ever since. About four years ago when my daughter Eunice was visiting here with her oldest boy who was talking to Lester’s oldest, everything went “BANG!” all of a sudden. They had all they could do to get me to the hospital. I was found to be suffering from “quick pneumonia” and slept for 48 hours!

I gave Eunice a further scare while visiting at her home some time later. I had a real spell and they rushed me to a doctor. He said I needed a pace-maker, called a heart specialist in Saskatoon and I was on my way to Saskatoon next morning in Kenny Ballard’s ambulance. I was in hospital there for five days. It was a bit scary being wheeled into that slaughterroom, watching the instruments being laid out and having a black hood placed over my head so that I could only see one way and get air. They froze the area around the collar-bone and I could feel them working on it all right. But all is well that ends well and I am enjoying pretty good health. The pacemaker should work from 6 to possibly 14 years.

In 1980 I moved into the Quill Plains Lodge in Watson and am now 91 years old. I am happy here along with some other old friends, and am well taken care of.