Gary Fulsebakke gets robbed in Rome:
From Gary Fulsebakke (71): Devils Lake, ND
Dear Gary and friends,
Greetings from Rome, the eternal city and home to some of the most
notorius pick-pockets in Europe. Thats right, I got robbed. I was
boarding a subway at the Coleseum and tried to squeeze between a man
and woman who were blocking the entry. Once I got past them I checked
to see if I still had my wallet. It was gone, and so were they! They
got everything. All my cash(about $300) all my credit cards, drivers
license, etc. After the initial panic of realizing I was thousands of
miles from home in a foreign country that does’t speak english, with
absolutely nothing, I headed for the nearest police station. I was not
alone. There were several there who had the same happen to them. One
fellow was lucky enough to have a plain clothes policeman actually
catch the thief in the act. After filling out a police report, they
directed me to the American Embassy which was hard to get into and of
little help. At least there I was able to get my credit cards blocked.
The Embassy told me to go to the American Consulate the next day as it
was late and the consulate was closed. They were quite helpful allowing
me to make several calls to the states, but more importantly, to my
bank which was able to wire money to me via Western Union. Within
minutes, I had enough money to continue my trip. I learned some things
from the experience. First of all, just when things seem to be going
so well, disaster can strike. But in the midst of the trouble, God has
his angels to help you. In my case, it was a couple of cleaning maids
responsible for my room that lent me ten euros so I could get a train
ticket to the consulate and some food. And at the consulate it was a
kind italian man who did everything he could to help me and apologized
profusely to me that this should happpen in his beloved city of Rome.
And Rome is wonderful! The Coleseum, Forum, The incredible
Pantheon,the catacombs, the wonderful fountains, and the highlight of the
trip, Vatican City, with Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel, and St. Peters
Bascilica. It is a tourist paradise. But Rome, more than anything else is
about the people. They are a different breed. They have learned the
secret of “la dolce vita”, the sweet life. At night they would all come
out, eating at the many sidewalk cafes and enjoying a gelato(italian ice
cream) sitting on a park bench with their friends. I must confess that
after a gelato or two and a good italian meal I was back on track and
ready to experience the next adventure. And there have been many! Next
time I must tell you about Norway and Berlin. Until then, Ciao! Gary
Man Gary, What an experience. I admire you for being able to pick up the pieces to continue with your vacation. It doesn’t pay to panic in these type of situations. Gary
Correction from Lloyd Awalt (44): Bottineau, ND
Hi Gary, I kind of made a error on when the garage was built. We were living in Tom Cassidy’s house west of the commercial hotel when it was built. So that would put it being built in the 30s. We built the house down by the depot in 1941 and it was built before we moved. Woke up at 3 o’clock with that on my mind. Lloyd.
Lloyd, Isn’t if funny how something like this will just ware on you. Gary
Message with another good story
From Larry Hackman (66): Bismarck, ND
I hope this message finds you and your family well.
The grandson came in sixth in state Babe Ruth Baseball.
Not to bad, and there is always next year.
It was exciting to watch and got the old pumper, pumping a few times.
Its always more exciting when you have someone playing.
It gets personal.
I also want to thank Cheryl for her kind words concerning my granddaughter Sadie,
that she met at the races at Minot. She is a sweetheart.
Thank You Cheryl.
This story I have attached was told to me by my brother Henry.
after I told him that my son Larry had talked to Rodney Hiatt.
He had Rodney give him an estimate for getting some concrete work done for a garage he is going to build.
In fact I had forewarded the information for the Hiatts to my son from this blog Gary.
Thank You, to you and Neola.
I told Henry that Rodney had commented to my son that he thought I should have a million dollars for all the stories
I write. I told Henry that I could agree with that statement.
Anyway that comment must have reminded Henry of an event from the past, and he had to tell me this story that I have attached.
I hope you enjoy it.
Bottineau for Pizza
My brother Henry and I were attending the all school reunion back in 1989.It was in the evening out at the bingo barn after eating.Howard Hiatt came and sat down at a table with us and we were reminiscing about days gone by.The conversation bounced around between the time they lived in Dunseith, the death of his son Earl, who died in a car accident south of town, and who was in the same class (class of 65) as Henry.Howard’s time as Peace Officer was also brought up, and which reminded Henry of a time when Howard had to arrest him and some friends.During the story, we would all stop and laugh at some parts and Howard would ask questions in trying to remember the time.What amazed me and also amazed Henry, was the amount of times Howard would stop Henry and ask him if he held a grudge against him because of the arrest.Henry and I got the impression that Howard felt worse about the incident then we did.Henry replied no, to him several times and explained to him that they knew he was just doing his job, and that they knew the risks that they were taking.That none of them held a grudge against him.Howard would just shake his head and laugh like he couldn’t believe it.We couldn’t believe that he couldn’t believe it either.We finished our conversation and everyone eventually moved onto visiting with different people.Later on that evening Howard came back and shook hands with us saying he was headed home.He gave us each a can of beer and departed.I and Henry still can’t believe that he thought that we should be carrying a grudge.In our book he was a nice guy, just doing his job, trying to make a living for him and his family like everyone else.The story that Howard and Henry were reminiscing about follows:
The time period was the early 1960s.Henry my brother (class of 65) and my oldest brother Anton, (class of 64) and three of their buddies were cruising around one evening in my oldest brother’s fancy, late model 1957 Mercury.Late meaning it already had four headlights while most other models didn’t have four until 1958.Fancy because it had a two tone paint job, lots of chrome, lots of room, smooth ride, quiet, could go over a 120mph and it felt like you were sitting still, eight people could sit in it comfortably.You could see all four corners from the driver’s seat.Yes, it was back when Detroit still built automobiles, not just transportation.I call today’s vehicles soap bubbles, they all look alike, just different sizes, small to smaller.Yes, you could party in a vehicle back then, and apparently that’s what my brothers and their friends were doing on this particular evening.They had got off work a little after 9:00pm picked up a 6pack and headed for Bottineau for pizza with a few friends that were hanging around the gas station.Heading for Bottineau, for pizza was apparently the thing to do back then.
I myself remember going to Bottineau and walking up to the pizza place some evenings after hunger pains started making their presence noticed, or was it just the idea of having pizza.Pizza at that time was a fairly new concept in our neck of the woods.I remember watching the man through the window throw dough in the air and spin it to make the large flat crusts.It was amazing to watch and he was good at it, and I hadn’t seen anything like that before.Another man that could throw dough and that I liked to watch was Herman Martinson.I watched him many times grab a 50lb. chunk of dough from the raising bins, where it was kept overnight.That dough that he mixed and placed in the wood bins the day before had raised and actually had pushed the lid up and was bulging out between the bin and the lid.Herman would remove the lid, ball up his fists, and punch that dough back down into the bin, like a boxer in the ring with Floyd Patterson.Then he would grab the chunk of dough and slam it on the counter, like Vern Gunya giving Pampero Ferpo (The Wild Bull of the Pompas) a body slam.Then he would take a butcher knife, cut off a smaller chunk of dough throw it on a scale, usually hack off a little with the knife or add a little for the proper weight, then he would throw it into the hopper of this grunting and groaning white machine like Wilt Chamberlain, a basket ball player, going for a slam dunk. That machine would roll and pat that chunk of dough and spit it out the other end, in a nice round oblong shape, that Herman would grab and slam down into a bread pan for the pin.He would do this over and over again until all the dough was in bread pans and the pans placed on shelves for the dough to rise into loaves.When raised he would place the pans, into the huge oven with rotating shelves where the dough would bake into loaves of fresh bread.The smell of fresh baked bread is to die for isn’t it?No wonder all these people were nice people.They took all their frustrations out on the dough to make dough (a little pun for fun).
My brothers and their friends entered Bottineau on highway #5 and turned right onto Main.You know it was always a hassle to get to the Pizza Palace when you would come into town from the south.You always had to go to the north end of Main to make a U-turn by the railroad tracks or go around one of the blocks and come back on the left side of Main to park on the west side of the street in front of the place.The thought of parking on the right side of the street and walking across the street, when there were parking spaces on the other side right in front of the place you wanted to go into, never entered their minds.Henry said, on this night it was a little different.That boot-legger that Gary Metcalf is trying to figure out from previous stories was driving.I would tell you, who he is Gary, but I might need him in my next life and I don’t want to ruin a good thing.Besides he might have a life by now and I would hate to ruin it for him.Now, I ask Henry why this guy was driving.Anton never let anybody else drive his cars.Henry didn’t know for sure, but I’m sure it had something to do with getting something cold to quench a man’s thirst after a hard day at the office.A deal must have been made, if you know what I mean!Apparently this fellow did not like driving any further then he had to either, because when he got to the front of the Pizza place he just whipped that car from the right side of the street into a parking space, right in front of the restaurant.Now this is where things came apart, where the wheels fell off, where Murphy’s Law came into play.Murphy’s Law is whatever can go wrong will go wrong.
Before entering town everyone in the car was suppose to finish their beer, and toss the can out into the ditch.It is littering but it is better than getting caught with an open container and all the other laws broken that go along with that one violation.Now when something like this usually happens there is always one guy in the car or group who doesn’t listen and has a tendency to do things their way.The driver did take a huge chance by pulling this maneuver on Main Street, but it was late and there was not a person in site.They thought they were safe and were getting out of the car with their mouths watering in anticipation of chomping down on some delicious pizza.They hadn’t shut the doors on the car yet when they heard the most dreaded sound a bunch of minors could hear.They heard the clunk, ting-ting-ting, the sound of a metal beer can rolling on pavement.They didn’t have aluminum yet. They looked toward the sound of the beer can and watched it role up onto the toe of a cowboy boot.The blood drained from their faces and their eyes got big as they saw it was the Bottineau, Chief- of- Police, Howard Hiatt.
Now you know this happened because there is always that one guy in the group that likes to do things his way or just doesn’t listen.When in the military that one guy was always there and would make his appearance at the damndest times.The rifle range was usually the funniest place.A bunch of us would be shooting at the range.When done shooting, the drill instructor would tell everyone to clear their rifles.Remove the magazine, remove the bullet from the chamber and check the chamber before pointing the rifle in the air and pulling the trigger.There was always a bang, everyone would duck and start snickering, as the drill instructor would go take the guys rifle away and grab the guy by the back of his collar and tell him to take his left hand and grab his left ear and take his right hand and grab his right ear and pull his head out of his donkey (ass).The drill instructors never used the term donkey.I don’t think they were affiliated with any political party.Another time was in Vietnam.The helicopters had just dropped a bunch of us off at a landing zone out in the jungle.You didn’t want to be hanging around a landing zone too long.Nothing drew the enemy’s attention like the commotion of a bunch of helicopters landing and taking off in an area.We on the ground first made a huge circle facing outward protecting the sight until the last helicopter had landed released his load and left.Then we moved out fast to get away from that area as you knew what was going to be landing there next, and it wasn’t going to be anything that anybody liked.We were headed out into the jungle when someone hollered, halt.What the hell was going on now, was your first thought.Guess what, that guy showed up again.Sitting out in the middle of the landing zone was this GI with his rifle tore down and cleaning the parts.A Sergeant went out and as gently as he could, removed the guys head from his ass, and told him to grab his stuff because we were moving out.Needless to say we did not stick around for him to put his rifle back together, and nobody cared that the man was carrying a rifle that didn’t work.We, maybe even felt a little safer.Those guys always show up at the damndest times.Another time back in Dunseith we went hunting ducks after school up in the hills.We had finished hunting around this slew with no luck.It was getting late and we were headed for the car.Before getting in everyone was told to remove the shells from their guns.Everyone said they did and we were on our way.We stopped at Kelvin store for some soda pop and candy bars.We in North Dakota I think went wrong way on shortening soda pop, to just pop.Isn’t asking for a pop like asking for a, Hawaiian punch?You could get what you ask for.(Anyway)This was about 1959 when Kelvin was more of a grocery store and gas station then a bar.We drove up the road and pulled into an approach, to eat our goodies.Then all of a sudden, bang, there was a hole through the floor of Anton’s 1953 black and white ford, right behind me.Talk about jumping.Anton was really ticked off; he thought for sure the guy had just shot a hole through his new glass pack mufflers that he had just recently installed.Just put a dent in it though.Guess what?That damned guy had shown up again.You can almost bet that there is one in every group.It’s not always the same guy, but there was one along in Bottineau that night, when he kept his beer can in the car and then accidently kicked it out on his way out of the car.
Howard Hiatt picked up the empty beer can and said follow me boys, just like in that movie starring, Fred McMurray in Follow Me Boys, Follow Me.They marched around the corner and to the west for about a half a block to the Bottineau City Hall to see the Justice of the Peace.Henry said Howard had them sit there for about three hours until the Justice of the Peace showed up and delivered justice by giving each of them a fine.They paid there fine and were on their way.Needless to say, by this time the pizza place and the bars were closed.No pizza, no beer, its late, nothing else to do but go home.Thinking about it now, maybe that was Howard’s plan all along.If it was, it was a good one.
Laugh and the world will laugh with you.