Burnt Wienie worthy: Maybe this is why we wear name tags at family reunions??

Nominee: Annette Sprick Kulseth
Nominator: Alverna Sprick Miller
Year: About 1999

That's right, folks. She has done it again.

Do you remember quite a few years back when we had a family reunion on the North Shore? During a walk, Annette was telling a person she thought to be a stranger on the road all about our family reunion, as only she can do.

The "stranger" turned out to be her sister, Anna, and all of us were convulsed with laughter before she caught on.

Well, the other day at our house, Annette picked up a snapshot of a woman holding Nathan Pepin. After scrutinizing it a while, she commented, "My, but that woman looks a lot like Anna." You guessed it -- it was Anna!

So Annette should get the Burnt Wienie Award for not being able to recognize her own sister, after lo these many years!

Burnt Wienie worthy: A fish story

Nominee: Sam Broberg
Nominator: Marion Sprick Broberg
Year: Unknown

There was a young man from the city
who was handsome, determined and witty.
But he wanted to go fishing
instead of just wishing --
to stay home was such a great pity.

One night his uncle said,
"How early can you get out of bed?"
To which Sam replied,
"Any time you decide.
Where will we meet, Uncle Ed?"

Samuel rose at the crack of dawn
and came down the stairs with a yawn.
He had breakfast with Joe
and said, "Now let's go;
Uncle Ed's waiting out on the lawn."

They rowed the boat out to the spot
where the fishing had really been hot.
Uncle Joe gave Sam a rig
with a spinner and jig
and said, "See if they're biting, or not."

Now Samuel caught 17 bass.
As a fisherman he really had class.
But Uncle Ed bet a dime
he could catch two at a time,
and the boat was filling up fast.

The fish basket was full to the top,
but Sam didn't want to stop.
Uncle Ed said, "That's all,
or we'll be breaking the law
and we don't want to get caught by a cop."

Now when Sam was first granted his wish,
he had promised to carry the fish.
but when he reached for the packet,
he just couldn't hack it,
and cleaning them wasn't his dish.

Sam's boo-boo is that he wasn't wary
of catching more than he could carry.
So a picture was taken
of Sam visibly shaken
as he tried to lift them and look merry.

Burnt Wienie worthy: An Uncle Gus special

Nominee: Gus Krociel
Nominator: Sandy Kirkwood
Year: 1975

Under a weeping willow tree
the '58 Chevy stood.
The car, as mighty as it was,
had Joe's recharged battery under the hood
and for the past several years
was parked at Kirkwoods' on blocks of wood.

The owner came one balmy Sunday afternoon
to take it to St. Paul.
He chained it on behind a van
and prepared it for the haul,
being fearful that without being towed,
there was danger of a stall.

Merrily it proceeded down the road,
its master at the wheel,
who was smiling at all they met,
hardly able to control his zeal
at having his treasure home at last.
His happiness was real.

Suddenly sirens could be heard
from somewhere in the rear,
and in a few seconds,
a patrol car did appear.
"I don't know what's happening!" Gus exclaimed,
"but I sure could use a beer!"

"Whose car is this, that's been weaving
back and forth across the center line?"
Without a moment's hesitation,
Gus replied, "It's mine, it's mine!"
And he promptly was presented
with a $50 fine.

"I'm afraid your little journey
will have to be delayed
until you get some no-fault
and your license fee is paid."
So Gus stopped at Millers'
and the message was relayed.

He asked for a drink of water,
which some of you may doubt,
and as he ran to Kulseths',
Alverna heard him shout,
"I'm sure glad I had in-laws
all along the route!"

I hope this little rhyme
hasn't left you bored.
Please consider our brother-in-law
nominated for the Burnt Wienie Award.
After all is said and done,
just think, he could have had a Ford.

Burnt Wienie worthy: The cold facts about hot peppers

Nominee: Bill Miller
Nominator: "An impartial observer"
Year: 1974

On this early spring day, William Miller, raconteur, in-law, man about Old Frontenac-town and gardener, was inspired to plant among his tomatoes and carrots and cabbages a row of peppers, aiming to outdo another in-law whose talent for gardening excelled in the potato field.

William went to town and bought his Burpee seeds while Alfie stood sentinel over the spot in the garden destined for these championship peppers. They planted the peppers in what they considered a straight row.

Under the Frontenac sun and with Alfie to chase away rabbits and moles and gophers and stray porcupines, the pepper plants flourished until that day in August when William, sighing with satisfaction, thought, "Now I will enjoy the fruits of my labors."

While Alverna was sunbathing, he went into the garden, not to pick a peck of pickling peppers, but to make a lovely bell-pepper sandwich.

At his first bite of pepper on rye, William leaped into the air, saying, "Gott in Himmel! These are hot peppers!"

Thereupon, Alfie morosely scratched up the pepper plants, and if there was collusion, Alfie has remained silent to this day.

A Holocaust survivor speaks in Lake City

Editor's note: This essay is from Uncle Joe's book "Lake Pepin Pot-pour-i." We think it offers a good opportunity to post the old slides we found of Alverna and Marion's 1952 trip to Dachau, still a raw and terrible place.

By ELMER (JOE) SPRICK

Not everyone watches the History Channel. Not everyone reads nonfiction. Not everyone will travel to see the sites where it occurred. Most of those who survived the event are now deceased. And there will always be those who say, The Holocaust never happened.

On Sept. 13, 1995, an elderly man named Henry Oertelt from St. Paul came to Lake City. He was on the speaking circuit, not for money, but to tell his story to the world, lest we forget. Henry, a survivor of Auschwitz, showed us the numbers tattooed on his arm. This is his story.

He was born in 1921 in Berlin. By 1933, Hitler had risen to power and implemented his plan of activating factories to make weapons of war. A hate campaign was started against Jews. Every two weeks, the newspaper carried stories of crime supposedly committed by Jews. Their rights and property were systematically taken away.

Euthanasia was carried out against the handicapped and mentally ill. The Catholic Church was able to stop it in 1938, but by then, 80 percent of Germany's handicapped and mentally ill people had been killed. Hitler's goal was to produce a "master race" by eliminating them, Jews, Gypsies and Poles.

Hitler's army invaded Poland in 1939. The first concentration camps were built in Poland and Czechoslovakia. By 1943, only 10 percent of the original Jewish population still existed. That May, Henry and his family were taken by the SS to a concentration camp in Czechoslovakia [Theresienstadt]. Of the 15,000 children sent to that camp, only 100 survived!

Henry's worst memories were when all children under 13 and anyone who needed medical treatment were trucked to the crematoriums, gassed and burned. Those who remained were tattooed and forced to work. They were not permitted to use their names, only their numbers.

As the Russian army advanced into Poland, concentration camp inmates were loaded into cattle cars with standing room only, and no food or sanitary facilities for two and a half days. One-third of them died en route to Auschwitz.

As the Russian army approached Auschwitz, a forced death march began. Those who stumbled and fell were shot.

Eventually, the survivors met up with the American Army, which gave them boxes of concentrated food. The prisoners couldn't handle concentrated or solid food, and many died after eating it. Henry was put on a menu of broth and remained in bed for a week before he could eat solid food.

Christians who risked death by hiding them saved the lives of some Jews. Denmark shipped 10,000 Jews to Sweden, a neutral country, in fishing boats. Some Jews also survived in France.

Henry's message emphasized that we should all respect each other's religious beliefs. But unfortunately, there are some who still preach hate. It is our responsibility as members of a free society to speak out against those who would abuse the rights of others. If we don't, "ethnic cleansing" will continue throughout the world.

Burnt Wienie worthy: Lean, mean and spleenless

Nominee: David Sprick
Nominator: Elmer (Joe) Sprick
Year: 1974

Resolution

WHEREAS, on the second day of his vacation, David William Sprick did become involved in an altercation involving one bicycle and one large German shepherd-type dog;

AND WHEREAS, the circumstances resulted in his mother's hair turning from gray to white and the medical bills incurred were of such magnitude that they approximated purchase of the sixth floor of St. Mary's Hospital in Rochester, Minn., and new cabin cruisers for three doctors;

AND WHEREAS, David's impoverished father was required to take over menial household duties during the recovery period while affairs of state suffered;

AND WHEREAS, David's gift money in the sum of $30 was squandered on Steely Dan albums, McDonald's hamburgers and generally riotous living while cousin Alfie suffered the humiliation of one week in solitary confinement with bruised ribs;

AND WHEREAS, David's father, the plaintiff, was required to file a claim against kinsfolk who were graciously bedding and boarding said nominee during the time of the altercation;

NOW THEREFORE BE IT RESOLVED, that the Waldesruh Corporation, a loosely knit, nonprofit organization, does hereby nominated David William Sprick for the Burnt Wienie Award of 1974.

Burnt Wienie worthy: LeRoy makes a splash

Nominee: LeRoy Sprick (winner!)
Nominator: Unknown
Year: 1974

Professional Pride Downfall of Local Contractor

L.F. Sprick, local builder, narrowly escaped injury today while working on the boat docks at the Lake City municipal harbor.

Sprick, age 39 [we think not], was working alone at the end of one of the docks and had just completed a minor repair job when he stepped back to admire his workmanship. Splash! The heavy green slime on the water's surface kept Sprick afloat until help could be summoned.

At an interview at the Sprick home following the incident, Mrs. Sprick noted that if her husband made a practice of this sort of thing, something would have to be done to rectify the harbor pollution problem, as her laundry facilities had been contaminated by the mess.

Burnt Wienie worthy: A berry big jam

Nominee: Ed Sprick (winner!)
Nominator: Anna Sprick Smith
Year: 1975

Berry Pickin' Bachelor Brother Bombs Birdland

What caused a mild-mannered fish-pickling expert, walleye fisherman extraordinaire and sometime bird-watcher to suddenly this summer turn against those featherly flying creatures he so recently had watched and mimicked?

It all started with a poor strawberry season. Then the Millers went East on vacation and the mischief began. Edward began picking their raspberries. Other family members intercepted his activities and tried to distract him with bass fishing -- to no avail.

He soon was spied carrying gallons of buckets of black raspberries to those who would reach out in weakness.

Then he recruited co-conspirators Alverna, Anna and Joe Kirkwood, who did not realize to what extent the passion had progressed. Together at Waldesruh they picked buckets of blueberries for the home freezers.

In mid-August, when the jars and freezers and Sure-Jell and patience and time and desire were all used up, this gentle soul turned tyrant began to disappear into the deep woods near the nursery. Grinning, he would emerge with gallons of blackberries, black caps, huckleberries -- whatever. He would descend on weary sisters, lady friends and his aged mother in hopes that they would prepare the stolen fruit.

Yes, stolen! For our feathered friends preparing themselves for that autumn trek to warmer lands found no berries. They flew from patch to patch. No berries! Occasionally a starving bird would fly too low over a supermarket and with dazed eyes note a "No lids" sign and know the frustration of housewives that summer.

Mother Sprick, attempting to humor the bird-bombing, berry-picking bachelor, turned out pies and passed them on in brown paper bags to less talented members of the family.

Sister Anna realized the seriousness of the berry virus when she overheard Edward, who had just picked 5 gallons of the (whatever) berry, asking, "Tuck, what'll it take to get you to help me pick tomorrow at 7 a.m.?" Innocent Tuck, whose bank account had been depleted by a trip to Washington, D.C., and the Gould strike in Lake City, agreed to this dastardly rendezvous in the berry patch by declaring that he could be bought for 50 cents.

Meanwhile, back in the hot kitchens, recipients of the berries ran from door to door. "What are they?" "What do you do with them?" "Uncle Henry says they are blackberries." "Al says they are boysenberries." "How much sugar do you use?" "Can I borrow a few jars?" "No! They're full of pickled fish." "Sorry, I can't eat anything seedy." "Gosh, Grandma's pie is good!"

Where will it end? said the birds. Enough, already! We are starving! We've been forced to eat the Culex tarsalia mosquito, and we'll surely fall asleep on our journey southward!

Will the birds ever return to Waldesruh, Frontenac and Lake City? Will the family eat anything this winter but berries? Will Edward ever say, "Ich habe mein Nase voll"? Will ulcers be aggravated and will more ulcers develop?

Surely this travesty on nature is worthy of the Burnt Wienie Award. I speak for the birds when I state that all who vote accordingly will be given a sample jar of special blackberry or you-name-it jam.

Burnt Wienie worthy: Psycho in the shower??

Nominee: Chris Miller
Nominator: Elmer (Joe) Sprick
Year: Unknown

While visiting the Wisconsin Spricks in July, Chris was required by house rules to take a daily shower. While showering was not necessarily a new experience for Chris, he failed to recognize the merits of putting the shower curtain inside the tub. The high-velocity shower head quickly flooded the small bathroom before it was noticed by the pride of the Lincoln High School cagers.

When the flood became apparently, Chris made an attempt to soak it up with the bath mat and return it to the tub.

But in the meantime, considerable quantities of water had seeped through the floor, through the basement ceiling and through the second fake ceiling in David's room, which tends to be a bit on the swampy side anyway.

Fortunately, a dehumidifier corrected the problem, but not before Chris' boo-boo had been discovered and made a part of the special records of the seventh annual Stump-in.

Burnt Wienie worthy: Diaper caper

The scrapblog editor found an alarming number of Burnt Wienie Award nominations related to diapers. This one is almost tasteful by family standards.

Nominee: Annette Sprick Kulseth
Nominator: Alverna Sprick Miller
Year: Unknown

All of us know that Annette is very gracious, hospitable and generous. She has given away a small fortune in antiques to family and friends, for instance.

But did you know about her frugal, conservative streak? How conservative? Let me give one example!!

When she first baby-sat with our little grandson, Noah Joseph Miller-Johnson, she washed out a disposable diaper -- for reuse!!

Now, that's conservative!!

Burnt Wienie worthy: Blade blunder

Nominee: Dan Broberg
Nominator: Marion Sprick Broberg
Year: 1981

Listen, my friends, and you shall hear
the tale of a young, budding mechanical engineer.

One May Saturday morning, sometime after dawn,
father Wally went out to look at the lawn.

"Sam, the grass needs mowing," he said, looking dapper.
"Dan, would you service the old Red Snapper?"

So Dan, with a moan and a grunt and a snarl,
took the mower and set out to work a while.

He scrubbed it and cleaned it and changed the oil.
He sharpened the blade -- oh, what toil!

Sam, the mower, looked on in pain --
so happy was he when it started to rain!

It rained for three days. Oh, there were pools,
while Dan sat in classes, now back at school.

The grass grew long. Sam hoped for the sun.
He knew the mowing job would not be fun.

He started the mower -- off with a snort.
Soon something was wrong, he had to report.

With the help of mom Marion, he checked it over,
but could not diagnose it, out there in the clover.

Father Wally came home and surveyed the scene.
He pulled the rip cord -- it started real keen.

Mowing the grass (looking more like hay),
he noticed it was coming out the wrong way.

How he exclaimed with chuckles and frowns,
"Dan put the dang blade on upside down!"

Burnt Wienie worthy: Where the heck is Dumfries?

Nominee: Elmer (Joe) Sprick
Nominator: Alverna Sprick Miller
Year: Unknown

It is a long way to Tipperary, but even a longer way to Dumfries, Minn., if one goes by Joe Sprick's directions.

On a recent night out, the clan was in Millers' van, headed out to dinner. All agreed on only one thing -- that the restaurant in Dumfries would be a good place to go.

But there seemed to be no agreement on how to get there. Several van passengers offered to map the route. The variety of ways to get there proved interesting, and offered much subject for debate.

Bill wanted to go through Zumbro Falls, as he knew that route and only that route. Most of us thought that was the long way around. Alverna wanted to go out the Thielman road and pick up Hwy. 60 at Scotoch Settlement (you are old if you know where that is!) for nostalgic reasons. Kate wanted to take us past the route where John Kirkwood lived as a child -- if she could find the right cutoff road. Joe wanted to go that way also, as it would take us past the farm where Stegemeyers used to lived. Bless their hearts, Mavis and Anna were content to let others make the big decisions.

After considerable chatter, it was decided that Joe could direct the driver, as he seemed quite confident of his skills along those lines. So we headed down Hwy. 61, then out on Wabasha County Rd. 4, past Hagedorn's Salvage, up Campground Hill, and turned left at O'Brien's Corner. All was going well. Alverna directed everyone's attention to the left for a spectacular view of Lake Pepin down Reilly's Coulee. (Later on, this evidence was introduced to try to pin the blame on Alverna for our late arrival in Dumfries, but there were no buyers.)

At any rate, all passengers, including Joe, the tour guide, missed gravel road 32 off to the right, which would have accomplished all three missions of the journey: A) it was the shortest road to Dumfries, B) it went past the farm where John Kirkwood lived as a child, and C) it went past the farm where Stegemeyers used to live, although the farm buildings are long gone now.

So, would you believe that we were entering the city of Wabasha, or at least the suburbs, when tour guide Joe realized that we were back on Hwy. 61, bound for Chicago? Not too much was said as we unanimously agreed to turn west on Hwy. 60 to get to Dumfries. (For the uninitiated, Dumfries is definitely southeast of our starting point.)

So, for making it a long way to Dumfries, I nominate Joe Sprick [pictured above during a walk on Lake Pepin, where it was easier to tell east from west] for the Burnt Wienie Award, for even though he has traveled the world, he had a hard time finding Dumfries the short way!