"Dalai Lama, Long Life!": A cousin's account

We are delighted to present this thoughtful essay and eyewitness reportage by cousin Tanya Cook (pictured below with her youngest child, Perrin), who trekked to Madison, Wis., last week to see the Dalai Lama. Madison, like Minneapolis, has a large Tibetan Buddhist population. The scrapblog editor notes that during her stint as Minneapolis Star Tribune religion reporter, she followed the Dalai Lama around for a couple of days and had a similarly fascinating experience.

By TANYA COOK

July 20, 2008

It had been an exciting and stressful week leading up to my trip to see the Dalai Lama’s public talk at the Colosseum in Madison, Wis. My close friend and her boyfriend had driven all the way from the greater Minneapolis-St. Paul area to attend. We aren't Buddhists, but we couldn’t pass up the chance to hear this important and engaging spiritual leader. I’d always been fascinated with his self-deprecating humor, down-to-Earth manner of talking about issues as diverse as world politics and self-help, and his almost cult-like status in certain circles of popular culture. The Dalai Lama has a special connection with Wisconsin, having chosen to visit seven times. One of his senior students founded a Buddhist Temple near Oregon, Wis., to the south of Madison, and helped to found one of the nation's first Buddhist Studies Departments at the University of Wisconsin in Madison.

I was worried about being late as we drove to the Colosseum. We had left the house later than planned because I was trying to give the girls maximum birthday party time before taking them home to stay with their dad while I attended the talk. Then there was the county fair. Traffic was congested and we hiked in from beyond the horse trailer parking section, the sweet scent of dry hay and warm animals filling the air. We passed one Toyota Prius after another; several cars sported “Free Tibet” bumper stickers. As we drew close we heard, over the drone of a helicopter circling above, a group of people chanting: "Dalai Lama, [something, something]." My friend said, “I think they’re saying, ‘Dalai Lama, long life.’” But could there be protesters? I wondered. Who would be protesting a man who had won the Nobel Peace Prize?

The round red and white spaceship looking building loomed in front of us. To the right we saw the group, loudly chanting and holding signs. Now we were close enough to make out what they were saying: “Dalai Lama, stop lying! Dalai Lama, stop lying!” Yes, a protest group. Insert ‘You know you’re in Madison, when ... ’ joke here.

We paid them little heed as we found the door for advance ticket-holders, passed security guards who reminded us to turn off cell phones. It was touch-and-go for me for a minute, but I quickly revealed the thing that made the wand beep as the guard swept it past my midsection was only my key chain. My purse passed inspection, too, and we ascended to our seats.

I needn’t have worried about being late. They waited for the crowd to be seated, and we sat through introductions by a local radio personality and the governor, Jim Doyle.

Although our seats were high, we knew when His Holiness appeared on stage as 30,000 people rose as one to stand in respect. His bald pate shining, he bowed to the crowd and other monks in attendance, joining his hands, palms together in front of his chest. We bowed back in unison and then began a thunderous standing ovation. Coming out of his bow, the Dalai Lama faced the crowd and then pumped his hands up from waist level twice, the universal gesture for “More applause, please!” He followed this quickly with the gesture for “Stop, please, sit!” And sit we did. He removed his sandals and sat cross-legged in an upholstered chair, adjusting his crimson and saffron robes. His translator hovered at attention to his left. His Holiness donned an earpiece microphone like the ones Madonna or Brittany use to sing and dance simultaneously and began his 90-minute talk, entitled “Educating the Heart.”

I was worried at first that I’d understand little of the talk. It was difficult to hear, and His Holiness’ English, while excellent, was strongly accented. I also worried that I knew too little about Buddhism to follow an esoteric discussion of dogmatic beliefs. But as he spoke of compassion and the purpose of life we listened quietly and tried to let the words enter our hearts. He said the purpose of life was to be happy and that once basic material needs were met, it was impossible to achieve lasting happiness through material means.

He was profoundly positive, even when discussing his difficult relationship as a political leader in exile. He stated strongly that the Tibetan people had great respect for the Chinese people, but not the Chinese government. Freedom, the Dalai Lama expressed, is a fundamental human desire, and totalitarianism is its opposite. Like any great public speaker, he put in jokes punctuated with his open and warm laughter.

Even having read about it, I was surprised at his humility and willingness to make himself the butt of a joke. In the opening moments he quickly dispelled any notions of what he was not. He did not have any special healing powers, he said. If anyone knew of someone who could heal through touch, he said, let him know, because recently a particularly enthusiastic fan had hurt his left pinky finger after a bout of hearty hand-shaking! When asked about how he maintained his strength living in exile he answered, “Good sleep, good food.”

My favorite part of the talk, though, was when he revealed his most important source for learning about compassion. Considered to be the emanation of the Buddha of compassion, this man has worked to teach others to find compassion, even for their enemies. But his most important lessons on compassion, he said, came not from the Buddhist teachings he’s studied his whole life (and in previous lifetimes), but from his mother. He described her patience, tolerance, and unconditional love as the basis of his spiritual understanding of compassion. His Holiness stressed the importance of individual happiness beginning with family relationships, with happiness spreading from families to communities to nations to the world.

We left the Colosseum hungry and looking forward to getting home to start dinner and work on the happiness of shared food and conversations. The protesters were still there. Later, I read in the newspaper they were part of a Buddhist sect that accuses the Dalai Lama of religious intolerance and hypocrisy. Their chanting followed us past the hybrid cars and horse trailers, but this time I smiled, imagining their words differently, preferring my friend’s interpretation: “Dalai Lama, long life! Dalai Lama, long life!”

Suckers 101: An essay by Uncle Joe

By ELMER "JOE" SPRICK

Many species of sucker frequent the Upper Mississippi drainage system. They include, but are not limited to, blue, quillback, highfin, hognose, silver, golden, river, spotted, carp sucker, chub sucker and sturgeon sucker.

The hognose sucker featured in a photo as a delicacy on the family blogspot was an erroneous photo subsequently corrected by a photo of a fine string of white suckers proudly displayed by J.C. Kirkwood, right.

The book "Northern Fishes" by Eddy and Surber states, "None of the suckers bites readily on a baited hook." Consequently, only proficient anglers are consistently able to catch suckers with hook and line. J.C. Kirkwood and sons Joe and Tuk, all skillful sucker fishermen, were tutored in the sport by the late master angler Edward Sprick.

In early spring, suckers make their prespawning run up the tributary streams to the Upper Missisippi. April 1 is not only April Fools' Day, but also prime time to begin fishing for suckers in the Zumbro River, which is usually high and muddy from snowmelt and spring rains. The swift current often brings trees as well as a number of large household items floating down the river, a hazardous situation that precludes using a boat in the pursuit of suckers.

Back in the 1930s, before fishing and a lot of other stuff became high tech, it was common to fish with a set line containing several hooks baited with earthworms. The line was tied to a small willow on the bank. Several lines were set out, with a railroad spike serving as a sinker in the swift current. One could spend a lot of time baiting hooks.

The meat of the white sucker is sweet and firm in the spring, excellent eating except for the fine bones. Grandma Maria Augustin Sprick always had a loaf of fresh bread on the table when suckers were on the menu. "If you get a bone in your throat, just take a piece of bread," she said. That usually took care of the problem.

After World War II, fishing became more sophisticated, requiring more than just a hook and worm. Using a spinning rod and a nonstretch braided line, an experienced angler could reel the bait slowly through a snagfree hole and feel the subtle bite of a sucker nibbling away at the worm. On a good day, one can catch more fish than he can carry, which is a good reason to fish near a road.

Not everyone fishes suckers for the same reason. A 5-pound sucker gives one a good fight in the current. Some, including the kids from the Environmental Learning Center I took out to the Zumbro, fish just for the sport of it. Sucker fishing is the most popular of the numerous outdoor activities scheduled by their program director.

Others who fish for sucker know that pickling the fish dissolves the fine bones and that when cut into small pieces, a piece of pickled fish on a cracker, enhanced by a glass of Miller Lite, makes an excellent hors d'oeuvre.

Uncle Ed (shown above with cousin Chris Miller, sainted dog-of-our-youth Alfie and fish) would have been pleased to know that his recipe for pickled fish appears on a number of websites. And there are still a few familiar names on his original list of those who relished his pickled fish as gifts. He would also be pleased to know that I and my fishing partner and usually dependable guide, Doc Knudsen, are carrying on his tradition of trying to prevent Nature Deficit Disorder among our nation's youth.

And this is most certainly true!

Elmer "Joe" Sprick, sucker fisherman, outdoors sage, astute essayist, scrapblog senior research associate and usually reliable uncle, can be reached at earlybird1@mchsi.com. Other of his essays can be found lower in this blog.

A nurse named Florence: Her own story

Aunt Florence, who turns 82 today (Jan. 20, 2008) wrote this for the family memory book "An Even Dozen":

By FLORENCE SPRICK BYE

In June 1944, as U.S. troops, my brother Edward Sprick among them, landed on the beach at Normandy, France, I began my nursing education at St. Olaf College in Northfield, Minn. My mother had signed permission for me to join the U.S. Cadet Nurse Corps, so I had enrolled in the Northwestern Hospital School of Nursing.

115 student nurses from five Minneapolis hospitals were on campus to study basic sciences for three months. 1,500 naval cadets were also there. They were very strict at St. Olaf; we only saw the naval cadets from a distance as they marched. We were all in the dorm by 7 p.m., and lights went out at 10 p.m.

In September, my group affiliated at Minneapolis General Hospital for contagious diseases, caring for patients with everything from diphtheria to polio. We also spent three months at Rochester State Hospital studying psychiatry, a new field at the end of World War II.

We used the Sister Kenny hot-pack technique for polio patients. Many were also placed in iron lungs, the first respirators.

While I was a student, one of the first partial-lung resections was done -- unsuccessfully. During pediatric training, a child died after the doctor removed a tracheotomy tube. We used to hang wet sheets in the wards to increase the humidity. Penicillin was in early use, and we gave babies and children injections every three hours. Cancer patients were considered terminal. In obstetrics, we "scrubbed in" for 13 deliveries; that wasn't a very busy department during World War II.

Our public health nurse, a Japanese-American, had to leave for a detention camp in California. Also, the Marigold Ballroom was out of bounds for student nurses because Japanese-American G.I.s hung out there.

We used to walk downtown to the YWCA and bowl against the other hospital nursing students. We had to set our own pins.

Even when we were on night duty, we had to get up and go to classes during the daytime. We had very little time off for three years, including the summers.

In December 1946, my mother gave permission to the hospital board for me to marry Bill Rafferty, my G.I. sweetheart. During my final six months as a student, I had to room by myself and work in a ward called "Coffin Corners" because the school frowned on marriage.

I graduated in June 1947 and my husband was discharged from the service. We had met in Fort Dodge, Iowa, where I had worked in pediatrics and then obstetrics at Lutheran Hospital. I saw my first severely burned child there, and a 14-year-old girl who died as the result of an illegal abortion.

For the next six years, I traveled with my husband as he did steel construction work. I worked in many small hospitals, using my obstetrics experience. I was licensed in Minnesota, Iowa and Texas. In other states, including Arkansas, Oklahoma, Kansas and North Dakota, I received a six-month work permit.

We moved to Waterloo, Iowa, where I worked as obstetric supervisor in the labor and delivery room at Schotz Memorial Hospital. Our daughter, Patricia Louise, was born on Oct. 1, 1952. After three months, we moved to the Rio Grande Valley in Texas, separating in Corpus Christi in January 1953 and divorcing soon after.

Patty and I then lived with my mother in Lake City, Minn., where I worked at the hospital from February 1953 to August 1955. It had only 25 beds. The halls were always full of beds for patients. I remember using chloroform to anesthetize obstetric patients.

In August 1955, I married Chuck Schmidt and moved to Red Wing, Minn., where I worked at St. John's Hospital as a 3-11 p.m. shift supervisor. I then took a job at Interstate Clinic because I wanted day hours to care for our son, Karl, who was born in March 1958. In those days, nurses were replaced when they had babies, so I moved to Red Wing City Hospital, where I worked as assistant administrator for nine years, until the hospital closed in 1967. JoAnne was born in 1960. I used my four-week vacation to convalesce after her birth, then went right back to work.

During my time at City Hospital, we performed a rare but successful aortic aneurysm surgery at the same time the Duke of Windsor had the same surgery. But our patient wasn't famous, so we weren't written up in the newspaper.

In 1962, Karl, our happy, lively 4-year-old son, was diagnosed at the Mayo Clinic with pseudohypertropic muscular dystrophy. By age 12, he was wheelchair-bound. We all worked together on his care. I took him to Dr. V. Richard Zarling at Fairview Hospital in Minneapolis twice a year for evaluation and experimental medications. We set up a vigorous daily exercise program, and he took lots of vitamins.

Karl graduated from Red Wing High School and worked at Interstate Rehabilitation Center in Red Wing. He received an electric wheelchair from Red Wing Vocational School. I helped push for rights for the disabled for years before a law was passed requiring ramps and parking spaces to make life a little easier for the disabled.

In 1969, after Red Wing City Hospital closed, I went to work at the new Lake City Hospital. I worked in obstetrics and medical surgery for 11 and a half years. While there, I took a coronary nursing course. We began monitoring cardiac patients and started intravenous treatments, as well as monitoring fetal hearts. Hospitals now had their own pharmacists.

After Chuck Schmidt and I divorced in 1978, I moved to Rochester, Minn., and worked in a surgical ward at Methodist Hospital. After six months, my hours were cut, so I returned to Red Wing and in March 1979 became the 3-11 p.m. charge nurse in labor, delivery and postpartum care at St. John's.

By 1982, I needed a change, so I moved to Minneapolis and worked the 3-11 p.m. shift in obstetrics at Midway Hospital. I was laid off after being exposed to chicken pox, which I had never had. [It's very dangerous in adults.]

Among nurses' duties were rupturing membranes, performing episiotimies and monitoring fetuses. I felt this was too much liability after a nurse was targeted by a lawsuit. The liability insurance for obstetrical nurses increased substantially after that.

While I was again seeking employment, Karl, 24, died unexpectedly of a heart attack. It was then I decided to work with the disabled. On March 7, 1983, I began work in the prolonged respiratory care unit of at Bethesda Lutheran Hospital. I moved to Ford Parkway in St. Paul, but soon moved to Roseville because the airplane noise was too much for me.

I worked days-evenings, only four days a week, but the work was physically and emotionally hard. The patients were long-term ventilator patients, many of whom lived on the ward. We were like their family.

In 1984, nurses in the Minneapolis-St. Paul area went on strike for a month. In 1988, five hospitals merged to form HealthEast. Our unit continued as a long-term care unit.

My last day of working full-time was Sunday, May 15, 1988. At the end of my shift after I did my report, I put on my roller skates and skated up and down the halls, into all my patients' rooms. They all just loved it! But it's hard to laugh when you're on a respirator.

I worked on an intermittent basis in June and July. Then, Virgil "Bud" Bye, a man whom I had spurned in 1944 so I could go to nursing school, looked me up. After being apart for 40 years, we started going together again, and we were married on Aug. 6, 1988.

I retired from nursing for good on Jan. 20, 1991, my 65th birthday.

Postscript: The affable Bud, to whom Florence enjoyed a happy marriage, has since passed away. Florence now lives in Maplewood in the summer and in San Diego, Calif., in the winter with her companion Harry Greason, a World War II vet. That's them below at the 2007 Veterans Day Parade in downtown San Diego.

Rescue on the surly river: A 100 percent true story by Uncle Joe

By ELMER SPRICK

LAKE CITY, MINN. -- His name was Terry Quast, and he came from Mount Pleasant, Mich. I never saw him before, and chances are I will never see him again. He made a lasting impression, however, because we seemed to have much in common. He was a lover of the silent sport of canoeing, which he calls "motorless motion."

Terry operates a bike shop in Mount Pleasant that keeps him close to home in the summer months. This fall, he decided to canoe the Mississippi River from top to bottom, the bottom being the Gulf of Mexico.

Early October 2007 produced some unprecedented warm weather in Minnesota. A strong south wind pumped tropical heat into the state. Terry was bucking a headwind in his canoe until the front abruptly moved, bringing snow to northern Minnesota. What it brought to Lake Pepin was a strong north wind, whitecaps and morning temperatures in the 30s.

I met Terry one recent windy morning in Lake City. In the relatively sheltered boat harbor, I had managed to catch a meal of panfish. I was filleting them in the boat landing's fish-cleaning station when Terry appeared at the door and ask what I had caught. That didn't seem unusual; fishermen coming and going often ask that question. But it did seem odd to me that no vehicles were in the parking lot, and Terry didn't look like he'd come off the adjacent river walk. He was wearing a week's growth of whiskers and his clothes looked like he had been sleeping in them. No doubt he had.

A few minutes later, he came back to the fish-cleaning station and asked me if I knew of a motel in the neighborhood. A glance at the launching ramp gave me the picture; there was a canoe pulled up on the ramp with a huge backpack.

I advised Terry that the motels were on the opposite end of town about a mile away and said I'd be happy to give him a ride and to shelter his canoe and gear in my garage overnight. I also told him that there was little chance that the winds would diminish overnight and that the forecast for the next day was much the same.

He carried his gear and 75-pound canoe the long block to my house. While storing the canoe, I asked him if he wanted to consider skipping the lower half of Lake Pepin. If so, I said, I would give him a ride to Wabasha. He was very receptive, having seen enough of the lake's angry mood. We loaded his gear in my truck and headed for Wabasha.

On the ride, I should have listened more and talked less. I did learn, however, that Terry is an adventurous sort, having spent winters in the Everglades, canoeing among the alligators. He had business cards in his backpack, and I got his name and e-mail address. Around Thanksgiving, I plan to e-mail him and find out how if he survived the rest of the trip and how many paddle strokes it took him to get to the Gulf of Mexico.

The last I saw of him, he was making good time exiting of the Wabasha boat harbor, past Slippery's, of "Grumpy Old Men" fame. Just beyond that, he passed the newly dedicated National Eagle Center. But Terry had no time for tourist stops -- he had miles to go and a schedule to keep, and a good tail wind from the north!

Terry is one of many who has canoed the Mississippi. If he writes a book about it, I wouldn't blame him if he left Lake Pepin out.
_________________________________________________________________
Postscript: Terry Quast recently e-mailed this to Joe:

I made it back safely and it was a wonderful trip. People like you, willing to help, were found along the length of the river. Further down the river, access is limited because of the big fluctuations in the water level. Access to the river is at town parks only, and people who live along the river drive into the public access areas to get a glimpse of the river since the levees are 40 feet high and nobody can see the river from their homes. But without exception, the people visiting these parks were willing to drive me to grocery stores, or restaurants, or even rides to state parks. That was the nicest part of the trip; people looking out for strangers.

The northern half is much nicer than the lower half of the Mississippi. You live in a nice area on Lake Pepin.

Thanks again for your help. If I get a chance to post it on the internet, I'll send you a link. Not many pictures, but a nice adventure.
--Terry Quast, Mount Pleasant, Mich.

A gallery of slides from Vietnam, 1968-69, Part III

More photos Dad took during U.S. Army service in Vietnam, 1968-69:

A gallery of slides from Vietnam, 1968-69, Part II

More slides from Dad's 1968-69 U.S. Army service in Vietnam:

A gallery of slides from Vietnam, 1968-69

Dad/Uncle Bill took these photos in Vietnam in 1968-69. We'll put more history and information on this file over time.

The crucible of war

Still inspired by Ken Burns' "The War," we've done more sleuthing about Uncle Ed's World War II experiences. It's become clear that he was there for almost every major operation in Europe, the likes of which we middle-aged cousins have, thankfully, never seen. The old book pictured above is a rough soldiers' account of the history of Ed's 329th Infantry Regiment. The photo glued to the front of it was taken after the war; the photo posted below before the war. In the book we found tucked this letter written by Ed's old fishing buddy Don Mueller of Dressen, Wis. It read:

March 30, 2002

Dear friends and family of Ed Sprick,

As we all know, Ed never said much about his experiences during World War II. The only two comments I can remember were, "I got to see Paris from the back of an ambulance" and some talk about walking across Europe.

One time we were deer hunting south of Lake City and several of us met up in the woods. Ed had a habit of placing his shotgun butt on the ground and putting his hand over the muzzle while he stood and talked. A stranger came up and commented about this unsafe act. Ed's comment about carrying his rifle across Europe ended that debate.

When questioned about the war, Ed would tell his family that it was "in the book." Finally, after all these years, I borrowed the book from Elmer. I would like to make some comments in it.

Ed was an Army staff sergeant in World War II. I was an Army staff sergeant in Vietnam. The 12th Infantry of the Fourth Division relieved Ed's unit a couple of times in Europe. I was assigned to the 12th Infantry in Vietnam. How I wish Ed and I had known that when he was alive.

In Ed's photo album there is a small photo [above, on the book cover] of Ed in a plain uniform, wearing no stripes or ribbons except for a long rectangular rifle with a blue background. That is the Army Combat Infantryman's Badge (CIB).

For those who have been in combat, that picture is worth a thousand words. The CIB is awarded to soldiers who have been infantrymen in a combat zone for at least six months. Truck drivers, cooks, clerks, etc. cannot receive the CIB. In Vietnam, I was assigned to an artillery unit of the 12th Infantry. No artilleryman could receive the CIB. We tried hard to find a way to earn it. Our jobs might have been dangerous, but they were not infantry.

Several years ago, I wrote to the then-chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and asked him how he could wear the CIB. He was an Army general who had always been in the artillery. He wrote back and said Congress had passed a special bill authorizing advisers in Vietnam to receive the CIB. Yeah -- right. But that four-star general knew the real significance of the CIB.

Many times I have seen civilians in church or at events where a suit and tie were worn. On their lapel would be a miniature CIB. Nothing else had to be said.

On the back of the photo, Ed had written: "July 28, 1945, Swezel, Germany. To Elmer from the Sarge." Ed knew the significance of the Combat Infantryman's Badge, and it shows in that picture.

Don Mueller

We think we see a subtle difference between Ed's expression on the photo of him with the Combat Infantryman's Badge on the book, taken after he was fought across Europe and was wounded (click on it to make it bigger), and the one below it, taken on Sept. 8, 1942, before he shipped out. The war surely was the defining experience of his life. (And we thought it was his taking us all fishing!)

Uncle Joe thinks that Ed would have enjoyed the scrapblog history entries, but liked the fishing photos even more. In honor of his wonderful postwar self, we're posting again one of our fav Ed photos, Ed in a tree, below.

"The War" and our very own Ed

The scrapblog editor and her senior executive associate research director, Uncle Elmer Sprick, watched all seven episodes of Ken Burns' "The War" on PBS, and pronounced it darn good. The scrapblog editor kept thinking she saw her dad and the uncles in various grainy segments. In the harrowing Hurtgen Forest episode (those are American GIs in a snowy foxhole in the Hurtgen, above), there was one blurry guy we are SURE was Ed. That led us to dig up Joe's ode to Ed in the family history book "An Even Dozen." Here it is:

By ELMER (JOE) SPRICK

What was history's greatest military operation? It was the Allied forces' landing on the coast of France on June 6, 1944, marking the beginning of the end of the Nazi war machine that had enslaved much of Europe. Books have been written and movies made about it, graphically documenting the horrors of war. Brother Ed was a part of the invasion force as an infantry sergeant in the U.S. Army.

There is a small book that one might read every Veterans Day. It is not available in the local library, as it was published in Wolfenbuttel, Germany, in July 1945, shortly after the end of World War II. The book, a history of the U.S. Army's 329th Infantry Regiment, was called "Buckshot." Page 147 is one of many pages listing the names of men killed or wounded in action at Normandy between June 6 and July 23, 1944. The name of Staff Sgt. Edward Sprick appears on that page. [Note from scrapblog editor: This book is probably "329 Buckshot Infantry Regiment," a history of the regiment edited by Daniel P. O'Connor and published in 1945 in Germany.]

That June, I had just completed my junior year of high school in Lake City, Minn. Two classmates and I were on our way from Lake City to the St. Joe National Forest in the panhandle of northern Idaho to work in remote 50-man forestry camps. Most older able-bodied men were in military service, so fighting forest fires and forest diseases had to be done by those under draft age, prisoners of war and Mexican nationals.

There was only one radio in our camp and no newspapers, so we knew very little about what was going on in the rest of the world. It was August before a letter came from my sister Anna telling me that Ed had been wounded in action in France and was hospitalized in England. By the time his V-mail letter arrived in Minnesota from England, he was back in action, fighting his way across Europe, enduring among other things the bitter cold and bloodstained snows of the Hurtgen Forest.

Ed never talked much about his war experiences. When asked, he would say, "It's all in the book." The book he was referring to was "Buckshot," which traced the history of his 329th Infantry [part of the 83rd Division? we're researching that] from the beaches of Normandy to the outskirts of Berlin. The 329th fought across France, Luxembourg, Belgium and Germany. Along the way, they faced bombs, tanks, mortars, rifle fire, minefields, booby-trapped pine trees, mud, hunger and deathly cold, sleepless nights. They also faced the sight and smell of corpses.

The 329th Infantry took every fortified objective in its path, often using "breast fire" formation, and always at great cost of human life. Those who survived each battle were reminded by their commanding officer that they were indebted to those who had died. "It is a debt we can never repay," he told them.

Ed was a survivor.

Years later, he spent many enjoyable days during his retirement from the Swift meatpacking plant in South St. Paul fishing Lake Pepin and the Zumbro River. When I retired in 1983, Ed's health was failing. Rheumatoid arthritis caused him a lot of pain. He survived several difficult surgeries, but in the end, lung cancer killed him.

"Any day you can fish is a good day," he used to say. It was my pleasure to take him fishing often during his last two years of sunrises. His former fishing partners were some of the best, frequently visiting with him on the days he was not able to fish. Also, little kids in the neighborhood came to visit him almost daily. They knew Ed was a soft touch with a kind heart, and he would give them gum and candy, or ice cream on a hot summer's day.

Ed died at his home on a cold Sunday morning, Jan. 20, 1985. He was 74. As we were preparing for his funeral, a 6-year-old neighbor girl came to me and asked, "Will you take me to Ed's funeral?" She sat next to Mavis and me in a packed church, paying her final tearful tribute and sharing our sense of great loss.

Several years after Ed's death, a Memorial Day story appeared in the local newspaper. The last paragraph read: "A visitor at Ed Sprick's final resting place paid eloquent respects by placing a beautiful fishing jig on his modest headstone. An old friend and fishing partner remember that 'we have a debt we can never repay.'"

Here is Ed's service record, as recorded in his own hand in his World War II scrapbook:

1942
April 10: Drafted, Fort Snelling, Minnesota. Medics, Camp Robinson, Arkansas.
July: Station hospital, Camp Campbell, Kentucky.
October: Transferred to Co. K., 329th Infantry, 3rd Battalion, 83rd Division. Camp Atterbury, Ind.

1943
July-August: Maneuvers in Tennessee.
September: Camp Breckinridge, Kentucky.

1944
March: Camp Shanks, New York.
April 6: Sailed from New York on Samaria for England.
April 19: Landed at Liverpool, England. stationed at Wrexham, Wales.
June 18: Plymouth, England.
June 19: Sailed for Omaha Beach, France.
July 4: Went into action in France.
July 6: Wounded.
July 12: Flown to England in a C 47. Hospitalized in 186th General Hospital until Sept. 5.
October: Landed at Omaha Beach en route to old outfit.
Oct. 17: Wounded at Birgel, Germany.
1945
About Jan. 14: Got trench foot. One week in a Paris hospital. Back to England by boat. At 67th General Hospital.
March: Discharged from hospital. [Illegible] near Birmingham, England. One week's leave there.
April 25: Went from Southhampton, England, to Le Havre, France.
May: Got back to old outfit at Braunschweig, Germany.
June: Frauenau, Germany.
August: Maneuvers (Jap tactics) at [illegible; Graf--- something]. Back to Frauenau.
Sept. 10: Transferred to 8th Armoured Division. Went to Pilsen, Czechoslovakia.
Sept. 17: Camp Oklahoma, France. Five weeks later at Le Havre. One week at Camp Philip Morris.
Nov. 4: Left for the States.
Nov. 12: Landed at Boston, Mass., at Camp Miles Standish.
Nov. 15: Left for Camp McCoy, Wisconsin.
Nov. 18: Discharged honorably from U.S. Army at Camp McCoy. Arrived at 201 N. Washington St., Lake City, Minn., a tired but happy civilian. Amen.

ADDENDUM

The web is a wonderful thing if you love history. The scrapblog editor just found this information about Ed's 329th Infantry and where it went and what it did. Sounds like the worst, and we mean the WORST EVER, summer and Christmas spent in Europe:

THE 329th INFANTRY IN ACTION

NORMANDY, June 23-Aug. 2, 1944

The 329th Infantry landed in France on D + 17 (June 23, 1944) and moved to an assembly area northwest of Bricqueville. On June 28, the 83rd Division relieved the 101st Airborne Division south of Carentan, and for a week the regiment was in division reserve with the 1st Bn protecting the city of Carentan. On July 4, the big attack jumped off. The 2nd Bn (the only element of the regiment in the initial attack) tried to cross the swamp southwest of Carentan, but met heavy resistance from German paratroops and was unable to gain a foothold on the opposite bank. On the following day, the 3rd Bn, followed by the 1st, drove 2,500 meters through hedgerow defenses to Culot, and although heavily counterattacked by SS troops, held their positions. From then until the great breakthrough of July 25, the fiercest fighting of the war took place, consisting of numerous assaults on fortified hedgerow positions. The Nazis' 17th SS Division opposing them was decimated. On July 26-27, following the withdrawing enemy, the regiment crossed the Taute River and reached Fougeres. where it went into an assembly area.

Towns captured: Culot and approximately 1000 hedgerows. Prisoners of war captured: 106.

ST. MALO, Aug. 3-18, 1944

On Aug. 3, the 329th moved by motor to Pontorson and on the 4th began the drive north to capture the fortress of St. Malo. After a hard fight by the 2nd Bn at Chateauneuf, the town was taken and the regiment drove on to engage the fortified belt around the city of St. Malo. Thence followed an attack on the fortified positions that resulted in the entry into St. Servan, a suburb of St. Malo, on Aug. 9. The 2nd Bn was detached from the regiment at this time, and in a brilliantly executed attack seized the heavily fortified Pte. de la Varde, east of St. Malo, and captured 197 prisoners of war. They then proceeded to capture the fort of Grand Bey. In the meantime, the city of St. Servan having fallen, the regiment laid siege to the Citadel, which after several assaults and heavy bombardment capitulated on Aug. 17, when Col. Von Aulock and a garrison of 596 surrendered.

Towns captured: Dolet, Chateauneuf, Chateau Malo, St. Jouan, St. Suliac, St. Pere, St. Anne, La Beurelais, La Balue, La Motte, St. Servan, Citadel of St. Servan, Fort de la Varde, Grand Bey. Prisoners of war captured: 3,203.

LOIRE, Aug. 19-Sept. 23, 1944

On Aug. 19, the 329th moved to the city of Angers, charged with the defense of the city and the north bank of the Loire. By Aug. 27, the sector of defense for the regiment had stretched to 130 miles from a point west of Angers to Orleans. The main activity during the period was patrol incursions from south of the river. On Aug. 30, the enemy forces south of the Loire began a general withdrawal to the east. On Sept. 8, the I&R Platoon received information that a column of 20,000 Germans wished to surrender to American troops. Negotiations followed, and on Sept 16-17, Gen. Elster and 19,854 German troops laid down their arms on the south bank of the Loire at Beaugency and became prisoners of war.

Town captured: Pont Dece. Towns entered by patrols: Tours, Nevers, Romcrantin, Chateauroux, Chatellerault, Bourges and many smaller towns south of Loire. Prisoners of war captured: 20,058.

LUXEMBOURG, Sept. 24-Dec. 9, 1944

Sept. 23 saw the 329th en route to the Siegfried Line northeast of Luxembourg. In the weeks that followed, the attacks on Grevenmacher (Oct. 1-5), and Echternach (Oct. 1-8) took place. German patrol activity was continuous, but no serious threats developed while the regiment held its sector of almost 25 miles of the west bank of the Moselle.

Towns captured: Oberdonven, Niederdonven, Grevenmacher, Osweiler, Berdorf, Dickweiler, Echternach. Prisoners of war captured: 211.

DUREN, Dec. 10-25, 1944

On Dec. 10, the 329th crossed the German frontier and relieved the 8th Infantry, 4th Division, in the Hurtgen Forest west of Duren. Two days later, the attack to the Roer River jumped off, and after a day of heavy fighting the enemy line was broken and the edge of the forest reached. Dec. 13-14 saw a series of brilliant attacks against the towns of Gurzenich and Birgel by 2nd and 3rd Bns respectively, and the seizure of those towns by our troops. The German counterattack on Gurzenich in Bn strength supported by six assault guns took place on Dec. 16, the day of the start of the great German counteroffensive in the Ardennes. It was successfully repulsed, and but few of the attacking troops were able to withdraw to Duren. The following day, the 1st Bn took the town of Rolsdorf and on the 18th sent the first patrol across the Roer into Duren. On the 23rd, the 329th was relieved and moved to a reserved position at Eilendorf, Germany, where it spent Christmas Day.

Towns captured: Gurzenich, Birgel, Rolsdorf. Prisoners of war captured: 1,054.

ARDENNES, Dec. 26-Jan. 22, 1944

On Dec. 26, the regiment was rushed to the vicinity of Havelange, Belgium, to assist in the containing the German breakthrough. On Dec. 28, the 329th relieved the armor in the Division sector and launched the attack which carried B Co into Rochefort. The pressure of the attack to relieve B Co, which was surrounded by Germans in the city, forced a premature withdrawal of the enemy panzer forces to the east, leaving the regiment in control of Rochefort.

Relief by British forces, movement to the east, and the drive with the 3rd Armored Division to cut off the German spearhead followed, and on Jan 9, 1945 the regiment attacked again against German tanks and in freezing cold and snow to capture Petite Langlier. A night attack on the 11th saw 2nd Bn in possession of Pont de Langlier, and a bridgehead for the armor. The attack to the east through the Bois de la Ronce resulted in the capture of Honyelez on Jan. 14 and the seizure of the high ground west of Bovigny and Courtil, which towns were occupied on Jan. 20. The Germans began a slow withdrawal to the Siegfried Line, and on Jan. 22 the 329th was relieved and pulled back to prepare for future offensive action.

Towns captured: Rochefort, Pont de Langlier, Honyelez, Bovigny, Courtil, Cierrieux, Rogery. Prisoners of war captured: 615.

Commanding officers of the 329th Infantry
Regimental commander: Col. Edwin B. Crabill
CO, 1st Battalion: Lt. Col. Tim O. Cook
CO, 2nd Battalion: Lt. Col. Granville A. Sharpe
CO, 3rd Battalion: Lt. Col. John C. Speedie

Total number of prisoners of war captured: 25,247

Campaign stars awarded: Normandy, Northern France, Germany

ENDNOTES

This was written by an Army historian before the war ended. Notice that the history is incomplete, since it does not follow the actions of the 329th all the way to the Elbe River in April and May, and the conclusion does not include the campaign stars awarded for the Ardennes and Central Europe.

In World War II, airborne and infantry divisions were made up of squads (usually nine to 12 men), with two squads to a platoon, and three or four platoons to a company. There were usually three or four companies to a battalion, three or four battalions to a regiment, three or four regiments to a division, plus attached engineers, artillery, medical and other support personnel. Allied infantry divisions were from 15,000 to 20,000 strong in the European Theater, while Allied airborne divisions were about one-half that size. Most German divisions were less than 10,000 strong. (See Stephen E. Ambrose, "D-Day, June 6, 1944: The Climactic Battle of World War II" (New York/London: Simon & Schuster, 1994.)

The scrapblog editor notes an important fact missing from this otherwise stellar account: Casualties. She'll try to track down the number of dead and wounded and update this soon.