GROWING UP IN MICHIGAN

This essay written for my family will largely, but not exclusively, be about my growing up in Michigan. It will not necessarily always be in chronological order as I grew up. What I describe will reflect positively and, in some instances, negatively on me as I attempt to tell my story as accurately as possible. The house I grew up in was a “Stone House” – that is to say the exterior was covered with smooth stones held in place with concrete mortar. The original Engstrom house that was made with a wooden frame burned down. This house was then built at that location in the 1920s. I am not sure the exterior of the new house was made of stones and mortar because the wooden frame house burned down, but it would be logical to come to that conclusion. Our house was heated with a furnace that burned coal. The coal was bought and delivered by truck. It was then offloaded into a storage area in the basement through a ground level window. We had a windmill powering a water-well that supplied our house and barn with water. Electricity was supplied in the usual way from an electric power company. In the late fall “storm windows” composed of glass in frames were put over the permanent windows from the outside and secured in place by fasteners. These added windows fit in the window frames to form a seal as tight as possible to create an air pocket (like double pane glass windows do now) for insulating the house in winter. We grew most of the vegetables we ate in a rather large garden in back of our house. As I remember it, included were “house corn,” not “field corn,” potatoes, tomatoes, green beans, lettuce, celery, radishes, cucumbers, and even watermelons, although not as successfully grown as the other vegetables. While it was necessary to cultivate, plant the seeds (ordered from the Burpee Seeds catalogue), and fertilize this garden we did not have to water it as there was a plentiful amount of rain in the spring, summer and fall. We did have to weed the garden as not only the vegetables, but the weeds grew very quickly in the long Michigan summer and fall growing seasons. Even some of the meat we ate came from our farm as I remember my father slaughtering steers and hanging the carcasses in the upstairs of the barn during cold weather. We kept chickens and harvested their eggs in a hen house with a large fenced in area for them to roam around. We also ate some of the chickens raised on our farm. Living on a farm at that time was not an easy or gentle life. We kept a dozen or so cows for milking which was the main money making enterprise of the farm. The milk was kept in large milk cans, which were stored in a water trough in the barn until the company we sold them to could pick them up. Also a couple of non-farming neighbors bought milk from us. We had a machine which separated cream from the milk so we had cream for our use. I never learned to milk cows efficiently because my father bought a milking machine before I was quite big and strong enough to accomplish milking efficiently. Erland did learn proper milking as he started regular milking before I did. No matter how strong your other muscles are it is the forearm muscles that need to be developed to milk a cow. While I had other muscles that were plenty strong and developed such as my biceps, shoulders, back, and legs, my forearms were not as well developed as my father’s and Erland’s. However strange it might appear for that time, in the late 1940s and early 1950s, our cows were artificially inseminated by a specialist with sperm from hybrid bulls. 1. My father was considered a “big fish in a little pond” in that he was not only a farmer, but also a member of the LeRoy school board, the town council, and the county agent for the Federal Department of Agriculture. His personality was such that everyone liked and respected him. There was an incident at a village council meeting where a woman in the town thought that it was time that the watering trough in the center of the town square should be removed. My father said no because there were still some farmers who had not yet converted to using a tractor and came into town with their wagons pulled by a team of horses who needed a place where the horses could be watered. He told her that LeRoy was still an agricultural town and he, himself, might have some horse manure on his shoes at that moment. My mother thought that was out of character for my father to be so blunt with her and it was. The watering trough stayed. In addition to attending meetings with other county agents in Reed City one of my father’s jobs was to see that the farmers in the county received government subsidized bags of fertilizer for their crops shipped by railroad. One day in a nearby town, a shipment of fertilizer came in by rail and he had me go with him to help unload it to the farmers, as they would come by. My father had to attend to something else so he left me in charge to see that each farmer got his allotted bags of fertilizer and help load them onto their wagons or trucks. I was 15 years old at the time and the bags each weighed 50 lbs. I worked all day and you could imagine that I was tired by the time my father came to get me. When he saw what an efficient job I had done he said he was well pleased with my effort. I was happy that he had complimented me and knowing that it was deserved made it all the more satisfying. The next subject I want to address is what, if anything, stimulated my interest in the American language. My best guess is that it may have been the result of my English teacher in the 7th & 8th grades. She was a spinster, named Garnet Nelson, who diagrammed on a blackboard sentences by nouns, verbs, adjectives, adverbs, phrases, clauses, etc. I was intrigued by this approach because it reminded me of the way mathematics and physics problems are analyzed that I was familiar with. I enjoyed math and physics problems (not so much chemical problems) and was an A student in math and physics in high school and a B student in college, which was not bad in an engineering school like the then Michigan College of Mining and Technology. In my senior year at Michigan Tech I took an elective course in Creative Writing. I was disappointed in the course because it seemed neither creative nor was there that much writing. My sister, Dolores, was the talkative one of the three of us. When we were young children she attempted, and was usually successful, in talking for Erland especially, and also tried to talk for me, although being much younger than she, by the time I was old enough to talk, she had partially given up that habit. Also, I was not as reticent to talk as Erland. In fact, since Erland and I shared the same bedroom, with separate beds, he would seemingly make up for not talking much during the day by attempting to talk non-stop when we went to bed. After a certain time I would tell him I wanted to sleep and it was time to stop talking. Some times he would stop and some times he didn’t so I would tell him to talk more during the day so I could get to sleep at night. In defense of the sibling rivalry Erland and I had it was understandable that he resented some family members, especially aunts, and other family friends, but not our parents, who repeatedly compared the heights of Erland and me. Saying things like Arnell is not there yet, 2. but is catching up with Erland in height and will surpass him one of these days. These were not particularly sophisticated people who clearly did not realize the psychological damage they might be imposing on a young boy. I know I would not have been amused had the situation been reversed. Eventually I did become taller than Erland by 6 foot one inch for me to about 5 foot ten inches for Erland, but that is beside the point. We had a large and even then old, but still strong and sound, chestnut tree in our front yard. Erland and I enjoyed not only climbing that tree, but we used to run along a couple of the lower really big tree limbs that were inclined to a degree being more horizontal than vertical. And we would also climb as high up in the tree as the tree limbs would allow us. For all the playing and scampering in that chestnut tree I do not remember either of us ever falling to the ground. And even we did and I don’t remember it - we certainly did not get hurt. Every fall that tree would yield copious amounts of chestnuts – some years more than others. Chestnuts are encased in a green outer covering that has spikes on it that are not soft, but not really hard either. Still, one had to be careful with one’s hands in removing the nut inside. The nuts had a thin covering on them that had to be removed before eating. Sometimes we ate the nuts raw, but mostly we would roast them. We thought they were delicious when roasted. I vaguely remember one year in winter, likely in late January or early February, there was so much snow on the ground that we would dig tunnels in the snow big enough for us to crawl through. I do not know the amount of snow we had then, but in the decade of 1940-49 at Michigan Tech there was an average of 184 inches of snowfall (15 1/3 ft.). In 1978-79 there was a record of 356 inches (circa 30 ft!) of snowfall at Michigan Tech so it would not surprise me if what I said at our house were accurate. There does not appear to be as much snowfall, at least in that part of Michigan where we lived, now as in the past. What that says about alleged Climate Change I do not know. We kids had a pet female cat that lived both in the barn and house. We were generally not allowed to let her follow us into the house so this smart cat developed a stratagem that overcame this prohibition. There was a coping around the entrance to the house and the cat would jump up on this coping while Erland and I would position ourselves to allow the cat to jump up on our shoulders and thus be carried into the house. We would tell our mother the cat just piggybacked on our shoulders and we could not do anything about it. This usually worked. The problem with this cat was she was too prolific in having kittens. She would give birth to her kittens and when they were old enough she would take them by the scruff of their neck and haul them in front of the door to the house in anticipation of being allowed into the house. She usually was allowed to do so. Unfortunately the story of our cat had a tragic ending. She had one too many pregnancies so one day late in the fall when the weather had turned cold we found her in a corner of the barn dead while trying to have her final patch of kittens. Not to dwell too much on sad stories, but the next story will be even more tragic. Erland and I kept pestering our parents to have a pet dog and finally they gave us one. He was a small dog (about the size of Elaine and Greg’s dog, Chase). His fur was mostly white and was curly, not straight. That dog (I do not remember his name) was a sheer joy, especially for me. I would lie on my back in the yard while the dog would playfully pretend to attack me. We had so much fun together. He was so frisky and playful. I loved that dog. While he was still a young dog one day Erland, our father, and I were hauling a length of railroad track iron on a low wagon in our yard (I do not remember why) with the dog along 3. with us. Suddenly the dog disappeared which should have alerted us, but didn’t. The dog was under the wagon and when we rolled the iron railroad track off the wagon onto the ground, the dog suddenly jumped out from under the wagon and the iron track came down directly onto his back, breaking it. Naturally he had to be “put down” to get him out of his pain and misery. What a tragedy! I was inconsolable and depressed for days – probably clinically so, but there were no “shrinks” around at that time so one had to carry on and get over it by oneself. Now I want to tell about my days at LeRoy High School. I was the top academic student in my class (the class Valedictorian) and the best athlete. I am not bragging – these are facts. The number one sport at LeRoy and the surrounding communities was basketball. I was the best player on our freshman basketball team made up of freshmen and sophomores who were not good enough to make the varsity team. I was so good in fact that the coach (more about him later) took the highly unusual step of having me suit up for a varsity basketball game. It turned out that I was too small and too inexperienced to compete successfully, but at least I was given a chance. During this period I would sometimes walk to the school gym on Saturdays and one time during the school week when the temperature was -40 degrees (at that temperature the Fahrenheit and Celsius readings are the same) I walked to school, heavily clothed of course. There were no classes that day because it was so cold that the school buses would not start. There was no wind chill; still this extremely low temperature caused the snow to make an unusual crunchy sound when walked upon. At these times in the gym I would take basketball shots from under the basket to out as far as 20 feet or more and make dozens of shots for 10 minutes or so and not miss once. My basketball agility and shooting ability were as nonpareil as could possibly be expected for a kid that age. In the spring of my freshman year, after the basketball season was over, the school hired a new basketball coach just out of college who also taught mathematics. He saw me and the other basketball players that spring and when I returned to school that fall he saw me and exclaimed, “What happened to you?” I had a growth spurt that summer and must have grown 3 inches or more. I had previously been a little shorter than he was, but now was a bit taller. I paid a price for growing so fast. I had lost some of my co-ordination and shooting ability so I was not a regular on the varsity basketball as a sophomore; instead one of my sophomore teammates was. I was the 6th player on the varsity team – the first substitute to come into the game. Erland was a regular on this team as a forward in his senior year. Improbably as it was during this time I became a hero for a short time on the varsity team. Late in the season we played a team from Evart, a class C school (we were a smaller school in D class). We played them every year and usually lost. This time we were playing them on their home court and late in the game they were ahead of us by one point. Then one of our guards - a junior named Vernon Johnson, fouled out of the game with 4 fouls (unlike today when 5 fouls gets one eliminated from the game). I came into the game as his replacement guard. The other guard was also a junior, named Chuck Peterson. He was small, but quick and smart, and the best player on the team. Evart had just scored a basket to go up by one point. I inbounded the ball to Chuck and two players from the Evart team guarded him and left me unguarded. They knew Chuck was an outstanding player and I supposed they thought I was a mere substitute and likely not very good. They turned out to be sadly mistaken. I knew enough to stay away from Chuck and he threw me the ball. I dribbled into their end of the court and took a long shot and scored. We were now ahead by one point. Evart inbounded the ball, worked their way down the court and scored. They were ahead by 4. one point. Then the same thing happened; I inbounded the ball to Chuck, the two Evart players guarded Chuck and left me alone and he passed it back to me. I again dribbled into their end of the court, took a long shot and scored one more time – we were back into the lead by one point. They called timeout, finally realizing that it was not good strategy to leave me unguarded. Play started again and they quickly worked the ball down court, as the time left in the game was really getting short. One can readily imagine there was bedlam occurring with the fans on both sides and it was difficult to hear anything. Anyway they shot the ball and the ball went into the basket. I thought, damn, they have won because now it was so near the end of the game that we would not have time to score again. At this point our coach came running out onto the court and told me we had won. I shouted how could that be because they had just scored. He said, no, the referee had blown his whistle before the shot was taken and it did not count. We had won! I was the school hero for a week or so until our next game. Erland was in that game and his kid brother who had come into the game, as a substitute, was the hero. How do you suppose that made him feel? I don’t know, but at the very least he must have had mixed feelings about it. As an aside, this Vernon Johnson was a somewhat disreputable character. My Aunt Alberta said he was even suspected of stealing occasionally. I was therefore surprised to learn that his son was elected to the Michigan state legislature and became Speaker after a few years. I surmise that the cliché about the acorns not falling far from the tree is not always valid. In my last two years I was one of the starting forwards on the team and in my senior year I was the team captain and leading scorer with a 16 points per game average. During that lower scoring time compared to now that was rather good. In these last two years the post-season state basketball tournament was not so good for us because we lost in the first games of the tournament. We had excellent regular season records, winning all but 2 or 3 of our games. In my senior year we were heavy favorites to win our first tournament game, yet we lost in the last seconds by one point because our center missed a layup right under the basket. Naturally in the locker room right after the game we were all angry and upset. I shouted out I made my sixteen points in the game, what happened to the rest of you? What a classless comment for me to make, especially as I was the team captain. Being young and emotional were not sufficient excuses. I should have been ashamed of myself, but I probably wasn’t. I also played baseball on our high school team, playing the infield at 1st or 2nd base. I was not the best player on the team, but did manage to hit 400 in my senior year (for anyone not familiar with baseball jargon that means getting a hit 40% of the times at bat excluding walks). In addition I was on the track team up until my junior year and won 3rd place in a regional track event, running the half-mile. I did not compete in my senior year because of lack of interest in training so hard and having other interests. In my senior year on the basketball team we had only a short training session on Fridays, the day of the game that evening. As a complete starting 5 we decided to skip the rest of school right after that practice, figuring the whole starting 5 would not be punished. We were wrong. In the game that evening we all started by sitting on the bench. At the end of the first half our team was behind in the score, not surprisingly. The coach asked us if we were ready to start playing in the 2nd half. Naturally we were and did and won the game. Lesson learned. Behave in school or suffer the consequences. I ran for class president in all four of my high school years – freshman through senior. All 5. four times I lost. Why? I had friends in my class, but obviously there were some of my classmates who were not overly impressed by me. I did not act in a particularly haughty or condescending manner; in other words I wasn’t a jerk, but I did not exactly hide my light under a basket either, to use a cliché. To my satisfaction I did have the final word on an important class decision. It was customary that each high school class over four years would put on a class play, have bake sales, etc. to raise money for a senior trip right after graduation. They would inevitably travel by school bus to Washington, D.C. and return via Niagara Falls with the superintendent who was licensed to drive the bus. By the time we were ready to take this trip, the superintendent, A. P. Bodary, was getting tired of taking this trip. At any rate he put out the word that he would not go with us; using as an excuse that we, as a class, had transgressed some school rule. We had a class meeting to discuss this situation. Some of the girls in the class wanted to go to him and beg him to go with us. I spoke up and said he clearly does not want to go with us and was using our supposed transgression as an excuse. I proposed that we ask the school principal to go with us. This man, Earl Lickert, was my basketball coach in my freshman year and was the one who thought so much of me that he had me suit up for one varsity basketball game, as I have previously mentioned. I told the class we should ask him and I would do the talking, explaining to them that we would all be graduates by them and not still students, therefore so as long as we obeyed the travel rules we could have an enjoyable time. This principal had a reputation for being strict in discipline, as did the superintendent. The class agreed and a small group of us made an appointment with Mr. Lickert. In his office he told us that he had heard that Mr. Bodary would not go with us on our trip. I told him that I did not know about that (a small lie), but we had not asked him (the truth) and we were asking him, Mr. Lickert, to go with us. He told us that he would think about it. After we left his office I told the group that I was confident that he would go with us and he did. We all had a great time with one small embarrassment for me. One morning when we were in our bus ready to go somewhere, my father’s cousin, Alvin Engstrom, who was a police officer in Washington, D. C. came to see me while I was seated in the bus. The night before, several of us boys had gone to a bar in downtown Wash. D.C. - try doing that today. The drinking age limit in Michigan was 21, but in Wash. D.C. it was 18. We were all eighteen so we did some beer drinking. That morning, not being used to alcohol, I had a terrific hangover and felt like hell. I had to get off the bus and briefly, very briefly, talk to my relative. I am sure he must have noticed the miserable state I was in. When Erland was a senior in high school and I was a sophomore our father planted an acre of cucumbers for us. He cultivated, planted and fertilized it. Again in Michigan in the summer it was not necessary to water as there was enough rainfall to properly water everything. He did not charge us for any of that so what we received for the cucumbers was all for us. There was a Heinz pickles storage place next to the railroad tracks in LeRoy. We would take the harvested cucumbers there to sell them. Erland and I would each pick ¼ acre of the cucumbers each day over two days and then wait a day or two before starting over. They grew fast in the long daylight hours in Michigan in the summer. The objective was to pick the cucumbers to get the right size. If the cucumbers were too big we could not sell them. They were put on a simple mechanical sorting machine that had horizontal slats so that if they were too large they would not go through the slats and be discarded. If they went through the first layer of slats, but not the second layer them we would get a certain price for them. If they also went through this second layer of the sorting we would get a higher price. But, of course, if the size was very small they would not weigh much, which was important as we were paid by the pound. That season was a good one for cucumbers and it paid for 6. Erland’s first year at Central Michigan College in Mt. Pleasant, Mich. I did the same thing with ½ an acre the next year and while the harvest was not quite as good as the previous year it and my previous year’s work paid for my freshman year at Michigan Tech and probably then some as I had a four year automatic scholarship as my class Valedictorian which paid for my Michigan in state tuition. All freshmen students not living at home were required to live in the school dormitory. The rates were reasonable for the times. During Erland’s 2nd year at Central Michigan, while I was a senior in high school, I drove the family car to visit him one weekend. We had a good time, however driving back home that Sunday afternoon I almost killed myself and another person in what could have been a fatal auto accident. It was in the spring and while there was not any snow on the roads, there were occasional patches of ice on the roads in low spots. A safe speed would have been 40 MPH or a bit under. I was driving at 50 to 55 MPH at the top of a hill in the road when I came upon a driver doing I am sure no more than 30 MPH. Just then there was a another car coming in the opposite lane (there were only single lanes in each direction) I had to make a split second decision whether to drive off of the road into a ditch which would have severely damaged the car and cause me to be stuck or take a chance and accelerate to pass the car in front of me and get back in my proper lane before hitting the car coming at me. I chose the latter course and made it in a close call. I drove on for a mile or so in an agitated condition before realizing I needed to slow to 40 MPH, which I proceeded to do. Fortunately I had the fast reactions of a young man and perhaps a bit of luck. I did not tell my parents or anyone else about this when I got home. When it became known that I would be the Valedictorian of my high school class Dolores’ and Erland’s reactions were the same. They said if I had been in their classes I would not have been the Valedictorian, meaning the students in their classes were smarter than my classmates. What an untrue and ungracious thing to say. As far as I remember this was not in reaction to anything I said about my having accomplished that feat and they did not, but was spoken as a put down. I may have deserved to be diminished for what I said at other times, but I did nothing to deserve it then. When I went to college I lived in a dormitory and had a roommate from Lima, Ohio with whom I got along well. Across the hall from us was a fellow from Detroit, named Jerry Stowe. His roommate had not shown up yet, but he knew his name, which was Eugene Davis from a city just outside of Detroit. Judging by the name Jerry was mightily concerned that his roommate would turn out to be black. He need not have been concerned. His roommate was white and turned out to be a bigger racist than he was. This was a bit strange actually as Jerry had a tan complexion himself. His father was a successful auto salesman, as Anglo looking as he could be, and whom I met a couple of times. Even at those less expensive times the father could not be bothered to keep any loose change. Jerry’s mother had some Native American genes which must have been passed on to Jerry who was a swimmer in high school and was a varsity swimmer at Mich. Tech in all four of his years. Jerry’s mother was Catholic, but Jerry was not brought up that way. He would ask me if I thought he was or should have been a Catholic. I repeatedly told him he could be what he wanted to be, a Catholic or not. He seemed unpersuaded by me. After had completing my freshman year at Michigan Tech that summer I went with Erland and two of his friends to look for summer jobs in Flint, Michigan. We all found jobs, but 7. strangely could not find a cheap place to live so we went to Lansing, Michigan and there we found a trailer park and rented a furnished trailer to live in for the summer. The other three found work on a construction site they had worked on before. The foreman who hired them knew them, but because he did not know me, he would not hire me. Fortunately, I found a place within walking distance of the trailer to work at during the summer. This was a small shop where the owner had invented a different type of lawnmower that was made in the shop and was selling briskly. I help assembly the lawn mowing machines. In my sophomore year at Tech I took calculus from a professor named C. George Stipe. He had A.B, A.M., B.S., M.S., C.E., and Ph.D. degrees. He was unusual in other ways too in that he played on the University of Michigan football team and was a Major in the United States Army in WW1. This led to an interesting situation just after WW2 that was still being repeated when I started at Michigan Tech in 1953. There were many WW2 military veterans who attended Michigan Tech right after the war and Professor Stipe had his share in his class. At one point he told them he was a Major in the army while they were still in three-cornered pants (presumably in diapers) so they should salute him. One of the veterans spoke up and said then perhaps Professor Stipe should salute him because he had been a Lt. Colonel in the United States Air Force. As pilots in the Air Force in WW2 usually you either died young or were promoted rapidly. These military veterans were not kids right out of high school, they were serious fellows (no girls), many married, who were there to get degrees and start their careers. I knew that Stipe was a tough customer before I enrolled in his calculus class, but owing to scheduling of other courses I could not avoid that. He made all of his students work hard. Every class started with a one-problem math quiz and he would check if you got the right answer. I did not regret taking calculus from him because I learned a lot and he was fair in his grading – you got the grade you deserved. One day after I had been through with his class for a while I encountered him while walking on campus. He had his head down when I approached him and I said “Good afternoon Professor Stipe”. He raised his head in surprise and returned my greeting. Any time after that when I encountered him walking on campus he would smile and say hello. I surmised that other ex-students of his would just ignore him if they passed him on campus so he was not used to being spoken to in a friendly manner. I harbored no ill will against him even though he could be imperious and demanding. As a side note, it was in my junior year when I received my best yearly grade average of B+ that I got my only F grade and deliberately so. Why you ask? There was a required course in Mining Engineering that was composed of periodic tests, a final test, and a mining engineering problem that had only one final answer and it had to be drawn out on a large piece of drafting paper. I was not especially neat in drafting therefore the best grade I could get on it was a B, providing I got the correct answer. If the wrong answer was obtained, then a new problem could be submitted; only this time the best grade one could get was a B. The problem counted for 50% of the final grade. I got the wrong answer so instead of redoing the problem with the chance of, at most, receiving an overall C in the course I decided to just drop it. I received an F and retook the course in my senior year when I would have more time. The next year I received a B in the course. After my junior year at Michigan Tech, I got a summer job with Shell Oil Co. in Louisiana. I 8. do not actually know why I was chosen to receive this offer. The top student in my class taking Geological Engineering with an emphasis on geophysics was offered the job. He decided to go to summer school so he turned down the offer. It was next offered to me. The offer was for a single status, not a married student, contingent upon the recipient passing a physical examination. I was young and healthy so that was no problem. My best guess is that I was chosen because I had improved my grades each year receiving approximately a C+ as freshman, a B- as a sophomore, and a B+ as a junior. Don’t judge me too harshly for initially getting a C+. I was less prepared than most of my freshmen colleagues. For example in my freshman class in a course on trigonometry the professor asked anyone in the class to raise their hand if they had not taken trigonometry in high school. I was the only one to raise his hand. The professor said he would proceed as if nobody had taken trigonometry before. Of course he could not hold up the rest of the class just for me. I received a C in the course. At least I had the satisfaction of knowing that as I improved in my grades there were some students who started out with better grades than I received, but had flunked out by the time of my junior year. I have written about my experiences with a summer job then a permanent job as a geophysicist with the Shell Oil Co. in Louisiana and Texas in an essay in my book so now I will just tell the story of when I quit my job with Shell when I learned I could not get a foreign assignment with them owing to lack of experience. At that time Shell USA was a wholly owned subsidiary of Royal Dutch Shell in the Netherlands. I simply wrote letters to several other American Oil companies asking if they would hire me for a foreign assignment. The only company to respond positively was Mobil Oil. I was told that they had positions available in geophysics in Venezuela and Libya. That was not completely true as even then Mobil people were being pulled out of Venezuela owing to a dispute about revenues between the oil companies and the government, sending them to other locations, especially Libya. I didn’t care where I was sent as long as it was in a foreign place. I was hired contingent upon passing a physical examination. I was notified by telegram (not by cell phone as that invention was still in the future for seemingly a hundred years or more) that I should take a physical exam by a physician in my area they named. I went to that address only to find out that he was retired and unavailable. When I informed the Mobil office in New York by return telegram of this someone must have realized they had not even met me so I was invited to come to New York, at their expense, to take a physical exam and meet them. While I was there I also had some required vaccinations. A few weeks later I returned to New York on my way to Libya. Just before I returned from Shell Oil in Houston, Texas and after I had submitted my resignation, as I had received a job offer with Mobil Oil, I contacted Erland to tell him I would be driving to Michigan and would be there in time to be his best man at his soon-to-be wedding to Donna. He told me he was not sure I would get there in time so he had chosen one of his close friends to be his best man. I was disappointed, but drove all the way from Houston to LeRoy, stopping only to get something to eat and pulling over to the side of the road for a couple of hours of sleep on two occasions. I made it to the wedding in time. I had to apply for permission from the military draft board to leave the country because of my military draft status to take up my job with Mobil Oil in Libya. This permission was given. I asked the secretary of the draft board what the reason was that I was given this permission and she told she did not know for sure, but thought it was because I had spent four years in the Naval Reserves so I had had previous military training. Perhaps it was a close call that I 9. was allowed to go to Libya and if I had not spent four years in the US Naval Reserves (between the ages of 17 and 21) I might not have been allowed to leave the USA. Imagine how differently everything would have turned out if that had happened. The policy of Mobil Oil in Libya was that the employees would work for two years then have two months vacation. I started working in Libya in November 1957 and took my first vacation in the fall of 1959. I first went to Europe, starting in Nice, France then on to West Berlin, Germany. While there I took a chartered bus trip to East Berlin. The contrast between West and East Berlin at that time was striking. West Berlin was developed and modernized while in East Berlin, under Soviet control, there were still craters from bombs having been dropped during the 2nd World War. From there I went to Munich, Germany because I had read somewhere, perhaps in Fielding’s Travel Guide, there was a medical specialist in fitting contact lenses. I made an appointment with him to get the proper eye examination and measurements and was told to return in a few hours for the lenses. He loaned me a pair of sunglasses to wear while I was outside. I said I did not need them, but he said yes you do because your eyes are dilated. Returning after a few hours I had my contacts. A few weeks later I woke up in the middle of the night with my eyes burning even though I never kept the contacts in my eyes at night. I found out that, at least at that time, I was not a good candidate for contact lenses and seldom wore them again. From Munich I went to Geneva, Switzerland and bought an Omega wristwatch for $100 (quite a bit of money in those days), then on to Amsterdam, Netherlands. From there I came back to the United States to see my mother where she was living near Detroit at that time. I showed her a photo of Lidia and explained that she was my girlfriend. She said she was very pretty, but was an Italian. I answered yes, but that did not matter; I loved her and was going to marry her. My mother accepted that because she knew when I had decided something that was the way it was going to be. After my paternal grandmother, Hulda Engstrom, got to know Lidia she liked her very much. My grandmother who came to the USA at age three (then named Hulda Lindstrom who married Carl Engstrom when she was 18 years old) gave Lidia a linen tablecloth her mother had brought from Sweden many years ago. Perhaps part of it was that my grandmother and Lidia were both immigrants who came to the United States and became naturalized citizens. It would make more sense to be accused of being ashamed of being too old than for being too young, yet that is what happened to me. When I went to Libya to work for Mobil Oil (officially Mobil Oil Canada Branch) I lived in the staff house which was for Mobil Oil unmarried employees. One of the first people I met was a man named Herman Barilli, who had been transferred from the Mobil New York office to become head of the drafting department in Libya. Herman temporarily lived in the staff house because his wife in New York did not immediately come with him owing to their second daughter being too young to travel at that time. Herman had deserted from the Italian army at the end of WWII and went to New York where he met and married, Lonny, whose parents were Italian immigrants. He was 39 years old when I met him in Libya and I was 23 years old in November 1957. After two or so months he asked me how old I was. By that time I was 24 years old and told him that. A couple of months later he again asked me how old I was. Again I told him I was 24. He said oh, you are still 24? In another couple of months he asked me how old I was. I repeated that I was still 24. He then said that I should be ashamed of being so young. We were good friends as well as fellow employees of Mobil. 10. One day I went to the drafting department and asked Herman how things were going. He told me everything was “caos.” I said “What?” He said, yes everything was “caos.” I then understood. The conditions of supervising his Libyan draftsmen were in chaos. Because he was such a good friend, a couple of years later when I got married I asked him to be my best man and he accepted. Of course there was another reason I asked him - he could communicate with Lidia and her family and friends in their language. I spent eight years in Libya with Mobil Oil. That was highly unusual for one person to be in the same foreign location for so long. When it became time for me to leave I was given two possible choices for my next assignment. There was a plan to start a small geophysical group in Germany and if that eventuated would I be interested in joining it. The other choice would be to go to join the geophysical group already established in Dallas. I said I would be glad to go to either place. As it turned out the group in Germany was never formed so I went to the Dallas group in September 1965. For the first several years I was part of the domestic geophysical exploration operation, specializing in processing geophysical data and working with the exploration specialists at our research center in Duncanville. For my last 17 years at Mobil in Dallas I was part of Mobil International making trips to London; Stavanger, Norway; Düsseldorf, Germany; Vienna; Rio de Janeiro, Brazil; Chile; Kenya; Singapore; Indonesia; and in my last two years, five trips to the Soviet Union including Moscow, Turkmenistan and Kazakhstan. I retired in 1992. There had been retirements in Mobil domestic previously, both voluntarily and forced, but people in Mobil international were not included. This time, when we were included, I chose to retire. The conditions were just too good not to. I had been planning to retire by the time I was 60 years old and I was now 58 ½ years old. Included in the benefits of the retirement were: 18 more months of salary; a couple months of pay without having to show up for work; four hundred dollars per month of pre-Social Security until age 62; a paid retirement dinner for up to a dozen friends (we chose the Mansion in Dallas at a cost of $1800); a grandfather clock; and a crystal vase for Lidia. How could one refuse? I actually went to a meeting at the Mobil office, which included a couple of Mobil representatives from the New York office, the Monday following my retirement as the subject was about our exploration interest the Caspian Sea. I had been involved in that project and thought I could contribute something to this meeting. There were a couple of people in the Dallas office with Mobil international who chose not to voluntarily retire. They were involuntarily retired and were subjected to the indignity of being escorted from the building as a matter of policy. I wrote this essay titled Growing Up In Michigan to document my early life. As a boy growing up in a small town, I set goals for the rest of my life. First of my life’s goals was not to become a teacher like my mother, sister, and brother. Next was to become an engineer and see as much of the world as I could. I accomplished this by becoming an oil and gas exploration geophysicist that allowed me to travel to many countries on four continents. Third was to have a great family. I definitely achieved that with a loving wife, three successful and wonderful children with their spouses, and four fantastic grandchildren. I believe I have achieved my goals and I am now happily retired in Texas. 11.