Hendrik S. Bollerud: A Good Soldier

One of my earliest memories of my father is him getting up every morning to "spit shine" his boots. He was a miltary man. The Army was his career, he chose it. Growing up, I never thought that much about him being an Army guy because every kid I knew had an army guy for a dad.

All I knew about what my Dad did was that he was a "Mess Sgt" and I only knew that because sometimes he would bring home huge boxes of variety pack cereal--Grape Nuts were my favorite.

When I was about eight or so my Dad traded his white hat for a "Smokey The Bear" hat, he became a Drill Instructor. I only found out recently just how difficult is to get into that training and pass it.

My Dad took that position very seriously. My Mom told me a story that once they were in an airport and Dad saw a soldier in uniform but he was a mess: shirt out, collar unbuttoned, tie askew.

Now, this man wasn't in Dad's unit and they were on civilian ground but it didn't matter to Dad. He walked right up to that soldier and told him to tuck in his shirt, button that collar and generally "police yourself up."

My Mom said that poor soldier turned scarlet, moved quickly to comply, all the while mumbling, "Yes, Drill Sgt. Yes, Sir." Now, it was not my Dad's nature to be an ass and abuse his rank, he just wanted this soldier know that the unform was just as important as the person wearing it.

After putting in his twenty years in the Army, my Dad kinda forgot what he was good at and became a salesman. Ten years, many jobs, and many 12 Steps later, he remembered again. He became a classroom nstructor at Sears Driving School. Nothing to sneeze to some but how many instructors get standing ovation? Dad did--he was just that good.

So life was good, Dad was happy, the future looked bright but then a heart attack came and the doctor told my Dad the reason why the wiggling in his toe wouldn't stop was because he had Parkinson's Disease. Probably because of his exposure to Agent Orange during his year in Vietnam.

"Luck of the draw," was all Dad said. I believe it was his military training, his A.A. and my Mom being a hard ass at making sure he got the best medical care that Dad lived 23 years with the disease.

I really didn't understand what my Dad's miltary career meant to him or to our government until Dad's funeral--it was a miltary funeral with full honors at Ft. Sam Houston. Now, he never served there but all my Mom had to do was make a phone call and as we sat grave side, the troops arrived.

All in their finest dress blues; the Flag-folding soldiers, the soldiers who saluted my Father with 21 rounds, the lone soldier in dress greens who represented my Father's service in Viet Nam and of course the soldier who played Taps so mournfully, I burst into tears.

I have to admit, I didn't cry because I missed my Dad, I cried because at that moment, I felt that maybe my Dad didn't have the life he wanted. But I was wrong, my father was proud to be a military man. It taught him well.

So eventhough, technically, Memorial Day is to honor soldiers who have fallen in war, I honor my Father for fighting his own private war with alcholism and then Parkinson's. Even after he couldn't move, speak, or swallow--he took the orders fate delivered him, marched on as best he could until the very end because that's what a good soldier does.

Hendrik S. Bollerud Born: November 21, 1933 Died: January 26, 2009

Chris, Vero and Josh #2

Chris, Vero and Josh

Isaac kissing his baby sister

Ruby's dance recital

1967: A Bollerud Vacation

When my Dad married my Stepmom in 1967, we were the first Brady Bunch. He had four kids, she had two. We even had a maid. Of course this was Ft. Bliss, El Paso--anyone could get a maid for about a dollar a day, practically.

The first thing my parents did was realize the car situation wasn't going to work. My Mom's White 1965 Plymouth Fury III although had a cool name and great fins was too small. Likewise, my Dad's 1966 Black Batmobile Buick suddenly became obsolete for the same reason. And my Dad's beloved classic Edsel bought on a tipsy whim that he was going to fix it up was still on cinderblocks in the driveway. My strongest Brady Bunch memory was the summer of 1968 when Dad piled Mom, and us six kids in his new, first on the block, wood-paneled station wagon.

That station wagon made him feel like head wagon-master, now able to carry his brood cross-country. And so we set off to our first adventure west from El Paso to my Dad's family in Durham, California. Grandpa Bollerud said hello and not much else that I remember except "Good meal, Mother" which he said to his wife, Grandmother Bollerud who was nice enough but served us mushy summer squash--ick. The real fun started when we got to explore his farm: Playing with the shy barn kittens, feeding the pigs corn and sneaking to the farm next door to collect almonds from their orchard--eventhough we got in trouble for it.

Our next stop was Wisconsin to Great Aunt Irene's which, I don't remember how many days the whole trek took but I do remember it took three of them just to get across Texas. Three days of baloney sandwiches on Rainbo bread out of the ice cooler. Three days of "Are we out of Texas yet?" And of course three days of "DO I HAVE TO PULL OVER THIS CAR?" We ate at a restaurant once, my brother Peter threw up three times and my Mom dissevered if she left the back window down long enough us wild monkeys in the back got oddly quiet and slept for hours.

Great Aunt Irene's house was in Madison.--lots of green, lots and lots of cows. She was a grand old lady with a grand white Victorian house that sat right next door to an equally white and beautiful white steepled church. Her white linened dining room table sat twelve and had shiny, shiny silverware. We stopped in for breakfast as I recall: Rice Crispies with fresh raspberries. Mom and Dad both gave us their best scary stare relegated for such occasions so the six of us sat still, chewed with our mouth closed and marched in formation out the door better than the Van Trapp children even.

My Mom's parents were the crowning jewel of kid fun. They lived in Canton, Ohio. Sure their well-water smelled like rotten eggs, but if you held your nose you could still taste the lime Koolaide. Grandpa Miliney was a depression man, a trader of all jacks, jump ropes and lard cans of outdated candy! He had woods in his backyard, a real playhouse that had every Barbie known to man plus musty-smelling basement full of old toys, books, and other kid goodies. Grandma was full of hugs, food and trips to her Pentecostal church to have Jesus scared into us. No outfit for church? No problem. Grandpa was there with a new outfit for everyone.

The last day was the funnest because Grandpa took us to this magical fair where they stamped your hand and all you had to do is show it to any vendor or carney and you could have unlimited stuff! Unlimited corn dogs, cotton candy, popcorn, snow cones and ice cream! Now this was all great until I got on those unlimited rides--my six year old stomach revolted--but I still had a smile on my face.

I don't remember the ride home, as most anticlimactic events are lost to memory but that summer vacation sticks out as one of my fondest because we seemed like a family--like the Brady Bunch would show on TV a year later. When we got home that changed. My Dad was sent to Vietnam and my Mom went back to work. Funny, after all those years it has never occurred to me until now that I never asked myself, how come Mike and Carol Brady never had to do that?

Ray's post on his Silk Road trip

KARA KUL LAKE ON TUE AND WED

Sitting in the married couple’s yurt looking at the lake listening to the rain outside. Our beds have a musty smell to them; hope I can find my travel sheet for the night. They say it will get very cold tonight; we have a coal stove in the yurt. Place is a primitive tourist destination… just picture a nice shallow lake in high brown and grey mountains mostly covered with clouds. No tree some green grass at the far end with Yak herds, otherwise gravel and sand.

The ride up was an experience in Chinese high mountain travel. And mind you this is the main road to Pakistan border which is about 50km. It is a narrow hairpin road with minor rockslides everywhere which makes it one lane here and there. Add huge trucks coming down full of iron ore with brakes smoking (they stop once and a while to cool them by spraying water on them and returning empty at high speed passing everything on the road. At one point we were backed up for about a ¼ mile with rockslides and mud. I see an occasional camel, yak herds and sheep herds grazing on what appears to be little or no grass.

Guide says this area is not in a dangerous rebellion the police check point was only a preliminary checkpoint for the border crossing and going thro was simple…police did not have guns but there is an army base nearby.

He also says the Uygur region is the poorest in china and the central govt is not really investing like in the the east. In rural area the new houses are marginal..little sq adobe structures, but no paved streets and minimal water and sewage systems. It is an agricultural region from Kashi to the Pamirs with lots of water as the mountains drain East.. Interesting though that beyond Kashi is the taklamakan one of the most brutal deserts in the world (actually the word means something like “he who enters does not return”). Our guide is taking a break from his NGO work of being a public health trainer to the village “healers”….they did not know the location of the heart, liver, lungs etc. Extremely high incident of tooth decay so taught them to brush teeth and arranged to have toothbrushes and paste sold at low prices…caught on so well that now selling such items is a big local business. Taught them how to avoid fecal diarrhea, cleanliness etc….also the locals had been told that breast milk caused diarrhea and tooth decay so would not nurse babies so needed to be re educated. Very successful program supported by Finland NGO. He says the Chinese central govt would not help but insisted everything be taught in Mandarin even though the locals can only understand Uygur. He successfully went to the mat with them and they finally agreed that mandarin would be in the subtitles and Uygur the spoken language. He is a very talented man and I told him today to apply to Harvard Public Health Program and try for a scholarship….he is a perfect candidate, experience and 32 yr old. We talked for a while and then he said but America does not want anyone of the Muslim faith!! I said no way and really pushed him….he may just try as he was beaming at the end of our conversation that it may be possible.

They are building another major dam in the area for electric power and irrigation…a seven year project now in its 3rd year of development.

Three sick members today…food…white mulberries(delicious and dangerous to the intestinal track) and some curry restaurant the Dragon lady took people to…I did not go thank god.

It is a cold damp night and it went from hot to very cold fast. Went from T shirt to thermals, vest, jackets, and anything else we could but on in a matter of ½ hour. The toilets are death defying…think of a cement/adobe structure, no roof, a 4 feet wide, 12 feet long, and 6 feet deep trench with wood planks every 12 inches extending the width. If you have to use it…walk out, straddle and while doing your number hope nothing falls out of your pocket as it is lost forever. At night…well just squeeze and hold!! Actually everyone used any rock or obstruction they could find…travel insurance does not cover death by primitive toilet. The cleaner called the toilets a “death by excrement” experience.

By the way the cleaner is turning out just fine…he has taken to his new nickname with great humor but his wife (the scout) lost her job as everyone in the group who can’t eat everything just brings it to him.

Turns out the guide says there is no rebellion in this area…what occurred were riots over a justice issue. Apparently some Chinese severely beat/injured/killed some Ugyurs and the central govt just did not act nor did so slowly that people took to rioting. Sounds like an equal rights/justice thing out of the civil rights era in USA. Some big concert celebration in Kashi tonight at the statue of Mao. Lots of riot soldiers in trucks and on the streets with the big shields and batons and guns. Everyone is peaceful but perhaps they are expecting something. We are far away from it now….but drove by today.

Tomorrow Kyrgyzstan…about 160 km to border and then they say 3 hours to get through border and then to Torugart Pass and a Tash- Rabat Caravan- Sarai. We will be at 3753 meters….more altitude pills ….they do work.

And one more chapter in the Babe Magnet story….the other night Allison and Toms phone rings and some women with an oriental voice says “Ray can I come up now”. Of course Allison had to tell the whole group. This is beginning to be a pain in the you know what.

TOMORROW KYRGYZSTAN…we are all ready to leave China. Have no idea what email access I will have there.

Ray

If there are any Bollerud/Baalerud's who would like to post photo's or info to the Bollerud Blog, please let me know and I can set you up for posting. bollerud@gci.net

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