Wisconsin Rapids

(click here to read previous story: Wausau, WI - Middle School in the Midwest)

In 1946, my 15-year-old grandfather, Dinon, moved with his family from Wausau, Wisconsin to Wisconsin Rapids, just in time to start high school.  In Wisconsin Rapids, he also continued his efforts in the Boy Scouts and even picked up a part-time job as well.

Young Dinon, sitting in a chair that his son,
Todd, still has today in his home office

“I became interested in radio in high school, and I started working part-time for a radio repair place," Dinon said.  "Of course, this was before TV and everything like that.”

As a kid, his only way to get around town was to walk.  And, since there were no school buses, that included his commute to school.

"I don’t remember ever staying home for a teacher’s conference day or something like that, and we never had a snow day," he said.  "Why have a snow day?  You’re walking to school!  You aren't being picked up by the school bus, you walked.  I remember when we lived in Wisconsin Rapids if it was bad enough, why, you just walked in the street because the plows always were out ... If it was bitter cold, ok, you better bundle up!"

Since there was no cafeteria at the high school, all the kids walked home for lunch.

In case you wondered what a
lettuce worm looks like...

"Dad came home for lunch also, from work," Dinon said.  "So we ate breakfast in the breakfast nook, and then lunch and supper were at the dining room table."

Dinon's mother was a stellar cook and, with the exception of that one time a lettuce worm hid in his brother Daryll's salad, their meals were always excellent and almost always included a homemade dessert.  After eating lunch, his father Ralph went back to work and the kids walked back to school.

After school, Dinon participated in Boy Scouts and learned everything from hiking to first aid.  And it's a good thing he did, too.

“I can say that I broke Daryll’s arm," he said with a smile.  "It was summertime, I was in high school, and we’re out in the yard, and we’re playing Catapult.  So I’m on my back, and holding up my legs, and catapulting him off my legs.  And it’s fun! ... until you come down wrong."

Daryll landed badly on his right arm and, from his Boy Scout training, Dinon could tell that it was broken.  And he couldn't just run in and tell his parents - they were out shopping and had left the kids home alone.

A young picture of handsome Dinon

"Being the boy scout I was, I knew to go ahead and immobilize it, and had him hold it as we went into the house, against himself so it wouldn't move, so he was good about doing that," Dinon said.   "So I put him in the house in the den on his back, I put his arm across his stomach and waited for my parents to come home.  When my folks got home I told them what had happened, and I don’t know if they took him to the doctor or to a hospital or what ... I don’t remember getting in trouble particularly, it was just one of those accidental things that happened, we weren't doing anything we hadn't done before.  That was unfortunate, but that’s what happened.  That’s the way it goes!  Things happen!"

Dinon continued to be active in the scouts right up until the point of becoming an Eagle Scout.  However, due to allergy problems, he could never swim well enough to earn a Swimming badge ... and without a Swimming badge, he was not eligible to pursue Eagle Scout status.

"They have alternatives now for Swimming, but back then they didn't," he said.

1958: Grandma Henness holding her first great-
grand-child, Diann; Dinon's wife, Liz, is
standing behind the chair

Breaking their previous pattern of frequent moves, the Boyer family stayed in Wisconsin Rapids for many years to come and Dinon's parents, Ralph and Alma, ultimately retired here.  Several years after Dinon moved out on his own, his maternal grandmother, Grandma Henness, who had lived with the family since their home in Nahant, finally passed away.

"I can't remember when Grandma died, but she lived with us for a long long time," Dinon said.  "She died when we lived in Wisconsin Rapids ... but I don't recall exactly when she passed."

As his high school days drew to a close, Dinon prepared for the next stage of his life: college.  With a father that earned a master's degree in chemical engineering in 1930, and parents who planned their children five years apart so they could pay one college tuition at a time, there was no doubt about where he was going after his high school graduation.

So, in the autumn of 1949, Dinon packed up and moved to his father's alma mater, The University of Wisconsin, to study chemical engineering.

(Next story: Dorms, Food and Studies)

SIMILAR STORIES

Special
K Loaf

Extra
Protein

Nahant
MA

The Graham Cracker Incident

(Source)

In my family, there are two things legendary about my sister: her luck, and her willpower.

One favorite story illustrates the latter with a simple graham cracker.

According to my mother, I was never spanked for the same thing twice.  "You were such an easy baby," she always croons.

And then there's my little sister, Natalie, five years my junior.  "She would've been our only child if she had been born first," my father always grumbles.  Whereas I would respond to a single spanking, my sister in her Terrible Twos would have to be spanked three, four, even five times for the same offense. 

And to add insult to her stubbornness, she would refuse to cry when spanked.  After my mother set down the spatula, my sister would look back at her impassively, as though to say, "That all you got?"  My mother, sobbing, would call my father at the office, wailing, "I don't think she'll ever learn!"

Natalie was lucky she was cute.  Our parents often say that her giant brown eyes and Shirley Temple curls were the only things that saved her skin.

She was quite the cantankerous tot.  Until her tiny iron will was finally broken.

But she didn't go lightly.

The story goes that, just after dinner, my sister was sitting at the table in her high chair.  And, holding out her small chubby fist to my parents, she said, "Gam cacka!"

"Graham cracker?"

"Yes!"

"Say 'please'."

At this unsanctioned demand, my sister frowned and pursed her fat cheeks, withdrawing her hand to her chest, and with scandalized gusto, said:

"NO."

"Then no graham cracker."

She cried and screamed.  She whined and pouted.  My parents didn't budge.  So she went to Plan B, shaking the arms of her high chair and whimpering, "Down!  Down!"

"Not until you say 'please'."

"NO."

"Then you can't get down yet."

Oh, how she cried.

And oh, how she refused.

And thus began the battle of wills.

My mother took the first 20-minute shift, stubbornly running the same script with her tiny willful offspring.

"Do you want a graham cracker?"

"Yes!"

"Say 'please'."

"NO."

Crying. General melodrama.  Rattling the high chair.

"Down!  Down!"

"Not until you say 'please'."

"NO."

"Then you can't get down yet."

More crying.

Over and over and over again.  Twenty minutes passed, and my mother threw up her hands.  "I'm gonna throttle her - your turn," and my father took the second shift.

Every atom in my two-year-old sister's being would rather sit in that high chair and WIN than have that graham cracker.

"Do you want a graham cracker?"

"Yes!"

"Say 'please'."

"NO."

Wailing. Flailing curls and arms. Kicking the high chair.

"Down!  Down!"

"Not until you say 'please'."

"NO."

"Then you can't get down yet."

More wailing.

Over and over and over again.

Forty minutes gone.  My father reached his limit and turned it back to my mother.

"Say 'please'."

"NO."

Another twenty minutes passed.

Sixty minutes gone.

An hour of "NO".

She would not give up.

It's unclear who was in the hot seat when the miracle occurred, but finally, finally, whatever it was, something clicked.

Wearily, they asked again, "Natalie, do you want a graham cracker?"

"Yes."

"Say 'please'."

She hesitated, slumped down in her high chair.  And then, with her chubby cheeks puffed out, her chin tucked into her chest, she sighed and reached out a pudgy little hand, saying:

"Peas."

I'm sure my parents' eyes bugged out - it was a Christmas miracle, on par with raising Lazarus from the dead.

After the shock passed, Natalie was praised for her obedience and then unbuckled from her high chair.  She toddled happily away, curls bouncing, with a graham cracker tucked into her tiny fist.

"She finally got it.  It was like night and day after that," my father always says with a snap of his fingers. "You would never know it was the same child."


SIMILAR STORIES

Extra
Protein

Fffettucine
Alfffredo

"But it's
Vera"

Special K Loaf

This story is a particular favorite in my family.

When my father was still a child, and all four of my grandparents' children were still living at home, my Nana's cooking had a spurt of vegetarianism. Her most memorably misguided attempt was a recipe she found on the back of a box of Special K breakfast cereal. The recipe was a vegetarian substitute for meatloaf named Special K loaf.

Here are the ingredients for Special K loaf:

1 large chopped onion
2 T onion soup mix
1 large carton of cottage cheese
1 cup chopped walnuts
Chopped celery, if desired
5 eggs, beaten
and
5 cups Special K cereal

Truthfully, there's no comparing it to a meatloaf recipe. The closest comparison could be described as replacing the hamburger with a blend of walnuts, breakfast cereal and cottage cheese.

Surprisingly, it was not a popular dish.

At that time, my grandfather worked 9 to 5 at Goodyear. He was home by 5:15, and was at the table at 5:25 for dinner. And at 5:26 one night, my grandmother lays this beauteous loaf of glop in the middle of the table with a proud smile.

To my grandfather's credit, and to the credit of my father and his siblings, they all ate a piece that night. Then my grandfather, rarely one to stand against my Nana, laid down his fork and declared, "I never want to eat this ever again."

A couple of weeks went by, and my Nana either forgot the mandate or figured the dish was misunderstood and everyone would like it if she made it just one more time.

So, at 5:15, my grandfather walks in the door and takes off his hat. At 5:25, he and the children sat at the table. And at 5:26 my Nana, with a smile and a flourish, placed the Special K loaf in front of my grandfather.

As the story goes, my grandfather was quiet for a moment. He looked at the loaf, looked at his plate, looked again at the baked lump of cereal and cottage cheese. Then he sighed, putting his hands on the edge of the table. "Alright," he said, and pushed back his chair as he stood up. "I am going to Giuseppi's Pizza. Who's coming with me?"

A few moments later, after a frantic scraping of chair legs, my Nana was left alone in the kitchen with her Special K loaf.

And, to my Nana's credit, she never made Special K loaf again.


SIMILAR STORIES

"But it's
Vera"

Extra
Protein

Fffettucine
Alfredo

Extra Protein

My great-grandma Boyer's name was Alma. She was my grandfather's mother and was an excellent cook. She raised her family in a time when her husband came home from work and her kids came home from school to eat lunch. And she was faithful to always serve a full meal, from salad to dessert. "I don't remember us never having dessert," my grandfather said, "we always had dessert." This was the norm in the Boyer house.

My grandfather, Dinon, was the oldest of the three kids in his family. His brother Daryll is five years younger than he, and his baby sister Glenda is five years younger than Daryll. They were living in Wisconsin Rapids when Dinon was 11, and one day, as usual, he and 6-year-old Daryll walked home together for lunch. They met their father at the dinner table and sat down to the meal their mother had prepared, everyone - even Alma - unaware of the bonus protein lurking in the salad bowl.

"Well, we're sitting there eating, and we're attacking the salads," he tells the story, "And it had lettuce with maybe jello on top. Anyhow, my brother goes to take a bite of salad...and he gets it about here..." - he said, holding an imaginary fork an inch from his mouth - "...and it moves."

On little Darryl's fork, woken by its near-consumption, was a fat wriggling lettuce worm the size of a pinky finger.

"That really freaked him out!" my grandfather laughed. "He really had a tough time eating the rest of his salad. And we kidded him, of course, unmercifully: 'Oh, you like lettuce worms now, huh?'" He laughed again.

"And, of course, my mother was mortified because she always tried to be very careful when she prepared the meal. But it was just one of those things that slipped past her, and it gave us all a big laugh, and I can say that I really enjoyed it."


SIMILAR STORIES

Limburger
Cheese
Prank

McIndoe
House

Special
K Loaf

Ffffettucine Alfffredo

The summer I was fifteen, my father's side of the family went on a trip to Colorado together. Somehow we managed to get 5 kids, 3 adults and 2 senior citizens out west without losing anyone along the way, and enjoyed a week full of activities ranging from a hailstorm horse ride to lasso lessons.

We fell in love with this tiny family-owned Italian restaurant and dined there twice during our stay. I sat in the middle and across the table from my cousin Brian during our second visit. Brian is my favorite cousin, and is two years my junior. He was thirteen at the time and carrying some awkward adolescent pudge.

Nana was sitting to my left, and my Aunt Susan was two seats down on my right. Susan was helping her preschool son pick his dinner, and Brian was hidden behind his menu.

"They have fettucine alfredo!" Brian exclaimed. "I love fettucine alfredo, my mom makes it for me all the time!"

Nana's eyebrows raised as she lowered her menu.

"...All the time?" she asked.

"Oh yeah," he gushed, "no one makes it as good as my mom does."

"If she makes it for you all the time, then no wonder you're so ffffffff..........robust."

I froze.

Conversation continued on either end of the table. I saw Brian's eyes widen and soften.

I saw Susan slowly look up, lips parted, looked to Brian, to Nana, back to Brian.

My 10-year-old sister, Natalie, was sitting beside Brian. Her brown eyes were round and wide.

Brian, Natalie, Susan and I exchanged glances as Nana returned to her menu, thinking her close call had been imperceptible.

Late that night, the four of us howled about it over a game of Euchre, retelling the story to my dad and uncle. It became the joke of the trip:

"How are you fffffeeling today, Heather?"

"Oh, just fffffine," I'd reply, and we'd burst into giggles.

And, no, Brian didn't order fettucine alfredo for dinner that night.


SIMILAR STORIES

Graham
Cracker
Incident

Limburger
Cheese
Prank

Extra
Protein

The Limburger Cheese Prank

My grandfather is not much of a prankster.

But everyone has their moments.

In his junior year of college at The University of Wisconsin, he was dating a sorority girl. She and her roommates had recently been the victims of a fraternity panty raid, and in vengeance had struck back using chunks of pungent Limburger cheese.

After the cheese served its purpose, the girls didn't want the leftovers smelling up their fridge, so the food-item was pawned off on my grandfather. "She gave it to me in a little paper bag, and I carried out to the side because, ugh, it really reeked," he said. Getting back to his empty first-floor dorm room, he quickly opened the window and set it out on the ledge, closing the window so it couldn't stink up his room.

Later that night, while studying and trying to figure out what to do with his inherited hunk of Limburger, he heard his dorm mates laughing in the den over a game of cards.

And he got an idea.

"I sneaked into their room," he said, "and turned out all their lights, and took the cheese and rubbed it on the light bulbs. And, since we used steam heat, why, I made sure the radiators weren't on and then I rubbed it on the back of the radiators."

He slipped back unseen to his room, and set the smaller piece of cheese out on the windowsill again, innocently studying and waiting for the card game to end.

"Pretty soon, one of the guys went back to his room, and when he turned on the lights...the odor was terrible," he laughed at the memory. "He really yelled for his roommate to come, and they had an awful time trying to figure out how to get rid of the smell, I mean, it really reeked."

When asked if he'd seen anything, he held up his textbooks and notes, saying he hadn't seen anything because he'd been studying.

They never did find out what happened until he told them a year later, and they laughed about it together.


SIMILAR STORIES

Extra
Protein

McIndoe
House

Special
K Loaf