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Montanan Editor
315 Brantly Hall
University of Montana
Missoula, MT 59812
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The Missouri in his eyes
We had been off the river a few hours, having accomplished all
the tasks of attaching canoes and boats to trailers and piling
stuff-sacks in vans, all the time aiming at showers and the clean
sheets of a Great Falls motel. I was saying goodbye to one of the
guides. I offered that it had been a great trip. He smiled
broadly and went one step further. “Wasn’t it
beautiful? It was so great to be out there.”
Here was a man who had spent all summer on rivers in Montana
and Idaho—not as a tourist, but catering to them. This was
the last trip of the season and it was clear he could do it all
again in a minute, damn the weather. There was no boredom, no
fatigue, no guile. His face was ruddy with sun and wind and you
could almost see the Missouri in his eyes.
I found it remarkable.
To love what you do and to enjoy each moment like you
hadn’t experienced the same sort of situation in different
variations every way past Sunday is something like being both the
giver and the gift. It gave the Be Here Now phrase new meaning to
me—not the slippery New Agey chant, but a new hymn of
awareness, making the repetition of running the same river a sort
of mindful redemption.
Back in Missoula, experiencing the usual post-vacation blahs,
I thought of the guide. How does one achieve that sort of work
nirvana? Is it a personality trait? Perhaps a personality
disorder? No one should be that happy dealing with difficult
people, sleeping under a tree because there’s no time to
put up a tent, rising early to start the coffee and cook
breakfast for twenty, lugging gear up a river bank, then down a
river bank, up a bank, down a bank. Even if the scenery is good
and the air is nectar.
The attitude seemed to be a sort of acquired or chosen way of
viewing life, I mused as I viewed the stacks of work on my desk.
Then a fellow worker handed me an essay by Tom Robbins, who
lamented what he saw as a tendency in today’s writers to
attach themselves to gloom, to write about the underbelly, the
dysfunctional, the neur-otic. I looked around. My office
definitely was gloomy and it did look like the underbelly of
something—roiling with the flotsam from getting the last
issue out.
Robbins suggested that society at large seems to value tragedy
over comedy because grownups are supposed to be more serious and
in our society “the tyranny of the dull mind holds
sway.” Now I know why comedies never have a chance for an
Oscar.
What really is happening, says Robbins (Even Cowgirls Get the
Blues, Skinny Legs and All, Jitterbug Perfume), a raconteur of
the sublime, the ridiculous, the over-the-top, is a prevalence of
narcissistic pathology—that despair works because
“when one is unhappy one gets to pay a lot of attention to
oneself.” He went on to make a slam-dunk case for
“wisdom that evolves when one, while refusing to avert
one’s gaze from the sorrows and injustices of the world,
insists on joy in spite of everything.” Crazy wisdom, holy
fools, divine playfulness. All that stuff. Finishing the essay I
felt I’d been whipped into a literary rapture.
It brought back the river guide. “Wasn’t it
beautiful? It was so great to be out there.”
Hallelujah.
Joan Melcher
Montanan Editor
Letters to the Editor
Emma Fans
I enjoyed your article on Emma Bravo immensely.
I was born and raised in the small mining town of
Tracy—about twelve miles from Great Falls and one mile from
Sand Coulee. I met Emma in the sixth grade. I was a student at
Centerville High from 1935 to 1939. I had Emma as my teacher in
Spanish and Algebra there. After graduating in 1939, while at the
University, I took a class in spherical trig and Emma substituted
several times as my teacher. The prof told Emma he could not give
me an A because I didn’t study properly. Emma convinced him
otherwise.
I have bragged to many people about having the same teacher in
grade school, high school, and college. Give my best to Emma.
My second claim to fame at UM regards the Mansfields. I took a
class from Mike as a freshman. I roomed with his brother John at
Corbin Hall as a sophomore. That year his sister visited the U
and I had the pleasure and privilege of accompanying her to the
Foresters’ Ball. As you can see, I think about my days at
the U often.
Mike Besich ’43
Laguna Woods, California
Thank you so much for your emotional article about devoted UM
veteran Emma Lommasson, who used to extend help not to Montanans
alone, but to all foreign students. In September 1956, she was
the first official I met at UM upon my arrival from Jordan. She
looked after me until my graduation in 1959. As an ex-president
of the Cosmopolitan Club at UM, I wish Emma happy days and good
health during years to come. My last contact with her was during
her visit with ex-Dean of Women Maurine Clow to Jordan three
decades ago.
I retired after thirty-three years teaching, [and positions
as] dean of the college of education and director of education. I
keep reading all articles written by my
ex-professors—George Weisel, Royal Brunson, Maxine Johnson
and others—hoping I can meet a Montanan in Amman. With best
wishes I remain,
Atiyyeh Mahmoud ’59
Amman, Jordan
The Emma Lommasson article was a great story regarding a great
lady. As with many, she touched my life.
I worked in the Lodge as a baker when my wife and I had a baby
born with a birth defect in December of 1971. Facing many
financial issues, I went to Emma, who also served as the Veterans
Counselor, in the summer of 1972 to see what benefits provided
funding to help my growing debts.
Emma was gracious in her time spent with me. She listened and
asked openly if I had considered using my VA education benefits.
Working a sixty-hour week, the thought had never occurred to me.
She asked if I did use my VA benefits, how long it might take for
me to obtain a degree. I responded “seven or eight
years,” not imagining the validity of my answer. Emma asked
my age. I told her twenty-seven. She replied simply, “The
choice then is yours. You can be thirty-five with a degree or
thirty-five without a degree. You will still be
thirty-five.” I continued to work my sixty-hour weeks and
finished my degree program in June of 1981.
Emma Lommasson embodied what educators are all about. She saw
my potential and challenged me to reach for the brass ring. And
when I had need, she nurtured me during my educational
journey.
I have since managed several major university food service
programs, two public hospitals, clinics, and long-term care
facilities. None of which could have happened had not I received
a degree. For those of us you touched and guided, Emma, thank
you. UM was a better place because of you.
Harold (Harry) Aubert ’81
Kennewick, Washington
Score one for both
Ike and Fred Bauer
I was very interested in the Fall 2004 issue of the Montanan,
particularly the article on the smokejumper reunion. The article
states that President Eisenhower, who christened the Aerial Fire
Depot in 1954, referred to the Forest Service as being part of
the Department of Interior. Fred Brauer, the smokejumper chosen
to give the welcoming address for Ike, corrected him by stating
that the Forest Service was part of the Agriculture Department,
not Interior.
Actually, both were correct. Forest Service headquarters and
personnel are housed in the Agriculture Department, but its
budget, upon which all else chiefly depends, is in the Interior
Department.
I worked for a time in the Interior Department in Washington,
D.C., and I learned how this anomalous situation occurred. In the
early 1940s, during FDR’s third term, his Secretary of
Interior was a controversial character named Harold Ickes.
Ickes was known as an “empire builder,” i.e., he
was dedicated to expanding his department by raiding other
departments. Of course, it was necessary for the President to
approve, or at least condone, such actions. But FDR was occupied
with WWII and had more important concerns.
Taking advantage of this, Ickes raided the Agriculture
Department and took the Park Service to Interior. Next, he raided
the Commerce Department and took the Bureau of Fish & Wildlife.
He then commenced a second raid on Agriculture to acquire the
Forest Service. However, this raid was only partially completed
when incoming President Truman appointed a new Secretary of
Interior, one who had no interest in empire building.
At this point Ickes had already succeeded in transferring the
Forest Service budget to Interior, but not the Forest Service
headquarters. To this day, as best I know, Forest Service
headquarters and its personnel are still housed somewhere in the
vast Agriculture Department in SW Washington, D.C., but its
budget is still in Interior in NW Washington. As recently as a
year ago I saw a telecast in which a former congressman stated
that he had served on the House Agriculture Committee for eight
terms without ever hearing any mention of the Forest Service. So
score one for Ike and one for Fred Brauer.
Ed Christensen ’43
Naples, Florida
Editor’s Note: We checked on this so as not to include
inaccurate information and found Mr. Christensen to be absolutely
right. A call to Forest Service Region One in Missoula resulted
in my talking with Judy Hewitt, finance management specialist for
the region. She said, indeed the Forest Service’s budget
rests in the Interior Department. And she was happy to learn a
little of how it happened; it had been a mystery to her and
others she works with.
KIND WORDS
The Montanan is looking great! Nice design and compelling
features. It keeps [one] both interested and engaged. Good
work!
Ken Ott, M.A. ’77
Tujunga, California
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