Ship Captain's Daughter by Ann Michler Lewis-Book Review-Five Stars

 

BOOK REVIEW – FIVE STARS

Ship Captain's Daughter by Ann Michler Lewis 

This is the story of the author’s father Willis Carl Michler who sailed the Great Lakes for forty-seven years and was a captain of thirteen different ships.

The captain’s daughter wrote that he was “Drawn to the water and the big ships as a young man, he followed a dream of becoming a Great Lakes ship captain, and he and my mother and I lived it out together, in all its rich and varied and demanding dimensions.”

I grew up at the head of the Great Lakes in Superior, Wisconsin. Great Lakes freighters were a common sight. As a youth I was fascinated by the bum boats that supplied the supplied the ships crew with their daily needs while the ships were docked loading and unloading cargo. When I was still in high school I would take my parents speed boat out in the Duluth/Superior harbor and tie up to the bum boat where I could buy beer.

The captain’s daughter also enjoyed her experience of visiting the bum boats.

Here is a look at those Bum boats from the authors own experience.

"When I felt my first foot on the deck, I started to breathe again. He took my hand, and we made our way to the little door. Four steps down and, phew! The smell of sweet tobacco made me gag. I plugged my nose and hesitated, but the cheery calendar girls smiling and winking all around were very welcoming, not to mention the ladies on the covers of magazines on the book rack. Half of our ship’s crew was in there, talking and laughing, drinking beer and smoking and telling jokes. No other girls in there, that’s for sure! Dad quickly steered me around to the back, which was so crowded that I disappeared in between the cases of watches, bins of underwear and socks, boxes of birthday cards, bottles of perfume, razors, aftershave, and columns of cartons of Camels and Lucky Strikes. All sizes of transistor radios covered the walls from floor to ceiling. I noticed a whole section of cough medicines and a display of Brylcreem with a big cardboard picture of a man with curly dark brown hair and a blond woman with her hand behind his ear. What I liked best of all, though, were the boxes of candy and gum lined up in double rows in front of the cash register right next to the cigarette lighters. Behind the register stood Mr. Kaner, who was gruff, gravelly voiced, and kind of scary to a young customer like myself. He seemed to know everyone by name and was passing on the news from the last ship, where he had just seen a sailor who had previously been on our ship. When he saw me, his bushy eyebrows shot up in surprise. I took a step backward, but he came around the counter, bent down, and made a big fuss over me, telling me that I was beautiful and that I had been brave to come down. Afterward, he took me over to the freezer and let me pick out a free ice cream bar. Dad bought a Dreamsicle for himself, and we said good-bye to Mr. Kaner and went out on deck to eat our treats.”

This book is an excellent look at the life of a Great Lakes ship captain’s family in the years when America was loved and envied. A great book!

More excerpts from Ship Captain's Daughter by Ann Michler Lewis

Father’s sailing career spanned the height of Great Lakes iron ore shipping, the lows of the Great Depression, World War II (during which time the sailors served the country as members of the Merchant Marine), the opening of the St. Lawrence Seaway, the advent of radar, and the development of the taconite trade. He sailed before the invention of computers, GPS, cell phones, email, and Skype—and before sailors could apply for summer vacations. When I was growing up, we relied on letters.

Today the ships that traverse the Great Lakes can be tracked on the internet. Many are twice the size of the freighters my dad first sailed, though at this writing, my father’s last command, the SS Herbert C.

Most people in Duluth welcomed spring. For our family, it was the beginning of the end, not only of winter, but also of our land time together. When the days grew longer and the ice on Lake Superior began to break up, Dad’s shipping orders were soon to come. Every day they didn’t was a relief.

View my author's page on Amazon

The Bohemian Flats: A Novel by Mary Relindes BOOK REVIEW- FIVE STARS

BOOK REVIEW: FIVE STARS

The Bohemian Flats: A Novel by Mary Relindes

An excellent book for the generations of immigrants who lost track of the historical divisions that precipitated wars and land grabs that continue to this day.

As a child born in 1940 my first recollections of WW ll was the slogan “Kill the Nazis” that turned into this: “Kill the Germans”. Ironically that war that ended in 1945 was the last war that America would win.

Historically speaking this well-written monumental book is a great eye opener.

Excerpts:

“There is nothing much for you and Albert here in Germany, being second and third sons. Nothing to inherit. You need to become more fluent in English. Albert is nearly there. Because when you become men, you will need to leave this country, leave Europe. It is America you must go to. There at least you will have the chance to find what the French call joie de vivre—the joy of life.”

He strolls through neighborhoods, rich, middle class, and working poor, seeing that the definition of each level remains the same. The rich have large and opulent houses set back from the road with large flower gardens and lawns, many gated to keep uninvited pedestrians out. The middle class have smaller but still comfortable houses, sitting on just enough of a lot to command some respectable grass frontage. The poor neighborhoods are like the Flats, a group of Minneapolis police officers are forcing an Indian family to leave the teepee they had pitched among the trees next to a sash and door company. He watches city workers dismantle the teepee, stack the lodge poles, and pile up the hides that covered them. The Indian family watches impassively but Raymundo recognizes the deep reserve of grief.

The Lutherans in Augsburg saw miracles as flamboyant displays of Catholic mysticism and a shameless way to peddle holy relics: something the Protestants had gotten rid of with the Reformation.

They had learned about the Peace of Augsburg agreement in 1555, allowing the two religions to coexist with uneasy duality.

“Do not tell me what is blasphemous!” “This discussion is clearly pointless,” Albert interjects. “We are withdrawing our sons from the school. My wife and I will teach them at home. Good day.” “Then they will be cast into ignorance,” the priest shouts as they walk away. Magdalena turns around. “I doubt that very much. It is you who is ignorant. Damnant quodnon intelligent.” The old priest stares at her. She reads his thoughts as though he has spoken. The Jew speaks Latin. He makes the sign of the cross with a shaking hand.

The Fox Lake people found the name of the church and school strange—Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrow—and after seeing a man nailed to a crosshatch of logs inside, concluded that the Catholics were obsessed with sorrow, death, and punishment.

She thinks of Ernst Hasse, the founder of the Alldeutsche Verband—the Pan-German League—and what he said, published in an Augsburg newspaper in 1891. We want territory even if it belongs to foreigners, so that we may shape the future according to our needs. Her mother was horrified, her father disgusted.

They know now that the book that Raymond had sent to them—Northern Wisconsin: A Hand-book for the Homeseeker—was greatly exaggerated and full of outright lies in some parts.

It was a book that lured Joseph Weir to this part of Wisconsin. They have since learned that the lumber companies, after decimating the land of its timber, colluded in the lie so that they could unload what they considered worthless land onto to unsuspecting immigrants.

It upset them but did not deter them.

She is no longer in control of what happens, is no longer so safe from harm. There is a bigger world, a world in which people hate other people based on where they are from.

Father Boland is affected by the disturbing news but refuses to have his German parishioners bear the guilt of actions they are not a part of. Rather than destroy the books, he has put them in the rectory’s attic.

The number of German deserters has skyrocketed; more have given themselves up as prisoners, desperate for food and sick of fighting. Some of them are thrilled when Americans capture them. “I want to be a citizen of America,” a young private announced to Eberhard, his hands still in the air.

Even if he had the money, he fears what would happen in his absence if he left the front line of the battle. He also fears that a visit would ensnare him into becoming involved in the inevitable second war. And he won’t do that. He’s done his service. He won’t abandon the Flats again. Goddamn Hitler! he thinks. Goddamn Minneapolis!

View my author's page on Amazon

The Collaborator by Diane Armstrong Book Review-Five Stars

 

BOOK REVIEW FIVE STARS

The Collaborator by Diane Armstrong

The Collaborator is a captivating historical novel laced with factual incidents that build suspense while enticing you with apprehension. This fast moving story is spellbinding from beginning to end, edited with surprising twists and turns.

EXCERPTS;

She learns that in 1944 the Nazis invaded Hungary and disenfranchised the Jews with the co-operation of the government. Horrified, she tries to imagine a world where your government turns against you, where phones are disconnected, radios confiscated, car and bus travel forbidden, bank accounts frozen, and employment terminated. You wake up one day and discover that you are a despised nonperson in your own country. He knows that for most people, denying reality is preferable to confronting a disturbing truth.

One way or another, for noble motives or base ones, or merely from self-interest and the urge to survive, war turns us all into collaborators.

‘Everyone believes in peace in theory,’ he says quietly. ‘It’s the reality that’s the problem. For peace to take place, both parties have to want it, not just one.

We believe that if you wait for the other side to give in nothing will ever change. And if we let our government keep stealing Palestinian land and building more settlements, things will only get worse.’

They call themselves Israel First. They reckon we’re Palestinian collaborators, and threaten us with divine vengeance because we’re agitating for a two-state solution,’ he said. ‘They could be connected with the extremists who killed my grandfather, but even if they’re not, they might know something about Moshe Binsztok. Just tread carefully. They’re zealots with fundamentalist ideas and they don’t take kindly to opposing views.’

‘It’s like what George Bernard Shaw said about communism. If you’re not a communist when you’re young, you have no heart, but if you’re still a communist when you’re old, you have no brain.’

A point to ponder: When a slave finally over throws his master the first thing the freed slave does is go out and get himself a slave.

View my author's page on Amazon

November's Fury: The Deadly Great Lakes Hurricane of 1913 by Michel Schumacher-book Review-Five Stars

 

BOOK REVIEW - FIVE STARS

November's Fury: The Deadly Great Lakes Hurricane of 1913 by Michel Schumacher

I loved this fact-filled true story. My wife Jane and I have sailed the Great Lakes, their connecting rivers and locks to the Atlantic Ocean via the St. Lawrence Seaway. Our first voyage starting in Superior, Wisconsin, was on our home built and designed 46 foot sailing vessel Dursmirg. We have also transited the Atlantic, the St. Lawrence Seaway, and the Great Lakes by freighter.

We have witnessed in a November windstorm a large lake freighters broached sideways by a single wave through the Superior, Wisconsin, entry, and then miraculously straighten up in the blink of an eye to glide through the entry channel unscathed. That episode gave us everlasting nightmares.

EXCERPTS:

A “PERFECT STORM” on the Great Lakes, it would be the one that pounded the lakes from November 7 through November 10, 1913, leaving a wake of destruction unlike anything ever seen on freshwater at any point in recorded history. By the time the storm had blown out of the region, twelve boats had sunk, thirty-one more had been grounded on rocks or beaches, and dozens more were severely damaged. More than 250 men lost their lives. Eight boats, with their entire crews, were lost in a single day on Lake Huron alone.

Out on the lakes, hurricane-force winds built thirty- to forty-foot waves that mercilessly assaulted vessels unfortunate enough to be out on the water—

Similar weather conditions might revisit the lakes, but advances in science, technology, and communications have made it easier to stay out of harm’s way.

Larson described the sheer force generated by the kind of waves on Lakes Michigan and Superior and, later, Lake Huron: “A single cubic yard of water weighs about fifteen hundred pounds,” Larson wrote. “A wave fifty feet long and ten feet high has a static weight of over eighty thousand pounds. Moving at thirty miles an hour, it generates forward momentum of over two million pounds.”

The wind velocity on the open water vastly exceeded the velocities recorded on land.

View my author's page on Amazon

Northmen: The Viking Saga, 793–1241 by John Haywood BOOK REVIEW FIVE STARS

 

BOOK REVIEW - FIVE STARS

Northmen: The Viking Saga, 793–1241 by John Haywood

In Northmen thousands of questions are answered about this transitional period of the Viking era.

This stand alone group in Scandinavia before there were any defined borders were all considered Vikings and were under numerous tribal leaders that mostly went their separate ways.

John Hayward gives a great overview of the influence and impact that this all had.

Peaceful places have no history, and this place abounds in history.

Worthy of more than five stars.

EXCERPTS:

The Vikings were an unprecedented phenomenon in European history, not for any technological, military or cultural innovation that they contributed to–in most respects they were really rather backward and even their shipbuilding methods were conservative–but for the vast expanse of their horizons. No previous Europeans had ever seen so much of the world as the Vikings did. From their Scandinavian homelands, Vikings sailed east down the great rivers of Russia crossing the Black Sea to Constantinople and the Caspian Sea to reach Baghdad. In the west, Vikings even penetrated the Mediterranean to attack Italy and North Africa. Other Vikings crossed the Atlantic, leaving settlements along the way in the Faeroe Islands, Iceland and Greenland, to become the first Europeans known to have set foot in North America. It is these far-flung connections, and the daring spirit that created them, that give the Vikings their enduring appeal.

Medieval writers used ‘Viking’ specifically to describe someone who went í víking (plundering), that is a pirate, and not necessarily a Scandinavian one at that. The word is thought originally to have meant ‘men of the bays’, perhaps because that is where pirates lurked hoping to ambush an unwary merchant ship. Under the influence of national romanticism, however, ‘Viking’ became a synonym for ‘early medieval Scandinavian’ and the usage has stuck. It was also during this era that Vikings were equipped with their romantically barbaric, but historically inaccurate, horned helmets (the error originated in the mis-identification by early Antiquarians of Bronze Age horned helmets as Viking helmets). The helmets too have stuck in the popular imagination.

Archaeology uncovered evidence of peaceful Viking enterprise in the fields of crafts, trade, exploration and settlement, leading to a more balanced view of their lives.

It became impossible for them to find wives, they would have begun to drift away too, perhaps signing on as crew on the few ships that still came to Greenland. Only those who felt too old to start a new life would have remained and, with the young people gone, the extinction of the colony was just a matter of time. The last outpost of the Viking world may simply have died of old age.

View my author's page on Amazon

Gold Is Where It Finds You: The only survivor of a gold mining family shares their awe-inspiring journey by Brian Johnson - BOOK REVIEW-FIVE STARS

 

BOOK REVIEW - FIVE STARS

Gold Is Where It Finds You: The only survivor of a gold mining family shares their awe-inspiring journey by Brian Johnson

This is an exciting story of a determined, dedicated, focused, resolute, educated, and above all stubborn team.

A few came to the gold fields with dumb luck, but the true success stories were built on a work ethic backed up by a team of real men who couldn’t and wouldn’t let defeats kill their dreams.

Hard work is rooted in Brian’s Scandinavian ancestry.

This amazing book also delivers a wonderful collection of philosophical thoughts for a successful life and harmonious trusting relationships.

Worthy of more than five stars!

EXCERPTS:

I am the sole survivor, the only one left to tell the story of our mining operation. I felt I must record our lives for the sake of my family and the next generation, but also for other mining families and all families who work alongside each other toward a dream.

My hometown of Poplar, Wisconsin. Today about one thousand people live there. It was smaller in my childhood, but it was our world. Poplar was, and still is, a friendly town with a bank, grocery store, cafe, post office, lumber yard, and, the most significant place to our family, Poplar Hardware.

Our master plan was to finish logging and making plans through the winter, and then set off for Alaska in April. Everything we did had an undertone of excitement and purpose as we moved towards our big life change.

Now we were ready for the big move. And we expected that would be an adventure in itself!

Our route was set. From Poplar we headed west to Duluth, then on to Grand Forks, North Dakota. From Grand Forks we drove straight north to Winnipeg, then west to Saskatoon, Saskatchewan.

Our hopes were high when we began sluicing the first cut. Gold was selling then at about $375 an ounce, and it was our hope to recover at least an ounce an hour. We planned to work twelve-hour days. Every time we shut down the operation, we would check the sluice box for a glimpse of gold. Sure enough, we were seeing gold, but clueless as to the amount and weight. It lay among the riffles, shining in the summer sun. Yes! We were gold miners. At that time, finding any amount of yellow metal in the riffles, no matter how small, was exciting. Checking the sluice box could make our day or depress us depending on what we found. We felt we had a lot to learn about how to mine faster and better, but we were in Alaska, mining gold!

We bottled up the cleaned gold to make the trip to the gold buyer in Fairbanks. We hoped to earn enough to pay our fuel bill and buy groceries and other supplies in Fairbanks. Since we didn’t have a scale, Doug weighed it for us. Much to our surprise and dismay, we had only been producing half an ounce an hour and were going backwards fast. We were consuming about two-hundred fifty gallons of fuel a day and our fuel bill thus far was about $5,000. Our first cut had only produced about five thousand in gold. There were long sad faces in our camp as we wondered where we were headed and what our future looked like as miners.

An unpredictable grizzly is a miner’s biggest fear when working in the bush. Being alone made it even more dangerous.

We managed to get two twelve-gauge shotguns to camp and kept them strapped to the side of our ATV. Once we had protection, we never encountered a bear again!

Our investigation into the claim posts showed that the miner owning the claims above us had been prospecting on our claims and had even moved the claim posts!

With the gold cleaned and ready for market, the claim status legally established and staked, and even some potential buyers in contact with us, it was time to close the camp for good. We worked stoically, realizing our actions meant the end of our thirty-five years as partners, working and living together towards a singular goal. We also knew we would return to the creek only to tie up loose ends and move on. I knew I would have to accept a life without mining, or at least a life without mining with Loren.

“We’re better than we think we are.” We absolutely were. And without Loren around, it would be a life-long challenge to be as good alone as I was with him.

I’m older and wiser, I see that gold is more than the precious minerals we extract from the Earth. Gold is where you find it in the loving relationships that make your life worthwhile. It’s also found in the valuable lessons that you learn along the way. Find them and you’ll uncover the best treasures of your life.

View my author's page on Amazon

Island of the Lost by Joan Druett BOOK REVIEW: FIVE STARS

BOOK REVIEW: FIVE STARS

Island of the Lost by Joan Druett

Island of the Lost is a Robinson Crusoe knockoff well-done with the added story of personality conflicts that made a bad situation even worse.

Fast moving with never a dull moment. It was a joy to read and gave a wonderful insight into evolving history.

EXCERPTS:

Understanding that they had endured an extraordinary ordeal, the crowd helped them out of the boat, and tenderly assisted them to the European man’s house.

“an immense joy, a profound gratitude, filled my heart.” The European’s house seemed a haven indeed, with a garden, an orchard, and a vegetable patch. “The simple sight of so much comfort was enough to console and reinvigorate us.”

However, like the tearing down of primeval rain forest to make way for roads, the sealing trade was ultimately doomed, because it squandered natural resources without any thought for the future. No one seemed to take into account the fact that if all the cows and bulls were killed off in the southern summer, there would be no pups the following autumn. Initially, the catch was enormous, with just one ship reporting a take of thirty-eight thousand pelts in the first four-month season alone—at the cost of many more than thirty-eight thousand seals, because a lot of the skins were damaged during the attack, or spoiled by mold and vermin. Within just a dozen years, unsurprisingly, the seal population had been reduced to the extent that it was not worth dropping a gang at the Aucklands anymore.

Understanding that they had endured an extraordinary ordeal, the crowd helped them out of the boat, and tenderly assisted them to the European man’s house.

“an immense joy, a profound gratitude, filled my heart.” The European’s house seemed a haven indeed, with a garden, an orchard, and a vegetable patch. “The simple sight of so much comfort was enough to console and reinvigorate us.”

View my author's page on Amazon

Murderers In Mausoleums: Riding the Back Roads of Empire Between Moscow and Beijing by Jeffrey Tayler - book review - five stars

 

BOOK REVIEW-FIVE STARS

Murderers In Mausoleums: Riding the Back Roads of Empire Between Moscow and Beijing by Jeffrey Tayler

Murderers In Mausoleums: Riding the Back Roads of Empire Between Moscow and Beijing is another great true story from Jeffrey Tayler with cutting edge comparative analysis that cuts to the bone with shocking truthfulness. This eyeopener is very well done and a recommended read.

EXCERPTS;

A Russian Orthodox priest might replace “Islam” and “sharia” with “Christianity” and “the Ten Commandments” and deliver much the same (anti-Western) discourse in church up north. Resentment of the West now amounts to an ecumenical faith across Russia.

We hate Bush here. We’re all against Bush and the war in Iraq. You don’t know what you’ve got yourselves into.”

“You can see on Bush’s face that he’s a bad person, bad. He’s not worthy of sitting here with us to drink a beer.”

“September eleventh was a visitation from the Almighty. God gave us the attacks of that day as a lesson to remind us that he exists, that we’re all his children, all children of one god. It’s not just we in Dagestan who live on a powder keg, it’s all humanity now. For the first time, Americans can feel that for themselves.”

“I hear Condoleezza talking about democracy and that retard Bush telling us how to live, and I say, ‘America, shove your democracy up your ass and stop lecturing us!’ You meddle in other countries and fuck them up and then scold us about human rights. Shove it! I once thought Americans were a great people. But what kind of great people elects a fucking retard twice as president? You c’n tell by the look on his face that he’s a moron, a brainless cretin, but you elect him anyway!”

In Russia, where strength and cleverness are revered above all else, they mattered. Disdain for an America perceived as weak and stupid would embolden Putin in his confrontation with the West.

“Russia is getting stronger, Russia is rising, and you’re just going to have to get used to it.” She sneered. “We’ve got thousands of clever people in this country, brilliant people, scientists and schemers, and make no mistake about it: they’re out-and-out bastards. We live like shit, sure, but we don’t give a damn. Like it or not, we’re getting stronger, and we’re no fucking pansies. The Yeltsin days are over. We’re not taking any more orders from Bush or anyone else.” This kind of talk wasn’t entirely untrue. Russia’s Hobbesian human jungles hone ruthless talents of survival, and its poverty anneals the masses to discomfort; whereas Westerners, or so Russians think, are spoiled, fragile, and spineless. A predatory government forces Russians to develop tactics of evasion and subterfuge, while Westerners indulge their fancies in law-bound societies that permit frivolous pursuits and childish dissent.

Once in power Mao launched Soviet-style “reforms” that led to Soviet-style death and misery but on a Chinese scale—the collectivization of agriculture, the Great Leap Forward, the Cultural Revolution... Millions died in purges and famines before his death in 1976. Outdoing Stalin, he became the greatest mass murderer of the twentieth century. Yet his admirers—and even judging solely by this crowd, there are legions—laud him for ousting foreign occupiers, unifying China, and, for the first time in centuries, putting their country on a par with other world powers. That crowds throng to his embalmed body even now tells us that the future of this country probably does not belong to liberal reformers, that not all people march when freedom calls, that atrocities can be suffered and forgotten, and that justice is a malleable concept.

Ten or fifteen years ago no one expected such authoritarian capitalism would arise, but it is now strengthening by the day, carried forth on the shoulders of a compliant citizenry. Russia and China are working toward a rapprochement. Whether they succeed remains to be seen, but one thing is clear: the new Great Game that began with the collapse of the Soviet Union has ended, and victory has gone to the home teams.

Other books by Jeffrey Tayler reviewed on my blog:

Glory in a Camel's Eye

River of No Reprieve

View my author's page on Amazon

For the Love of Cod by Eric Dregni BOOK REVIEW-FIVE STARS

 Book Review-Five Stars

For the Love of Cod: A Father and Son's Search for Norwegian Happiness by Eric Dregni

For the Love of Cod is a very revealing comparative look into the Scandinavian successful social system, their social conscience of equal for all versus the U.S. system with crumbling, out of control inflation run wild in the land of the working poor, while one percent of America’s richest enjoy private jets and have the very best politicians that money can buy.

This eye-opening book is very well-timed for today's world.

For the Love of Cod is worthy of more than five stars.

EXCERPTS;

I discovered we couldn’t afford to stay in hotels either. I’d already told Eilif about this grand plan, however, so I hesitated canceling his ticket. I wrote to friends and relatives in Norway, begging them to let us sleep in their spare bedrooms for a couple of nights. Norway is no longer the most expensive country in the world (as of this writing, it’s moved to fourth place), but it can now boast that it’s the “happiest country in the world,” according to the World Happiness Report from the United Nations in 2017. I was perplexed. My wife, Katy, and I had lived in Trondheim for a year, and it had never struck me as a glowingly joyous place, with its dark winters and reserved citizens. “What does ‘happiness’ even mean?”

She gave birth to Eilif outside of Trondheim the year we lived there. The Norwegian government paid for the delivery, plus gave us a bonus five thousand dollars to help with expenses. Could all of this financial help be one of the reasons for Norwegian happiness?

“I find tax evasion extremely dishonorable, particularly on a corporate scale,” Joffe of Trondheim had told me. “I’m very proud to pay tax. The money is in most cases put to very sensible use such as publicly financed education, health care, libraries, support for disabled and unemployed people, and so on.”

\

I had assumed the main reason for Norway’s current success was the trillion dollars saved in the government’s oljefond, or oil fund, but every Norwegian I mently refuted my argument. Inger told me that Norway’s current status “comes out of hard work and luck.” Her husband, Knut, pointed out that this fund is thanks to Farouk al-Kasim, an oil engineer from Iraq who married a Norwegian. He knew Norway had to get foreign investment to establish the drilling technology but knew not to sell it to a foreign country and to plan wise investments early on. Inger chimed in, “This was a stroke of luck. We could have handled the wealth in a different way. In Africa or other places, they sell their resources and then it’s privatized.”

“Health care in Norway consumes 9 percent of GDP; the United States consumes 17 percent of GDP, and half of it is wasted.” Millions still aren’t even covered by health insurance in the United States. According to the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development, Norway is one of the highest spenders on health care, and their costs are still significantly less than the United States. Denmark, for example, has excellent health care that only costs 7 percent of GDP.

The Finnish word sisu sums up this concept and means resilience, “guts, grit, determination,” or “stubbornness beyond reason.”

Tourists now are streaming into northern Norway in the winter to see the darkness. The coastal steamer Hurtigruten offers northern lights tours in the middle of winter and promises visitors that they’ll see the aurora borealis or their money back. I loved seeing the northern lights in January but didn’t know if enduring the winter was worth it, considering that all the darkness is just like being locked in a closet.

It’s no coincidence that Amundsen and Nansen knew that skiing was the best way of traveling over snow since I think of Norwegians as cooperative community builders, Tor Dahl corrected me: “Norwegians are the most competitive people on earth—except for maybe the Chinese.” For such a small country, Norway is remarkable not only in its exploration but also in its accomplishment of winning more gold medals in the winter Olympics than any other country, and by far.

The earliest evidence of skis is in Norway, and early runestones reveal carvings of Ullr, the Norse god of skiing. The famous story of two Birkebeiners skiing over a mountain with a baby king has spawned lengthy cross-country ski races.

I remembered what Petter, the bus driver in Trondheim, had told me, “If you wait for good weather, you’ll never be happy.”

Jan was very worried about Russia since NATO has been weakened. “Russia could easily march through Finland and Sweden since they are not part of NATO. Norway is impossible to defend with all its coastline.” Jan said that Norway was in big trouble if the United States pulled out of NATO.

View my author's page on Amazon

In the Kingdom of Ice by Hampton Sides - Book Review: Five Stars

 

BOOK REVIEW-FIVE STARS

In the Kingdom of Ice by Hampton Sides

On the cutting edge of the industrialization in the 1830s, America and Americans were frantically clamoring for new frontiers to exploit. Zealots with tons of money and with ego building self-aggrandizement delusions made this true story into a fiasco. Lessons were learned at a very high price.

This is a captivating, fast moving, and must read story.

EXCERPTS;

Bennett was the third-richest man in New York City, with an assured annual income just behind those of William B. Astor and Cornelius Vanderbilt. Bennett was not only the publisher but also the editor in chief and sole owner of the Herald, probably the largest and most influential newspaper in the world. He had inherited the paper from his father, James Gordon Bennett Sr. The Herald had a reputation for being as entertaining as it was informative, its pages suffused with its owner’s sly sense of humor. But its pages were also packed with news; Bennett outspent all other papers to get the latest reports via telegraph and the transatlantic cable. For the newspaper’s longer feature stories, Bennett did whatever was necessary to acquire the talents of the biggest names in American letters—writers like Mark Twain, Stephen Crane, and Walt Whitman. Bennett was also one of New York’s more flamboyant bachelors, known for affairs with burlesque stars and drunken sprees in Newport. He was a member of the Union Club and an avid sportsman. Eight years earlier, he had won the first transatlantic yacht race. He would play an instrumental role in bringing the sport of polo to the United States, as well as competitive bicycling and competitive ballooning. In 1871, at the age of twenty-nine, Bennett had become the youngest commodore in the history of the New York Yacht Club—a post he still held.

Bennett, was known for racing fleet horses as well as sleek boats. Late at night, sometimes fueled with brandy, he would take out his four-in-hand carriage and careen wild-eyed down the moonlit turnpikes around Manhattan. Alert bystanders tended to be both puzzled and shocked by these nocturnal escapades, for Bennett nearly always raced in the nude.

Minute by minute, the pressure intensified. Then a great fist of ice burst through the starboard coal bunker, and soon the hold was flooding. “She had been stabbed in her vitals, and was settling fast,” Newcomb wrote. “The ship is not yet built that can stand such hugging.” Some of the men, thinking this must be the end, raced to their bunks and grabbed their knapsacks, which had been packed for a catastrophe such as this. Finally it came, the call they had been dreading but preparing for, off and on, for many months: “Abandon ship!”

In a final whirl of water, the Jeannette plunged out of sight. Nothing remained, said Danenhower, “of our old and good friend, the Jeannette, which for many months had endured the embrace of the Arctic monster.” She had sunk at latitude 77°15 N, longitude 155° E, a little more than seven hundred miles south of the North Pole.

View my author's page on Amazon