Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

The Boys of ’61 memorial May 9, 2011

ON AUGUST 21, 1862, he was mustered into the Seventh Regiment Minnesota Volunteer Infantry, Company K. He was 34 years old. He was my great great grandfather, John Dallmann.

More than two years later, he was among seven men from his company wounded in the Battle of Nashville. The battle represented one of the Union Army’s largest victories during the Civil War. Two soldiers from Company K were killed in that December 15-16, 1864, conflict.

Remarks written in the Company K roster, published in Minnesota in the Civil and Indian Wars 1861-1865, under the supervision of The Board of Commissioners appointed by the act of the Minnesota legislature in 1889, state that Dahlman (the roster spelling) was “Wounded at Nashville; discharged in hospital in ’65.”

Other than that basic information, I know nothing of my great great grandfather’s military service.

He was among some 24,000 Minnesotans who marched off to war 150 years (or so) ago. Some came home; many died on battlefields or of disease.

My great great grandfather, John Dallmann (seated in the front row) was wounded on December 16, 1864, at the Battle of Nashville. My great grandmother, Anna Dallmann Bode is standing in the center in the back row, between her siblings, Minna, left to right, Carl, Herman and Hulda.

On this the sesquicentennial of our nation’s bloodiest war, plans are in place to construct a memorial honoring “all Minnesota citizens who served and fought to preserve Minnesota and the Union between 1861 and 1866,” according to the Minnesota Boys of ’61 nonprofit corporation.

A one-acre site south of the State Capitol in Summit Park has been selected for the state-wide memorial, current location of a monument to Josiah King, the first Minnesotan to volunteer for the Union.

Design plans call for granite monuments recognizing each Minnesota regiment, battery, battalion or independent organization encircling a full-scale bronze infantryman, calvaryman and civilian volunteer. Artillery pieces will flank each side of the memorial.

Efforts are currently underway to raise $750,000 for the project, which will be funded entirely by private donations.

For Minnesotans, this monument offers an opportunity to honor a soldier-ancestor on a state-wide level. Contributions made payable to “Minnesota Boys of ’61 Memorial” should be sent to:

Minnesota Boys of ’61 Memorial

1524 East Cliff Road

Burnsville, MN. 55337

A “Wall of Honor” will recognize donors at various levels, beginning with patriot donors who give a minimum $150. Contributors may choose to be recognized by personal or business name or may honor an ancestor.

Those who donate over $1,000 in money or in-kind services will also receive a signed, limited edition print of Minnesota Iron, the official Boys of ’61 print by Minnesota artist David Geister.

My great great grandfather's name is listed on the Veterans Wall of Honor in Bella Vista, Arkansas, where my two maternal aunts and their husbands live.

FYI: Log on to boysof61.org for more information about the Minnesota memorial and how you can donate.

Click here to read about the Arkansas memorial.

© Copyright 2011 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Family photo courtesy of Dorothy Bowman

 

Mother’s Day thoughts May 8, 2011

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 4:00 PM
Tags: , , , , , ,

My oldest daughter and my son pose after the wedding yesterday.

IF YOU ARE A MOM, are you having a good, maybe even great, Mother’s Day?

Mine has been low-key given my family returned a few hours ago from traveling out-of-town to attend our nephew’s wedding on Saturday.

When we dropped our eldest off at her south Minneapolis apartment this afternoon, she asked if the guys had anything planned for me. I accepted her greeting card, promise of a hanging flower basket and told her I didn’t think so.

They are busy.

The husband is napping in the recliner. I should add here that I suggested he take a nap. He deserves to rest after all the long hours he’s been putting in at work lately.

The teenaged son is doing homework and, I think, studying for an Advanced Placement physics test tomorrow. He remembered today was Mother’s Day only after Mother’s Day wishes were exchanged among family members at the hotel this morning.

The second daughter called as our family was driving into Minneapolis. Her timing was perfect, diverting my attention from all the crazy drivers. However, she did cause me to miss some photo ops.

My other daughter.

That all said, my Mother’s Day has been uneventful and not particularly memorable.

But that’s OK. I’ve been with two of my three children and spoken with the third.

In a few hours, I’ll call my mom and wish her a “Happy Mother’s Day.”

If she’s like me, she will appreciate more than any card or gift, the call telling her “I love you.”

Aren’t those the words that really matter the most to mothers on Mother’s Day, and any day?

© Copyright 2011 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Meet the new Minnesota FFA president May 5, 2011

I AM PROUD, so, so proud, of my niece Hillary Kletscher of Vesta.

On Tuesday, she was named the 2011-2012 Minnesota Future Farmers of America president. (Click here to see the announcement.)

That selection speaks volumes to Hillary’s leadership skills, character and commitment to a stellar organization. She is among 9,100 FFA members from 175 Minnesota chapters. Her home chapter is my alma mater, Wabasso High School in Redwood County on the southwestern Minnesota prairie.

Nearly 40 years ago I became the first girl to join the WHS FFA, blazing the way in a previously male-dominated organization.

The 1973 - 1974 Wabasso High School FFA chapter consists of mostly male students. I am among the few females featured in this yearbook photo. I'm seated in the second row, third girl on the right.

For that reason I am particularly, personally, pleased that my niece now holds the highest office in Minnesota’s FFA.

It is an accomplishment that will open many doors for this WHS senior who has been serving as the Region V FFA president and as her chapter’s president. Hillary is a leader.

But it takes more than strong leadership skills to garner the top FFA spot in the state. Hillary and the other 15 candidates for state offices (selected by a nominating committee of their peers and adults) were evaluated in the areas of communication, team player, knowledge, organization, character, passion for success, influence and critical thinking.

Whew, simply reading that list posted on the Minnesota FFA website makes me realize that this is a daunting process that includes a written application, interviews, a written test, round robin issues conversations and more.

My niece, I am certain, can handle the responsibilities that will come with her new position.

Hillary is also an academically-gifted student and will graduate in a few weeks at the top of her class, 60 years after her paternal grandmother, Arlene (Bode) Kletscher, also graduated as the WHS valedictorian.

(I graduated in 1974 as the WHS salutatorian and my own daughter, Miranda, graduated as the Faribault High School valedictorian in 2006.)

Wabasso High School's winning T-shirt design, front and back.But back to Hillary. Her list of accomplishments in FFA, if I knew all of them, would be lengthy. She’s excelled in soil competition. And last year a T-shirt she designed won the National FFA T-shirt Contest. The winning slogan: “Who needs a license…When you can drive a tractor!”

I never came close to doing what Hillary has done in FFA. I won the Chapter Farmer Scholarship Award, and that’s about all I remember other than my first-female member status.

Hillary will have a busy year ahead of her as she juggles her freshman year of college at Iowa State University and trips back to Minnesota to carry out her FFA presidential duties. But if anyone can handle the stress, the pressure, the demands, it is my strong, determined niece.

She will continue to live the FFA motto:

Learning to Do

Doing to Learn

Earning To live

Living to Serve

© Text copyright 2011 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

T-shirt graphic courtesy of Hillary Kletscher

Hillary Kletscher photo by Matt Addington Photography and courtesy of Hillary Kletscher

 

Oh, Wisconsin, I do love thee April 27, 2011

I was expecting downtown Appleton to look like historic Faribault with a pedestrian-friendly two-lane central street. Instead I found big city bustle and a busy four-lane running through the heart of downtown.

My husband and I, along with our son, spent Easter weekend in Appleton, Wisconsin, with our second oldest daughter.

IF YOU READ my Monday blog post, you know about the “Guess that state” contest that offers no prize. The prize is knowing you could (maybe) figure out where I celebrated Easter.

That would be in Wisconsin.

Yes, my husband, son and I spent the Easter weekend just east of Minnesota, in the Dairyland state, the home of the Green Bay Packers.

Specifically, we were in Appleton, the birthplace of Harry Houdini and the current home of my second oldest daughter. It is a 5 – 5 ½- hour drive from Faribault depending on how fast you drive and how many bathroom breaks are taken.

It is interesting how, when you travel in another state, you feel kind of like a foreigner. My husband and I tend to notice the details that distinguish regions. Of course, in Wisconsin, cheese and Packers’ green and gold stand out above all else.

But we also noticed, in the central area of the state where we drove along Wisconsin Highway 21, all of the small-town taverns and unincorporated towns, the buggy tracks and horse poop along the shoulders of the highway, the deer stands, the areas for growing potatoes and cranberries, many “for sale” signs on wooded properties, and lots and lots and lots of deer carcasses in the ditches and along the roadway. Oh, and for one short section, the dead muskrat may have outnumbered the total dead deer count for 100 miles.

Aside from those observations, we saw some interesting signage. For example, in school zones, “when children are present,” the speed limit is 15 mph.

The Willow Creek Cheese Factory Outlet was shut, not closed, according to this sign.

One particular business was not “closed,” it was “shut.”

A parcel of rural real estate, what we would term a “hobby farm” in Minnesota, was dubbed a “Farmette for sale.”

Dead-end streets in Appleton were posted as “No outlet.” It took me awhile to figure out that meant dead-end.

Brat fries were the big weekend fundraiser at Appleton grocery stores. The term “brat fry” was new to us. It means grilling.

We were especially amused by this sign in a field: “Certified weed-free hay.” Now, I wonder what the farmer was smoking when he wrote that sign. Cheddar cheese?

Oh, Wisconsinites, I really do like your state so I hope you take this post in humor, as it’s meant. If you want to cross the border and poke some fun at us Minnesotans, feel free. You’re always welcome here. Just leave the green and gold attire at home.

If you’d like to bring some cheese, do. I love Wisconsin cheese.

A small sampling of the cheeses available at Simon's Specialty Cheese in Little Chute. I'll take you inside this can't miss store in a future post.

NOW FOR THOSE READERS who are wondering where I shot the images in my “Guess that state” post published on Monday, here are the answers:

1.  HELICOPTER:  On the outskirts of Tomah just off I-94

2.  SHIP ROCK:  Near Coloma in Adams County

3.  BRAU HOUSE:  Downtown Appleton

4.  WE SALUTE OUR DAIRY FARMERS:  Simon’s Specialty Cheese Retail Store, Little Chute

5.  NEON ORANGE BUILDING:  A Mexican restaurant (sorry, didn’t get the name) in Wautoma

6.  STONE BUILDING:  The History Museum at the Castle in downtown Appleton. Magician Harry Houdini claims Appleton as his birthplace.

7.  AMISH FARM:  Near Coloma

8.  BRAT FRY SIGN:  Along an Appleton street

9.  GOLD FIRE HYDRANT:  Appleton

© Copyright 2011 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

For the love of reading April 20, 2011

I’VE ALWAYS LOVED to read.

And I’ve passed that love of reading on to my three children, two of whom are now adults and one who is 17. They are all readers.

Even before my girls started school, I read the Little House books by Laura Ingalls Wilder to them.

Every summer, the folks of Walnut Grove, Minnesota, produce an outdoor pageant based on Laura Ingalls Wilder's Little House books. Many pageant attendees arrive at the show site dressed in period attire and then climb aboard a covered wagon prop there.

Then I read the Betsy-Tacy book series by Maud Hart Lovelace to my girls. I even nicknamed my second daughter Tib, after the curly-haired, fun-loving Tib in Lovelace’s books. To this day, our family occasionally, fondly, calls her Tib.

A snippet of a mural by artist Marian Anderson in the Maud Hart Lovelace Children's Wing at the Blue Earth County Library in Mankato, Minnesota. The painting depicts the main characters in Lovelace's books, from left, friends Tib, Tacy and Betsy.

Now that I think back on those days of snuggling on the couch with my two girls and later with my son, I am impressed that these preschoolers would sit still for long chapter books. But they did. Of course, I also read picture books and easy-reader books to them.

Long after my trio stopped sitting on my lap or leaning into my shoulders, listening to the stories I read, they continued reading.

Even my boy, my teen. This surprises me. At 17, he still pops out the leg rest on the reclining couch, stretches out his lanky body, grabs a book and reads. For hours. He also reads in bed when he should be sleeping.

There was a time, during his elementary and middle school years, when I checked under his bed for a flashlight and books. He got smart to that and simply hid them elsewhere. So I stopped searching, not wanting to squelch his love of reading even if it meant he wasn’t getting enough sleep.

Today he still reads when he should be sleeping. While I encourage him not to read into the wee hours of the morning, I can’t exactly stop him.

Right now he has two dozen science fiction books stacked in the middle of his bedroom floor: I, Robot and Second Foundation by Isaac Asimov, The Invisible Man and The War of the Worlds by H.G. Wells, Ringworld by Larry Niven, 1984 by George Orwell, Stranger in a Strange Land by Robert A. Heinlein…

Science fiction books stacked on my teen's bedroom floor.

Some of the books have copyrights nearly as old as me.

My son found these books at a used book sale sponsored by the local branch of the American Association of University Women. The AAUW holds the sale annually to raise funds for local reading projects. It’s a worthy cause.

Well, Saturday, we “donated” $25 to the cause, dropping that amount for a box full of two dozen science fiction books, a Star Wars video, two Bach CDs, a nonfiction book about Iowa and a vintage elementary school textbook. The last two items on that list were my selections. I seldom buy books for myself, preferring to check them out from the library because I’ll read a book only once. My teen will read a volume multiple times.

I picked up a 1951 edition of this children's textbook at the used book sale. One of the women working the sale said she used it in her classroom and really liked the book. So did I. But I purchased it for the beautiful vintage art.

I found this brand new book for my niece, who will graduate from high school in about a month. She will attend an Iowa university. I thought she might enjoy this children's nonfiction book that will introduce her to her new home state. Either that or she'll think her aunt (me) is crazy for giving her such an unusual gift. If anyone else wants an Iowa book, you'll find a box full at the sale.

Typically I would not pay $25 for nearly 30 used books, some of them well-used. But how could I deny these books to my teen, who said he can’t even find some of the older books in the library system? Yes, he has a well-used library card.

The older women working the book sale seemed impressed with my gangly teen who managed to fill an entire cardboard box with books. They even offered him a several-dollar discount when I told him he would need to pay half the cost of the books. I only thought it fair. I’ve never been the type of mom to buy my kids something simply because they want it. The son didn’t argue.

I had to restrain myself from buying an armful of children’s picture books. For years I bought used books for the library at the Christian day school my children attended. After I stopped volunteering a dozen years later, breaking that buying habit took a bit of resolve.

Since I passed on the many fabulous children’s books, I did the next best thing. I e-mailed two friends with young children and encouraged them to shop at the sale.

HOW ABOUT YOU, do you buy books at used book sales, garage or rummage sales or elsewhere? Have you always loved to read? And, if you have children, do they also love being read to or reading on their own?

FOR ANYONE WHO lives in the Faribault area, today, April 20, is the final day of the book sale, which runs from 3 p.m. – 7 p.m. in the old Hallmark store at the Faribo West Mall. I’m pretty certain you’ll find plenty of deals on books as the AAUW will just want “to get rid of” their remaining inventory.

© Copyright 2011 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Worrying about the Wisconsin tornadoes April 10, 2011

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 9:49 PM
Tags: , , , , , , ,

FOR THE PAST 1 1/2 HOURS, after receiving a text from my second daughter that she is hunkered down in the basement of her Appleton, Wisconsin, apartment, I have been worrying.

Her area of Wisconsin has been under a tornado warning.

So, for awhile, we texted back and forth, until finally, I thought it easier to call.

She didn’t seem scared, only worried about predicted hail and about her car sitting out in the parking lot.

Me? My daughter’s safety is top on my list. She is on call tonight for her job as a Spanish medical interpreter and I wanted to make sure she stayed put.

I made the mistake of logging onto the severe weather chatline on the area’s television station, FOX 11 WLUK-TV. Reports of tornadoes and strong winds and damaged buildings are streaming in.

Minute after minute, I read aloud, to my girl, the live chat comments. Finally, she said, “Mom, I think you’re scaring yourself.”

She would be right. I’m afraid of tornadoes, which could have something to do with the Tracy tornado of June 13, 1968, which killed nine. I lived, back then, only 25 miles from that southwestern Minnesota town.

But on this stormy night in Wisconsin, I’m afraid of a tornado six hours away in a state where I know few towns by name, let alone the counties where tornado warnings have been issued.

I recognize Menasha and Oskosh and Appleton and Little Chute.

And as I read the live chat comments, I realize that half of what I’m reading may be untrue.

So I read this comment to my daughter: “If people could type only what they know to be true that would be helpful!”

For the mom back in Minnesota, that would be very helpful.

And then my daughter tells me she has to go, that work is calling. And I tell her, emphasizing each word, “Don’t go anywhere.”

I’m hoping she will listen.

I tell her dad to call her.

But before he can, my cell phone rings. My daughter was asked to interpret over the phone. But because she was hunkered in the basement, without everything she needed for work, the scheduler told her to stay put.

For that I am thankful.

The last time I checked the National Weather Service, the storm was moving away from Appleton, toward the Green Bay area.

I’ve asked my daughter to let me know if there’s any storm damage in her area of Wisconsin.

But for now, I think I’ll log off that live severe weather chat line and call it a night. Oh, and I’ll say a prayer for our Wisconsin neighbors, adding a prayer also that my daughter doesn’t get called out on this stormy night.

Copyright 2011 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

A beauty queen moment April 9, 2011

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 9:22 AM
Tags: , , , , ,

Six yellow roses and babies breath comprised the bouquet my husband gave to me.

HE STRODE ACROSS the living room with a bouquet of cellophane-wrapped buttercup yellow roses.

The flowers were unexpected, as flowers often are from him.

I stretched my hands to accept the roses, to pull him close, kiss him and tell him how very much this surprise meant to me, how I appreciated the sweetness of it all.

He intuitively seems to understand when I need a day-brightener, a gesture of love and care and concern. And I did, need the roses, to cheer me.

It’s been a difficult past month facing a sudden sensory hearing loss that has left me with near deafness in my right ear. He has been there to support me, to listen, to embrace me in the moments when I feel overwhelmed.

I love this about my husband. In his own quiet way, he understands.

I love that he is teaching our son the art of giving—from the heart—not for an occasion or a have-to or a celebration. Our son will understand that flowers should be all about love.

All of this I thought as I arose from the recliner where I had been reading, slanted the wrapped bouquet across my arms and spontaneously sashayed across the living room, hips swaying, right arm waving in a beauty queen wave.

At that moment I felt as if I had won the crown. And I had.

© Copyright 2011Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Horse/Pferd crazy in Minnesota und Deutschland April 7, 2011

This isn't my stick horse; mine is long gone. But my parents made stick horses for my two daughters 20-plus years ago. This horse belongs to one of them.

GROWING UP ON A SOUTHWESTERN Minnesota farm, I wanted a horse. Bad. Really, really bad.

But Dad wasn’t buying my and my siblings’ pleas to “Please, please, pretty please, Dad, can we get a horse?”

He stood firm in his belief that horses were dangerous. And then he would give us the facts to back up his fear. Dad would regale us over and over again with the tale of the boy he’d seen lying in the Redwood Falls Hospital with a hoof print embedded in his forehead. Whether that story was entirely true or a bit of exaggeration, I’ll never know. I only knew, unequivocally, that Dad didn’t want any of his six kids kicked in the head by a horse.

I think he also had concerns about keeping an animal that wasn’t earning its keep on our dairy and crop farm. With tractors, he didn’t need horses that, in his opinion, would do nothing except consume corn and hay that he needed for the cattle.

And so my siblings and I improvised. Socks with eyes, mouths and ears and with yarn manes sewn on and then jammed onto sticks became our horses. Stick horses. I rode mine around the farmyard so much that I easily could have ridden to Montana and back.

These were the days, too, of television westerns like Gunsmoke, Bonanza, Rawhide. These were the days of shooting cap guns and, even though this is certainly not politically-correct today, of playing “cowboys and Indians.”

When my siblings and I weren’t riding our stick horses with guns blazing, we were riding our bicycles. Up and down the driveway. On the rock-hard dirt paths we’d carved through the grove. We pedaled furiously, escaping robbers and savages on our bikes turned horses.

On occasion, we also straddled empty barrels, slipping our feet into stirrups we’d fashioned from baler twine. We were, if anything, innovative, resourceful and imaginative.

Dad wasn’t giving us our horse, so we made do.

For my oldest brother, making do also meant attempting to ride a steer. I don’t recall that he was ever bucked off. But I also don’t remember that he succeeded in his mission.

 

My second daughter went through a phase, when she was about four years old, of being obsessed with horses. She drew horse pictures non-stop. I read every horse book to her available through the southeastern Minnesota library system. And I bought her toy horses, all of which are still in a plastic tote for her to someday claim.

All of which brings me to this story. Have you heard about the 15-year-old German girl who trained a cow that she can ride like a horse? Her parents, like my dad, told her she couldn’t have a horse. So she improvised.

Shortly after Luna was born on the family’s farm two years ago, Regina Mayer started working with the animal. Her persistence paid off as she can now saddle up and ride the cow like a horse. Luna even is trained to jump over hurdles.

I like the spunk of this teen. Knowing what I know about cattle, I realize just how determined Regina had to be to get her “horse.”

Apparently my brothers, sisters and I weren’t determined enough. So, instead, we settled for sticks, bikes and barrels. And, on occasion, we cajoled a relative into riding her horse from several miles away to our farm. She would allow us to climb into the saddle for a walk around the farmyard. It was then that I discovered I really didn’t feel all that comfortable riding a horse. But I never told my dad. Not once.

 

One of the many horses in my second daughter's collection.

© Copyright 2011 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Honoring the memory of my dad April 4, 2011

Elvern Kletscher's 1950s military photo

HIS OBITUARY READS IN PART: From 1952-1953, he served in the U.S. Army during the Korean Conflict. He served on the front lines, receiving the Purple Heart after being wounded…He enjoyed his weekly visits with his veterans support group. He enjoyed bird watching, making horseradish and tomato juice with his family.

Elvern Kletscher passed away Thursday, April 3, 2003, at the Sunwood Good Samaritan Center in Redwood Falls, Minnesota at the age of 72 years and 29 days.

Yesterday, on the eight-year anniversary of my father’s death, I failed to remember. How could I? How could I forget the day he died, the day I lost my dad? How could I?

It breaks my heart that I would forget. This failure to remember the date of his death seems like a dishonor to the father I loved. He was a man who worked hard tending the earth, who loved his family and God. He was a soldier who served his country and, because of his time on the killing fields of Korea, suffered from a lifetime of demons that at times robbed me of my father.

But in the end, in his last days, I came to terms with the issues that sometimes made life with him difficult and challenging. I saw only the goodness as I stood at his bedside in the Veterans Administration Hospital where he lay dying of cancer and congestive heart failure.

As I held his hand, stroked his thick white hair, held a straw to his lips, I tried to be brave, to cheer him, to comfort him.

But when I couldn’t keep my emotions in check any more, I fled his room, stood outside his hospital room and wept.

Once I pulled myself back together, I returned to his bedside, listened to him tell me he was going to a better place, that he wanted all of us to take care of Mom. And then I cried, right there, holding nothing back because I couldn’t no matter how hard I tried.

Two days later, after being transported back to his home county, into a nursing home, my dad died.

And on April 7 we buried him, deep in the soil, in the hillside cemetery that overlooks his beloved prairie, the place where, except for his time in the military, he lived his entire life.

On that gloomy April day of biting cold wind, I held my mom close, my arm wrapped around her shoulders as she shivered uncontrollably. Together with my siblings we huddled inside a tent, next to the coffin.

As the guns fired in a military salute, as taps sounded their mournful wail, as my mom accepted a carefully folded American flag, I wept.

Today I weep, too, as I remember the father I loved.

© Copyright 2011 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Remembering my soldier-father and Elizabeth Taylor March 24, 2011

WHEN I HEARD the news on Wednesday of Elizabeth Taylor’s death, I didn’t think of the Hollywood star or the two-time Oscar winner, the stunning beauty with the violet eyes or the woman who married eight times, or even the starlet who struggled with addiction and was a crusader in the fight against AIDS.

Rather, I thought of my dad.

He was smitten with Liz.

He never met the Hollywood actress. But he had seen her on a United Service Organizations stage while serving during the Korean Conflict. That was enough for my Minnesota farmer turned-soldier dad to fall for her. Hard. I don’t recall him ever, in his life-time, talking about another actress. He had eyes only for Elizabeth.

His wasn’t an obsession. Nothing like that. It’s just that he seldom talked about his time on the front lines as a foot solider during the Korean War. He told us about the orphans begging for food across barbed wire fences, the sniper (he eventually killed) picking off members of his platoon, watching his buddy blown up the day before he was to return home to the States, the cold and lack of food, the digging into foxholes for protection…and then Elizabeth Taylor, dear, dear Liz.

I expect that the movie star offered a welcome and pleasant diversion for soldiers who faced death on a daily basis.

My father, Elvern Kletscher, on the left with two of his soldier buddies in Korea.

If my dad was still alive—he died eight years ago at the age of 72—I would ask him about the woman who enamored him with her beauty when she stepped onto Korean soil to entertain the troops. I don’t know details about her USO appearance. I wish I had cared enough to ask him.

I tried to find more information online, but Taylor’s USO tours don’t exactly pop up all over the Internet. She once received the USO Woman of the Year Award and won a USO Merit Award. Otherwise I didn’t find much out there.

And that is dismaying to me. Her time entertaining our servicemen, soldiers like my dad, seems as notable as her roles in Cleopatra or Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf.

For me, Elizabeth Taylor will always be more than just another actress. She will be a reminder of my father, of the young Minnesota soldier who was struck by shrapnel at Heartbreak Ridge in Korea and was awarded the Purple Heart 47 years later. It is his memories of Liz that define her to me, not her beauty, not her accolades, not her anything except the temporary escape she gave my soldier-father nearly 60 years ago from the battlefields of Korea, from the horrors of war.

© Copyright 2011 Audrey Kletscher Helbling