I return to the life and times of Thomas G. Moses tomorrow, after almost a month on the road. Travel in August brought me from Whitehorse in the Yukon to a small rural town near Fargo, North Dakota. Unbelievably, cellular service was far better in the Yukon than northern Minnesota – go figure. My final trip was to the Western Minnesota Steam Threshers Reunion (WMSTR), a yearly exposition held every Labor Day weekend near Rollag in Northwestern Minnesota. For 47 years, our family has attended the show. My annual trip to Rollag continues to fuel my love and appreciation of history. There is nothing like seeing a tractor fueled by steam slowly inch by, puffing all the way.
My mother was the first person to make history come alive for me. She has always excelled as a storyteller, a skill that greatly helped her communicate information to not only me, but also to her students over the years. The next greatest factor that contributed to my fascination with history was the Western Minnesota Steam Threshers Reunion, a unique type of living history museum that features a steam locomotive, a pioneer exhibit, a horse-power farm, two sawmills, and a multitude of engines powered by steam, kerosene and gasoline. People come from across the country to see the power of steam and how it tamed the prairie. The show has become the largest of its kind in North America.
My father was the first of our family to venture to this four-day event with his good friend and co-worker Ray Granstrom during the 1960s. He helped install the Corliss engine, a massive machine with a 17-foot flywheel.
By 1972, my mother and I attended the show for the first time and instantly became hooked. I have only missed four shows since 1972. Two of those times were when my children were mere infants, and I refused to let their little lungs get a good dose of airborne particulates wafting from various steam engines.
In the beginning, camping was primitive, with outhouses and limited access to running water. As a small child, this was an added bonus, no shower for almost a week! Our friends and family always knew that each Labor Day weekend we were working on the show grounds in some capacity. Over the years, our work changed as our roles shifted within the organization. My father started out in the Blacksmith shop, making little rings out of nails. He later ran the sound system in the Threshermen’s Memorial Building (TMB) before becoming the official Hobo on the WMSTR railroad.
My mother started out doing a variety of thankless jobs that no one wanted to do, including cleaning toilets. At the time, playing music on the grounds wasn’t considered “work” and each member had to sign up for a specific job. Progress was slow, but eventually the contributions of musicians were recognized, sadly a little too late for many. My mother went from borrowing Arne Gunderson’s accordion in 1972 to play in the Quonset building, to running the entire music program on the grounds. The greatest lesson that I learned from her over the years was how to make everyone feel respected and appreciated, regardless of their skillset. She still encourages young musicians, cajoles older ones, and makes sure that everyone has a chance to be in the spotlight.
My mother now plays accordion in the Mercantile Building for eight-hours every day of the show. My father is still a drummer, but now only accompanies her on nursing home day. Over the years, my parents have played with a variety of musicians on the show grounds, at parades, across the country and at home in the Twin Cities. I grew up listening to musical selections that spanned genres and decades. Whether is was polkas, waltzes, old time, country, or pop, I intimately knew all of the melodies and lyrics for each. There is something to be said about being an only child in a room full of musicians. I spent countless hours sketching in the corner with laughter and music in the background.
I watched friendships develop between musicians whose political and religious views were diametrically opposed. Fights occasionally erupted over a variety of social issues, but they would eventually subside, each friendship continuing on as before. They all shared the common language of music and this single commonality overrode a multitude of differences. I miss hearing the peacemaking and an overall desire to respect each other despite their differing views. Music bridges the gaps between individuals.
My own work on the grounds shifted over the decades too. By the age of seven, I was scooping ice cream and selling balloons. As a teenager, I worked alongside Maxine and Edra in the Ladies Boutique, selling handmade trinkets and chatting with visitors. These service jobs taught me how to handle both people and money, an invaluable asset that would greatly assist me later in my career. Other jobs included setting up and running the soundboard in the TMB under the direction of my father, as well emceeing the style show.
It was the latter that shaped my public speaking skills and ability to think quickly on my feet in front of a crowd. Beginning as a model at the age of four, I was first handed the microphone as a pre-teen to describe my historic outfits. By my late teens, I was co-emceeing of the style show and describing a variety of outfits that randomly appeared on stage. By the age of twenty, I was sole emcee, upping my game and providing historical context for the shifts in fashion. Instead of having models appear in random outfits, I started to have groups come out, each representing the various fashion trends for every decade, starting in the 1870s. We spruced up the stage and I donated some backdrops. For years, my mother and Donna Peterson also rushed over to provide background music, appropriate songs for each decade.
As the style show themes increased in complexity, so did my preparation. Over the years themes included, a Century of Progress, Women’s Rights, Courtship Through the Ages, World Fairs, Military Attire, and much more. My husband became integral to the style show, prompting other men to join in, always a very rare resource. Both of our children also joined in. Our eldest, Isa, and Andrew performing duets between decades. However, after twenty years of preparation, study, selecting historic outfits for random individuals, pairing groups of models, and emceeing, I passed the baton to another; I was burned out.
The style show strengthened my ability to discuss a topic and improvise for almost two straight hours without any intermission. The whistle of the steam engines and noise from the passing machines would compete with every show, training me to pause and make sure the audience could clearly understand me. I learned not to rush and acknowledge those working on the show, whether they were a dresser, model, musician, or sound technician.
I never used notes for the show, unless I was reading a specific quote that pertained to the times. Occasionally an outfit was assembled without my knowledge, a surprise that mismatched several eras at once. This opportunity trained me to think quickly on my feet and not get flustered. In the end, I learned about American history and how to communicate interesting information to others, all the while entertaining them.
Times have changed on the grounds; the old time fiddle jamboree has disappeared, replaced with more contemporary country music. There are very few of the older musicians left. The farmers who would dutifully show up with their fiddle to jam are a rare sight. Yet, I still hear the echo of every musician that played with my parents. Although many are no longer known or remembered, they are still part every show for me.
To be continued…
