Glencoe

This morning I've been thinking about Glencoe.

In 1973, I was going to school in St. Paul, and my girlfriend was going to school in Granite Falls, about a three-hour drive away. I rode my motorcycle to see her a couple of times, but this is Minnesota, and it soon moved past motorcycle weather. Not to worry, I had another transportation option.

In a fit of misguided optimism that summer I'd purchased, for a few hundred dollars, a 1965 Chevy panel van, that in its previous life had been a company car on the Iron Range. When I bought it, the back doors were held shut with a rope. When I took it to the big city, I swapped out the rope for a chain and padlock.

Because I'm all about security.

There were a few rust issues, the most remarkable being the time I went to dim the headlights and put my foot through the floorboard, which required me to wire a toggle switch on the dashboard as a substitute.

I just realized hardly anyone younger than fifty is going to understand this story. There was a time, children, when headlights didn't dim themselves. Instead, you tromped on a switch on the floor with your left foot. Plus, there were no cellphones, not many people had credit cards, there was no such thing as an ATM, and nothing was open on Sunday.

Those are all important elements to the story.

One Sunday I was headed back to the Twin Cities and my generator light came on. Now, you can drive for a while using just the car battery, but you can't drive indefinitely. The truck finally died about five miles east of Glencoe, which was about halfway back to my dorm room. I left a note on the dashboard for the highway patrol explaining that this was NOT an abandoned vehicle and hitchhiked home. I think it took four rides to get there, and it was shortly after midnight that two young guys on a road trip dropped me at my door. I was up early the next morning and headed back to fix my truck, when I discovered I was out of check blanks. Nobody else was up, but I managed to borrow $5.00 in cash from my roommate and headed west. Around 10:00 a.m. my last ride dropped me off. I had a Crescent wrench and a vise grip and that was enough to get the old generator off. I headed to Glencoe looking for an auto parts store.

For some reason, rides were harder to come by when I was carrying a greasy bit of automotive apparatus. I walked into the Chevy dealer carrying my defunct generator. The parts guy had a rebuilt one for $12.00. I offered five, with a promise to pay the rest.

I still can't believe he trusted me. He wasn't happy about it, although when I walked out the door, I heard him growl, “For Christ's sake, someone give that kid a ride to his car.”

By late afternoon I was back at my dorm. I called my parents and asked them to put some check blanks in the mail to me, and then I took a long shower before I went to my economics professor to explain why I'd missed a test. If I remember correctly, he let me take the test with the understanding that I would be marked down one letter grade.

Everything worked out. All it took was some perseverance and the kindness of about twelve strangers.

Most people who know me would probably agree that I'm kind of a sap, some might even say an easy mark. That's true, but in my defense, even though it's been a long time since I've been up against it, stuck in a tough situation with no easy way out, I remember those days. And I remember what it took to get me back on the road. And I have no doubt in my mind which side of a favor I want to be on.

We live in times that seem as hard and mean as any I can remember. These aren’t the days to be standing by the side of the road needing some strangers to care.

And that's a pity.

Copyright 2025 Brent Olson