Behind the Lines: by David Heiller

David Heiller It was interesting visiting with Bob Stark last week. Or should I say Mr. Stark, That’s how I always thought of him at Caledonia High School. I went to his house on October 13 and took a picture of him with an award he received from Winona State University. Mr. Stark (old habits die hard) told me how much he liked my writing. He recalled my mother—she had red hair right?—back when my brother Glenn first signed up for football, probably in 1957. He reminisced about Johnny Winslow. He talked about how much he loves Caledonia, how good the city has been to him.  Mr. Stark, from the 1971 yearbook (Thank you for sending  me this, Jane Palen) I left with   a hearty handshake and a pat on the back.   “You take care!” he said. I felt like charging out of the house and onto a football field. That’s the kind of guy Mr. Stark is, and was. Allow me three trips down memory lane. I remember at the end of eighth gr...

David Heiller Ron called me Thursday to see if I could stop on Friday morning first thing to get a load of manure. I had planned to pick it up Friday after work, but he had some farm chores then. “Sure,” I said. “You’ll have a truck full of manure all day,” Ron said. Beauty gets help from a little manure. My bleeding heart in Denham. “That’s all right. It’s a status symbol in Caledonia,” I replied. So before work on Friday, I arrived at my usual spot down the road from Ron’s farm, and he did his usual quick work with the loader. I watched as he dropped two buckets into the old truck. It was good looking manure, full of red worms, not too ripe. Almost garden ready, but it was definitely manure. My truck sagged and settled under the weight, but I had a sense that it didn’t mind a bit. What higher honor for a truck? “Thank you,” I told Ron. That’s all the payment he ever wants. Then it was off to work. The manure got a few looks over the course of the...