Written By: Vada Hueman

Over thirty summers had come and gone since I had last heard from Bengt Lindeblad.

We were young in that summer of 64 when we met on Lyndale Ave. So. Bengt had recently emigrated from Sweden to Minnesota. For a brief period we had a boy-friend girl-friend relationship. Apparently neither of us wanted anything more than that so there were no good-byes only moving on.

Perhaps I should mention, his accent was charming and he definitely could give lessons in kissing.

Shortly after Bengt arrived in California, I did receive one letter from him detailing the trip out west and his impressions of California. I can remember thinking he sounded lonely and maybe was regretting his decision to leave Minneapolis.

His letter went unanswered, as I had recently met someone else. In a few months we would become engaged and the following July marry. But I digress; lets go back to the summer of '64.

Graduation from Aitkin High School located in north central Minnesota took place on Friday, the fourth of June. That same week-end I left for the twin cities of Minneapolis-St. Paul with my brother Bob.

He had an apartment in Minneapolis on Lyndale Ave. So. The building he lived in was old but not yet dilapidated. As you entered the building you emerged into a small foyer. Two adjacent doors opened either into a down-stairs or an up-stairs apartment in each section of the building. In our section, the door on the right took you up a steep staircase into our second floor apartment.

The furnished apartments were quite spacious; including two bedrooms, dining room, living room, small kitchen, and one bath. The kitchen was seldom used except for making an occasional sandwich or grabbing a glass of milk. Off the back of the narrow kitchen a door opened to a wooden stairway which led down to an alley below. This flight of stairs was used primarily as a fire-escape.

Thankfully, our rent was affordable as our money situation was always tight. Paid utilities included heat and water. The land-lord collected the rent by knocking on the door around the first of each month. He appeared not to be surprised that I was now occupying one of his apartments.

Lyndale Avenue was located in a transient area with students and young adults moving in and out regularly.

I can't remember ever signing a lease; apparently these apartments were in demand and could be rented out quickly.

Bob not only provided me with housing to get started but acted as my protector from the new world I was entering. Having been raised in a small isolated area, I really was naive to the big city ways. Aitkin County is and was basically comprised of rural farming communities.

In the mid-sixties Minneapolis was already experiencing many alternative life-styles. For instance, shortly after we arrived in June, one evening Bob took me for a walk down to Loring Park. At that time the park provided a nightly gathering place for the male gay community. My feelings were of shock and amazement when I realized what was happening around us.

In small towns so many things are kept in the "closet", whereas in a city these are exposed to the general public.

My lessons were just beginning. There was so much more to learn about life. This summer was my awakening.

Shortly after arriving in Minneapolis, I went to an employment agency to find work. After testing my work skills, the agency suggested that I apply at the regional office of J. C. Penney. I did follow their advice and was immediately hired for the statistical department.

A two story office building housed J. C. Penney's administrative services for a nine state area. The building was located on Lake Street just across from the beach of beautiful Lake Calhoun.

Buses ran every twenty minutes on Lake Street making it convenient for those of us who didn't own a car.

It was while working at Penneys that I met Connie Piller. We worked in the same department operating comptometers (calculating machines) recording statistical data. Connie became a close friend and later a bridesmaid in my wedding.

Later in the month of June, Bob drove me back to Aitkin to compete in the " Miss Kay of the Milky Way" beauty pageant.

Previously I was one of three candidates selected from a district competition to go on to regional. These pageants are held state-wide to promote dairy products. The state fair is the finale with the crowning of a new "Miss Kay of the Milky Way" each year.

My friend since childhood, Sharon Williams, was selected to represent our region at state.

That week-end, in hind-sight, seemed to be the end of my adolescence. The next phase of my life had already begun and I was anxious to return to our apartment in Minneapolis.

That same apartment building housed the Kampstad family. JoAnn was the eldest daughter and Bob's current girl-friend. Jo ( as we called her) was to be a senior in high school that coming fall.

She had a curfew, of course we didn't, and many a time Jo was irritated because she couldn't stay out late like the rest of the Lyndale Ave. gang.

We made the most of having fun during the day-time; usually sun-bathing at Calhoun Lake or checking out the guys at Porky's drive-in. Another favorite neighborhood hang-out was the Leaning Tower of Pizza.

Three years later Bob and Jo would marry. Their union produced two children; Tony and Tammy. Tony's married and has one son, Andrew. Although no longer together, Bob and Jo remain amiable .

JoAnn and I entered adulthood together. We shared our lives; raised our children, lent a shoulder when needed, for thirty some years. Through the good and the bad times our friendship remains intact ; kindred spirits since 1964.

Back then few young people owned television sets or even had a telephone. The meager pay we earned barely covered the bare necessities with a pittance left over for week-end entertainment.

One possession I did own was a baby blue portable phonograph. Thanks to my sister-in-law Janice, I had accumulated a large stack of 33 1/3 's. She worked at Decca Records in Minneapolis . She supplied me with promotion copies to play. Play them I did, over and over, and over again! I still get nostalgic whenever I hear a scratchy record played on a phonograph.

Back then, some of the artists I listened to were Dee Dee Sharp, Frankie Avalon, Annette Funicello, Rick Nelson, The Everly Brothers, Elvis Presley, Brenda Lee, The Surfaries, The Beach Boys, Connie Francis, Peter, Paul and Mary, Chuck Berry, Bobby Vinton, Paul Anka, and Johnny Crawford.

Just a tid-bit of television trivia; Johnny Crawford played the son of the Rifleman on the popular sixties series.

Up the street, a couple of blocks from our apartment building, was a music store. Sometime during the summer I dropped in to check out the latest recordings. A salesclerk asked what I was looking for. I replied that I wanted to know what was the hottest selling album on the market. He then played an album titled Introducing the Beatles. I commented that I thought the Beatles were screaming out the lyrics instead of singing them. He gave me the album after commenting that I would soon become a Beatles fan too.

Well guy, the British invasion never did happen for me! Thanks anyway for the now collectable album. It lies stacked in a pile on a closet shelf along with numerous others albums from that same era of the sixties.

Almost daily I rock and roll with the fifties and sixties music either at home or on my car radio. If only an agent could hear me sing back-up! Sha Boom Sha Boom Da Da Da Da Da Da Sha Boom Sha Boom, YEAH! Some things never change.

Amery, Wisconsin is where Bob and I headed for our imbibing pleasure. (Other than an occasional apartment or house-party) In Wisconsin, at that time, you only had to be eighteen to drink legally.

Minnesota's age limit was twenty-one. Large numbers of under-age Minnesotan's crossed the state border to drink in Wisconsin during that time. Most places had more Minnesotan's patronizing their establishments than the local residents.

I do remember something about a false identification that I carried before I turned eighteen in August of that summer. Bob had made the arrangements. Of course, I was only along for the ride!

Amery had a popular dance hall called the Best Place by a Dam Site. Live rock bands played on the week-ends. We danced for hours; doing the twist, the mashed potato, the hitch hiker, and the locomotion.

Bob's friend, Jerry Glaus, grew up in Amery. Whenever we needed a place to stay overnight, Jerry's parents accommodated us.

Glory, the small community we hailed from, frowned upon drinking of any alcoholic beverages. Marion Flowers, a neighbor and friend of our parents, once unwittingly provided us with a jug of dandelion wine. She and my mom had brewed the potent concoction. Now that the fun of brewing was finished, what to do with the evidence! Needless to say; because of the strict religious adherence to not drinking in Glory, we became the beneficiaries of the infamous brew. We were very popular when we returned to Lyndale Ave.

A wine connoisseur I am not, but that tasted like some pretty good hootch!

Everybody has a first love; mine was Joey Van Denheuval. He, as a teenager, had spent a summer working on a farm close-by to where I lived in Glory. Bob also had worked for the same farmer that year, earning some money to cover his high school expenses. As their friendship grew, Bob brought Joey home with him to meet his family. Joe and I were smitten from the beginning. We dated off and on during our teen years.

During the summer of '64 I saw him again. He visited our apartment twice. On one occasion my brother and I drove down to Lonsdale, Minnesota to see Joey.

The spark that once was there had died. I realized I thought of him as more of a friend than a boy-friend. He will always have a special place in my memories of our youth.

That summer developed a nasty habit that eventually took me twenty-seven years to break. I started smoking. To this day, I fully don't understand why I even started. Bob said it relaxed him to smoke, so I tried my first cigarette. From the beginning I enjoyed the ritualistic puffing. Within a short period of time I was addicted. Smoking, I felt, was my rite of passage into adulthood. Why I started doesn't really matter now. What does matter is that I quit!

Kitty-corner downstairs from our apartment lived two young gals from St. James, Minnesota. One of the girls, Judy Graupman and I started spending a lot of time together. We enjoyed each others company, sometimes chatting away into the wee hours of the morning.

Judy took me down to St. James one week-end to visit her old high school haunts. Her mom was a delightful lady and cordially invited me into her home.

Judy's boy-friend Zeke (Dennis) Ziegenhagen was attending Dunwoody Institute studying mechanical engineering. Zeke had a class-mate and buddy Dennis Hueman. Dennis and I met each other toward the end of summer.

Zeke and his room-mates were having a "kegger" in their apartment. Judy invited me to the impromptu party. Denny and I arrived at Zeke's dateless that evening. We left together.

As the old saying goes; the rest is history. Dennis Hueman and Vada Hasselius were married on July 24^th of 1965.

The outside world was almost non-existent to us living on Lyndale Avenue in 1964. Shortly thereafter, our world would change abruptly with the gearing up of the draft for the Vietnam conflict.

My soon to be husband had already full-filled his military service time but my brothers had not. Bob courageously served two stints in Nam as a Green Beret.

In retrospect, the summer of '64 was an easier, gentler, less complicated time. Personally; I'm glad I was there in that time, in that place and with those people.

Peace everyone and may God bless.