In college, I almost accidentally majored in archaeology. It happened my freshman year, while I was hunting through the coursebook trying to figure out a workaround for a math requirement and stumbled upon Introduction to Archaeology. Intro to Archaeology led to Archaeology of Ancient Egypt, which led to Mycenaean Civilizations, and on and on for every semester of my undergraduate degree. Somewhere around the deciphering of Lost Languages and the emergence of the Ancient Mayans it became evident that a career in archaeology was not in my future — archaeology is for people who don’t avoid math — but it did lead to a lifelong of love for the profession.
At least a dozen times a year, longtime readers of the Grand Forks Herald will come up to me and ask, “Are you Big or Little?” I am not the first member of my family to write a regular column for the Grand Forks Herald; I am the second. My mother, Robin Silverman, shared her own stories with the region starting in January of 1986. Many of those columns featured my younger sister and me, affectionately named “Little” and “Big,” respectively. My mom clicked her last clack of the typewriter on her column in 1994 when I, the Big — by then 14 years old and 4 inches shorter than Little — deemed her stories “too embarrassing for words.” Fast-forward 32 years and hundreds of my own authored stories about my ridiculous self and it turns out there were plenty of words left. Sorry, Mom.
“John Odegard was visionary and fearless,” my mother, one of the many people fortunate to know John, said when I asked if she had any thoughts about her friend.
“He learned to fly by holding the training manual on his lap. Can you imagine? He started UND’s aviation program in what was virtually a closet and wasn’t daunted by the fact that the department didn’t initially have a plane. He was humble enough not to boast that he was going to build the world’s premiere aerospace school; but with his boundless optimism, business smarts and energy, it’s not a surprise that is exactly what it became.
“He was a fabulous guy,” my mother said. “One of a kind. Forever missed.”
The Theodore Roosevelt Presidential Library opened on the Fourth of July in Medora, North Dakota. My favorite quote from the celebration came from Theodore Roosevelt V, the great-great grandson of Theodore Roosevelt.
“This library has never been about any one person. Don’t be fooled by the name out front,” Ted Roosevelt said. “Though it bears Theodore Roosevelt’s name, this library is not about him; it’s about you. If you leave here with nothing more than a better understanding of Theodore Roosevelt, then we will have failed, succeeding where quite frankly, a much less expensive book would have sufficed.”
“You should get your radon checked,” my mother said to me a dozen times over the past five years.
“I will,” I told her, tucking that advice between the “You should drink more water” and “You should change the batteries in your smoke detector when you change the clocks for Daylight Savings Time” parts of my brain.
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