Published Articles in Generations of Today Magazine

Generations of Today is a monthly magazine dedicated to sharing stories of people - primarily in southeast Minnesota - who have led interesting, inspiring lives. Generations of Today is published in Red Wing, Minnesota, targets a 55+ age audience, and has a readership of tens of thousands. From October 2003 through July 2008 I have had the following articles published in the magazine:

1. Courage in the Face of Adversity (July 2008)
2. A Flood of Emotions (January 2008)
3. More like a Family than a School (May 2007)
4. Loving What Death Can Touch (March 2007)
5. Live and Learn (November 2006)
6. Enter to Learn, Go Forth to Serve (September 2006)
7. The Rowboat Secretary (July 2006)
8. Tall Expectations (February 2006)
9. Christmas Duty (December 2005)
10. Goal Driven (September 2005)
11. Paradise Lost (August 2005)
12. A Son's Farewell (May 2005)
13. A Philanthropic Man (March 2005)
14. With a Song in Her Heart (December 2004)
15. A Voice for the Voiceless (August 2004)
16. Born to Teach (July 2004)
17. A Ministry of Reconciliation (May 2004)
18. Forever in Your Heart (March 2004)
19. The Winter of 1936 - "A Real Bearcat" (January 2004)
20. The Unimaginable (November 2003)
21. What Is Written Will Be Remembered (October 2003)

The Best That I Can Do - Volume 1 is a compilation of my articles that have appeared in Generations of Today. [Read More]

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More like a Family than a School (May 2007)

Eighteen-year-old Margaret Sloan nervously approached the one-room country school near the tiny town of Eldon in southeastern Iowa. She had graduated from high school two years before, obtained the minimum number of college credits required for teaching certification and was about to apply her training for the very first time. The year was 1943, and America was mired in war. The school sat on an acre of land bordered by a wooded area and plowed field. The nearest farm was a quarter-mile away. The school ground had become overgrown with weeds during the summer. A farmer had cut the weeds recently with his hay mower, leaving stubble and potholes. As Margaret opened the school door, several hornets swarmed down and stung her. By the end of the first day of what would become her forty-two-year career in education, Margaret's eyes were nearly swollen shut. What an introduction to the teaching profession! ...

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Loving What Death Can Touch (March 2007)

Inscribed on a man's tombstone in a New England cemetery are the words, It is a fearful thing to love that which death can touch. Next to the tombstone are the graves of his five children, each of whom died before him. On March 21, 1985, my wife and I experienced that "fearful thing" when our nineteen-month-old son, Tyler, died suddenly of Reye's Syndrome. This month marks the twenty-second anniversary of his death. Elie Weisel, the Jewish author and Nobel Peace Prize winner who survived the Holocaust, but lost many in his family to it, said that it took thirteen years after the horrors of the event before he could put his thoughts down on paper. Although losing my son was nowhere near the magnitude of what Weisel suffered, it was my personal holocaust, and it took years before I felt capable of writing about what happened. Weisel wrote, he said, "because the words need to get out, for if they don't they will strangle me or I will strangle them." So, too, have I written of Tyler's death before the words strangle me. I do this not only for me, but also for anyone who has loved or lost a child. ...

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Live and Learn (November 2006)

It has all the elements of a higher-learning institution: professors, students, board members, curriculum, classrooms, administrative support, and even a dean. The program, called Learning Is ForEver (LIFE), for the past thirteen years has provided hundreds of classes to a myriad of retirement-aged attendees from Rochester and surrounding communities. Rochester resident Arlene Schlake estimates that she's completed sixty LIFE classes over the past five years. She currently serves on the LIFE fifteen-member Board of Directors. "I'm a devotee," she says. "I enjoy all of the classes so much, but especially those that delve into history. I'm there primarily to learn, but the new acquaintances I've made are a wonderful side benefit. Through LIFE, I've expanded my circle of friends." When I expressed my congratulations for her taking so many classes, she replied matter-of-factly, "Oh, a lot of LIFE members have done that." ...

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Enter to Learn, Go Forth to Serve (September 2006)

Between its opening in 1906 and its close in 1970, Saint Marys School of Nursing graduated nearly 4,000 nurses. The three-year diploma program provided classroom and clinical (bedside patient care) nurses training during times when few colleges offered degreed nursing programs. As many successful things do, Saint Marys School of Nursing came to be through the spirited, determined efforts of a single individual - in this case, Mother Alfred Moes - and the hard work of many others. Throughout its existence, the school placed highly qualified nurses into hospitals in Rochester and throughout the United States. It gradually and graciously gave planning three days of festivities that will begin September 29. (Monica is also president of the school's alumni association, which has over 2,000 members.) I recently spoke about Saint Marys School of Nursing with her and Virginia (Simons) Wentzel, both of whom graduated in 1959. ...

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The Rowboat Secretary (July 2006)

One of Rochester resident Kay Irvine's prized possessions is a blue-covered autobiography of Harry S. Truman entitled Mr. President. Truman gave it to Kay's father, Francis P. Matthews, August 10, 1952, with a hand-written note, "To a grand man and an efficient public servant."

Kay's father died at age sixty-five, shortly after receiving Truman's gift. Though Kay has no proof and harbors no ill feelings, she feels the stresses of her father's Truman-assigned duties contributed to the heart attack that took his life. Such is the ultimate sacrifice that some public servants make. Today, more than fifty years after her father's death, Kay reflects on growing up in the shadow of such a prominent public figure who set extremely high expectations for himself and those about him. She says, "My father came from humble beginnings and needed to deal with a great sadness early in life. He and his twin brother, Frederick, were born March 15, 1887, in Albion, Nebraska, a town of less than 1,000 people about 150 miles northwest of Omaha. When Dad was eight, his father died of typhoid fever on a trip to Mississippi. His mother moved the family to her brother's farm in Spalding not far from Albion, and worked as a dressmaker to help make ends meet." ...

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Tall Expectations

On an unusually mild January evening this year, three hundred and fifty people gathered for a banquet at the Kahler Grand Hotel to honor George Thompson who would be stepping aside after ten years as Executive Director of Rochester's Diversity Council. Seated at the head table with his wife, three children, their spouses, four grandchildren, and brother, George was humbled by the tributes paid to him. When time came for his turn to speak, he began with words that he truly believes: "This night does not recognize what I have done. It recognizes what all of you have done."

Through the work of dedicated groups like the Diversity Council, George is pleased that people have begun to improve their acceptance of minorities. When George and I met recently, he recalled when he first realized how cruel people could be. He spoke of Emmet Till.

Emmett was a fourteen-year-old black youth from Chicago, the only son of Mamie Till. He was intelligent, bold, and had a slight mischievous streak. When Mamie put him on the bus to visit family near the small town of Money, Mississippi, she warned him, "Be careful. If you have to get down on your knees and bow when a white person goes past, do it willingly." She knew the segregation he had experienced in Chicago was nothing compared with what he could encounter in Mississippi. It was August 1955, one year after the Supreme Court's Brown vs. Board of Education decision that outlawed racial segregation of public education facilities. It would be the last time she saw her son alive. ...

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Christmas Duty

Advent is the season of expectation, anticipation, preparation, and even longing that marks the start of the Christian Church year. It begins on the fourth Sunday before Christmas and ends on Christmas Eve. As Advent commenced in 1941, Americans eagerly awaited the Christmas holiday, its religious significance, the family gatherings that would take place, and the beginning of a new year. They longed for peace in Europe, which looked less promising each day. They were divided on whether to answer Winston Churchill's pleas for help in resisting Hitler's attacks. Franklin Roosevelt knew too well that our military was ill prepared to take on the Nazis. Though we were not yet at war, families had sons, daughters, brothers, and sisters in the armed forces. Many men and women would not be home for the holidays in 1941.

At 7:54 a.m. on Sunday December 7, Japan's attack of Pearl Harbor dashed America's holiday spirit. In a matter of two hours, the Japanese surprise attack killed 2,403 servicemen and civilians, wounded 1,178, and devastated the U.S. Pacific Fleet. Rather than prepare for Christmas, Americans prepared for a war that would eventually take nearly half a million U.S. lives. For too many families, a seat at the Christmas dinner table would forever be vacant - a lasting reminder of the horror of war.

Ray Eskildsen, Berdine Erickson, and my father, Jim Ransom, served overseas in World War II. When they weren't fighting the enemy, they were fighting their feelings of homesickness, which were especially strong during the holidays. Their stories are shared as a reminder of the sacrifices our veterans made then and continue to make today. ...

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Goal Driven

One winter day in the 1950s, Mike Gorman ran home from the hockey rink bubbling with excitement. He had just netted three goals in his hockey game. Serious hockey fans know that this accomplishment, called a hat trick, rarely happens at any level of the sport. Mike knew that his father had been watching from the stands. He also knew that his dad was stingy with compliments - as were many parents of that era. As Mike opened the front door, dog-tired, overjoyed, and hungry for praise, he heard, "Mike, there was another goal you should have had today. You could have had four." This was not the first time - nor would it be the last - that his father said something like this. Maybe to please his dad; maybe to please himself, Mike spent much of his life striving for more - for that four-goal game. Today, a half century later, Mike's not sure what effect the yearning for his Dad's recognition had on him. What Mike is sure of though, is that his competitive drive, from wherever it came, took him to lofty heights, but also to desperate lows. He admits that he is lucky to be alive today to tell his story...

Feedback

A huge thank you to Mike Ransom and TODAY Magazine for the terrific article about my husband, Mike Gorman. Our family was privileged to work with Mike over one year ago, on a book about my parents. It was an equally amazing literary success. Now we have been blessed again with the story about my husband and my children's father.

It was the honesty and forthrightness of Mike's personal life that I am most proud of. He had to "talk the talk" and "walk the walk" to prove to himself that he could conquer his biggest competitor and demon in life - alcohol.

I was proud of the "before" Mike, and his achievements on the court and ice, but they are meaningless compared to his last nineteen years of sobriety. It took a lot of hard work, faith in God, and trust for our family to heal and become whole again.

My husband's story is a testament that it is possible to turn one's life around, no matter where one is headed. Thank you, Mike Ransom, for making it so comfortable and relaxing for Mike to open up his life to others.
Karen Gorman

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Paradise Lost

Barb Formby was born of English parents in the tiny hill station of Mpwapwa near Dar-es-Salaam, East Africa. The year was 1930. Barb's father, Rowland, was a Certified Public Accountant for a veterinary department in the British Colonial Service. As the wife of a government employee in Mpwapwa (pronounced "im-pwa-pwa"), Barb's mother, Elsie, led a life of leisure, enjoying the services of maids and house servants. They had a stable of riding horses. Life was extremely good -Barb would admit opulent - in a place called "haven of peace."

In 1936, Barb traveled by steamer to England with her family on vacation - a trip her father received every two years. During their stop in Malta, Elsie bought several expensive silk scarves. Barb and her younger sister, Hazel, discovered that they fluttered like mad when they held them out the porthole in their suite, and many flew through their fingers and set sail. Soon, Barb would be separated from her family for eight years - let loose and tossed about like the scarves that were blowing from her hands...

Feedback

Thank you for publishing my childhood story (Paradise Lost - August 2005). I have received many comments, and I want to give special thanks to Michael Ransom for insisting it had to be written, and finally making me realize that none of the events were my fault, or even under my control. It was a traumatic time for us all, back in the 1940s. Thank you, Michael, for portraying those difficult years so poignantly. You are an excellent writer.
Barb Henoch

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A Son's Farewell

"My mother died last summer, you know." I want to say this to the checker at the grocery store, my bank teller, and the traveler in the seat next to me on the airplane, but I don't. Why I want to tell them that Mom died puzzles me. These people never knew her, but perhaps they notice a sad look in my eyes, and I want to give them a reason that I'm not myself, like explaining bad breath - "Had onions on my sandwich this noon, you see" - should someone be concerned. I pass men my age on the street, in the malls, and along airport concourses and wonder if their mothers are alive. If so, did they say, "I love you" the last time they talked? Did they say it with conviction or only half-heartedly, because it was something a dutiful son should say. And if they could relive their lives with their mothers, would they? I want to tell them to call their mothers - today....

Feedback

I read your article about your mother in TODAY and had to tell you how touching and meaningful it was. You truly have a way of relating with your reader - the basic, simple, important facets of your relationship come through. As one who was not able to say goodbye (to my mother) as I would have wished, I applaud your success in doing so and in sharing your gentle and amazing moments with your readers.
Faye Sargent

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A Philanthropic Man

A man lost in the desert and dying of thirst stumbles upon a shack that houses a rusty water pump. Excitedly, he pushes its handle up and down, up and down, but nothing flows from its spout. He sees an earthen jug filled with water lying nearby, and upon it is scrawled the message, "Drink not this water. Use it all to prime the pump, quench your thirst, then fill it for the next parched soul."

What to do? If the jug of water fails to prime the pump, he may die of thirst. If it does,...but will it? With trepidation, he pours the life-giving liquid into the well, and then pumps the heavy iron handle once, twice, three times. There's nothing at first, then a trickle appears, and finally a gush of cool, clear water. After drinking his fill, the man pens a note for the next who might come by, "Believe me, it works. You have to give it all away before you can get anything back."

Phil Henoch, a spry, spirited man soon to be 90, frequently punctuates his conversation with the moral of his own life story, "You have to put some water back in the well." Throughout his life, Phil has been the recipient of so many compassionate deeds, that he has devoted his life to "giving it all back."...

Feedback

Thank you for publishing my story (A Philanthropic Man - March 2005). Michael Ransom did an excellent job in putting together my life, up to age 90, from information given to him. I am taking out a subscription because I found your magazine very interesting. I have received so many positive comments about this article, plus letters, cards, and phone calls. I feel quite the celebrity and humbled by the whole experience.
Phil Henoch

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With a Song in Her Heart

It's a Rocky Mountain majestic summer day in the late 1950s. General Sullivan, Commandant of Cadets at the United States Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs, strides purposefully into the pro shop of the Academy's private golf club wearing a polo shirt, cap, and shorts. He's pleased with his morning round, and he and his entourage of lower-ranking officers are about to enjoy a relaxing lunch. He's pleased, too, with the Academy - now four years old and growing according to plan. A petite, blond-haired woman approaches his table. Without introduction she says with a soft southern accent, "My, General Sullivan, you do have the nicest legs I think I've seen in quite some time."

Startled and unsure of how to respond, the general begins, "Why thank you..." As he looks at her, he pauses, realizing that he doesn't know her name.

"Dorothy," the woman says as she extends her hand and flutters her eyes ever so slightly. "Dorothy Combs." She continues without hesitation, "I won't take much of your time, General, but I couldn't help but notice that those legs of yours would add a degree of appeal to our variety show this fall. We need them - and you of course - in our cancan number. Our dance line deserves to have our Academy's leader in it, don't you think? We're raising money, you know, to build that football stadium I hear you want. You will say yes, won't you?"

General Sullivan glances at his officers then back at Dorothy. They and Dorothy are equally interested in his reply. "Why sure, I'd be glad to. You have my word." "Why, thank you, General Sullivan, we'll be counting on you," says Dorothy. And with that, she turns and leaves...

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A Voice for the Voiceless

As Charles Butler, retired minister, septuagenarian, husband, father of three, and a proponent for peace, walked into his cell at the Waseca, Minnesota Federal Prison, the iron door clanged loudly behind him. His newly acquired orange‑colored coveralls that he wore over his gangly, six-foot-two frame were in sharp contrast to the dull gray surroundings of his prison home. A double bunk bed - its legs anchored to the cement floor - occupied one side of the room. A shower stall with a gray plastic curtain, toilet, and sink occupied the other. Charles was in "the hole," or solitary confinement, because the prison was crowded and a normal cell was not available. He looked at his watch. It was 2:00 in the afternoon on Monday, August 29th 2000. After what felt like a long time, he looked again. It was 2:05. His three-month sentence seemed that it could take an eternity to serve...

Feedback

Folks have responded very positively to the article (A Voice for the Voiceless - August issue). A friend said to me, "It must be true what you wrote. I would think that it would be very difficult to make that story up." Thanks to you for recording an event which remains clear in my memory, and a big thanks to Mike Ransom who collaborated with me on the article.
Charles Butler

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Born to Teach

Warren Zimmerman, principal of Rochester elementary schools from 1950 to 1984 and a teacher five years prior, tells of a letter he recently received from his daughter. "Dad," she wrote, "the longer I live, the more firmly I believe that you were a natural born teacher; you did love to teach!" Warren agrees; he certainly did love to teach. He recently reflected on his teaching career during a conversation in his Rochester Charter House apartment, and noted that it almost ended before it began - on February 13, 1944 outside the little town of Anzio, Italy...

Feedback

Thank you for publishing the story Born to Teach in the July issue of TODAY Magazine. I think Mike Ransom is an excellent writer and has a very clear way of putting ideas into words. I have received several calls about the magazine and many have expressed that the writers do a very good job. I think TODAY is well received in Rochester.
Warren Zimmerman

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A Ministry of Reconciliation

Gary Benson, Directing Pastor of Zumbro Lutheran Church in Rochester picked up the phone in his office one January morning in 2002, took a deep breath, and dialed a long-distance number. His heart raced as the phone on the other end rang once, twice, three times. After what seemed an eternity, he heard the "Hello" of an elderly woman. "This is Gary, born May 20th, 1948," was all that Gary said. There was a long silence, finally broken by a soft, quivering voice, "Gary, I have thought about you every day. I have felt guilty all my life." And Gary replied, "And that is why I am calling. I don't want you to feel guilty any longer." ...

Feedback

Thanks so much, you did a great job of putting it (the magazine article) all together. I am actually amazed by the article and hope it will be a blessing to others, in that way we both will gift the readers! I don't think, no, I am certain I have never seen my story written down, nor would have I expected such. Indeed, your work is a gift to me and my family of which we will always be grateful.
Gary Benson, Directing Pastor of Zumbro Lutheran Church

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Forever in Your Heart

Some times the things we want most in life arrive in unexpected ways. Pat and John Lynaugh (pronounced Lie-nah) married in 1952. Pat, a registered nurse, cared for patients at Rochester Methodist Hospital while John worked at Libbys. Their marriage was a happy one, even though their prayers for a child - even several children - went unanswered. As the years went by, they went from expecting to have kids of their own, to hoping so, to fearing that they wouldn't, to finally realizing that they would be childless their entire lives. Though they enjoyed their nieces and nephews and neighbor children, there remained dark corners of their hearts that they knew would never be brightened by a hug or kiss from a child of their own...

Feedback

We were so pleased with the article in the March issue of TODAY that Mike Ransom wrote (Forever in Your Heart) about the wonderful children and experiences we had doing daycare in our home for 15 years. Be assured many people read your magazine. We have received numerous comments, notes, and phone calls. Enclosed is our subscription payment.

Pat and John Lynaugh

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The Winter of 1936 - "A Real Bearcat"

On New Year's Day 1936, the temperature in Rochester rose to 35 degrees and stayed near there for the next four days. One can imagine that conversations in local barbershops, cafes, and churches were upbeat and hopeful that, "Maybe a mild winter was in store for the area, you betcha." Rochester, like the rest of the country, was reeling from the effects of the Great Depression where nearly one of every four workers was unemployed, but economically, things were slowly starting to improve. A mild winter would be just what people needed to buoy spirits that had been downtrodden for much too long. But nature is unpredictable at best and terribly cruel at worst. As January progressed, the temperatures gradually declined, and on the 19th of the month, Rochester, along with much of the rest of the Midwest, plunged into one of the coldest, snowiest, and deadliest stretches of winter on record. The mild beginning planted false hopes. Things were not ready to turn around quite yet...

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The Unimaginable

On a blue-sky, fall-fresh September morning, Paul Lehman, a youthful 80 years of age, relaxes in the family room of his northeast Rochester home and tells his visitor, "You know, you should be writing an article about my wife (Arlene). She was a neuro-anesthesia nurse for many of her 43 years at Mayo, and did an unbelievable job. Dr. Thor Sundt - one of Mayo's finest neurosurgeons - spoke at her retirement party and said she would be impossible to replace. He didn't say that about many people."

How typical of Paul and his generation, which Tom Brokaw has coined "The Greatest," that he would suggest his story defer to another. But on this morning, I ask Paul to take me 60 years back in time, and thousands of miles away, to recount his World War II experiences. "I don't talk much about my war years," he says, "but since you've asked...." ...

Feedback

I want to thank you for publishing my army story, The Unimaginable, in the November issue of TODAY. It was an interesting and traumatic part of my 80+ years. My mother sending three of her sons and never seeing them again is always on my mind. Mike Ransom did an excellent job depicting the feelings of a youngster leaving Rochester in the first 18-year-old group. I sent several magazines to my army buddies. Thanks again. I feel very humble being featured in TODAY!

Paul Lehman

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What Is Written Will Be Remembered

In 1976, I tape recorded two hours of conversation with my grandparents, James and Mildred Ransom. They were born in the 1890s and married in 1919, shortly after Grandpa returned from his World War I duty in France. In 1925 they rented a 126-acre farm a mile southeast of Clear Lake, Iowa. They were able to buy it in 1949, then continued to live and farm there until 1966. I admired these two. They were honest, hard-working, kind people. In their early years, Grandpa did most of his fieldwork with a team of horses and picked corn by hand. Grandma cooked on a wood stove and carried water each day from the pump house to the kitchen. I was fascinated by their tales of times in a world devoid of modern conveniences.

During our taped conversation, I asked them questions about their ancestors, childhoods, courtship, Grandpa's World War I experiences, raising their children, surviving the Depression, and tending their farm. We talked in the quiet of the living room of their home in Clear Lake, to which they moved in 1966. So many area farmers did this -- worked hard on their farms, then enjoyed their retirement years in town, far from the animals, fields, chores, and equipment that demanded their constant care. As we talked, the only sounds other than our voices were occasional squeaks of Grandpa's rocking chair, the ticking of the clock that hung on the wall behind him, and the chirp of the cuckoo who sprang from it each quarter hour to mark the passing of time....