Two Score Years Ago...Historical Reflections

March 27, 1967 was a damp, dark, and foggy night. A forty-six year old former U.S. Marine with combat experience in World War II was on his way back to Immanuel Hospital in Mankato, Minnesota, to be on hand for the birth of his second child. Earlier that Monday evening, after finishing work and having supper; he had driven his wife to the same location that he was now anxiously trying to return to in the swirling, milky, darkness. While his wife prepared to deliver their new baby at the hospital; his second mission had been to take their four year old daughter to the home of her maternal grandparents, who lived twenty-five miles away. They would care for her until after the birth of her baby brother or sister. This came at 11:34 p.m. Family lore indicates that the father arrived just in time for the birth of his son; although in those days, men were not allowed in the delivery room itself. Thus began my journey in this life; a journey that with this writing is about to enter its fourth decade.

My earliest recollections are of individual family members, how the rooms of our house were arranged, and of my playpen, where I spent considerable time in those early days. One of my morning rituals was to stand up in my crib and watch my "big" sister leave for school on the shiny, yellow, school bus. Sometimes, I longed to do it too; but more often I was content to stay at home, listen to my mother read me stories and take an afternoon nap. I don't remember all the turmoil generated by the Vietnam War or the assassinations of MLK and RFK in 1968, but I'm sure I was affected by them; because during the social unrest generated by those events, my father was a security guard at Mankato State College (now Minnesota State University, Mankato). Shortly after it was built, my father took me to view the Fourth of July fireworks from one of the top floors of the Gage Dormitory complex.

I entered grade school in the early 1970s. It was a decade of contradictions. On one hand, I was taught by my parents to respect authority and to revere America's traditions and symbols; on the other hand, I saw just the opposite on television (my father insisted that his children watch the news; because as he put it, "it's history--you will have to learn about it some day.) and in public. It was hard to make sense of it all. I don't remember the Apollo Moon Landing in 1969, but I do remember the launch of "Skylab" in the early 1970s. Like many little boys of the time, I wanted to be an astronaut. When Mankato East High opened its doors in 1973, it featured a state of the art (for its time) planetarium that I got to go to once a year on school fieldtrips. This opened my eyes to how large and wonderous our universe really is; an appreciation that I still have. The biggest political event of my early years was the Watergate Scandal. I had no idea what it was or that President Nixon was somehow involved. I thought some dam had broken in the western United States, and had flooded the country. My sister soon dispelled this fallacy with her air of superior wisdom (we had a similar relationship to the Lucy and Linus characters in the Peanuts comic strip popular at the time), but she didn't tell me what really happened, other than that the "Watergate" was a hotel. That made no sense to me at all! Even worse were the hearings that were televised on CBS day after day. I was bored to tears and angry that my favorite programs had been taken off the air. Since we only got one channel, it was almost more than I could bear.

1976 was a big year for me. I was nine years old, and it was the Bicentennial of the United States. At least on the surface, it appeared as if everybody was celebrating. I participated in Mankato's big city parade, riding in a newly painted red wagon, pulled by one of my father's hunting dogs. Late that summer, I took my longest car trip thus far. One of my cousins was getting married in New Mexico. It took two days to get there and three to return home. We crossed seven states (one way), and I realized just how big my country really was for the first time. Before that trip, I hated to travel by car; afterwards, I developed a wanderlust that I still have.

The 1980s was a decade of maturing, with numerous growing pains along the way. I endured both junior high and high school, graduating in 1986. It was during these formative years that I resolved to be a historian, even sneaking a peak at a copy of Uncle Tom's Cabin behind the stacks of books in the school library to avoid being ridiculed by my peers. One day, walking into my American Government course, I learned that the space shuttle Challenger had just exploded. We spent the rest of the class period watching the story unfold. The second half of the decade was better than the first. By then, I could choose what I wanted to study in college. I enrolled at Mankato State University as an undergraduate student in the fall of 1986; it was a liberating experience. For the first time since elementary school, I actually enjoyed going again.

I received my undergraduate degree in teaching Social Studies in 1990. The "me-first" generation of the 1980s gave way to the "politically correct" era of the 1990s. When setting out to begin my graduate work in History, I resolved to participate in more social activities and enjoy myself, rather than simply study all the time to earn a degree. This proved to be one of my wisest decisions; because it was at this juncture that I became actively involved with the Mankato State History Club, forming lasting friendships that continue to this day. I also worked as a graduate teaching assistant for two years, another great opportunity. After graduating with a Master's Degree in 1995, I spent the remaining five years of the decade launching my teaching career. With the approach of the year 2000, I realized I was witness to a unique time in history. Most people witness at least one decade change; some people live in more than one century; but to live in two millenniums is unique.

I was traveling to Springfield, Illinois to attend a Lincoln Symposium on September 11, 2001. I will never forget where I was or what I was doing when I first heard the news. For my generation, 9/11 was our Fort Sumter, our Pearl Harbor, our JFK Assassination. At the time, the rumor was that Flight 93 (the one that crashed in Pennsylvania) was headed for Chicago. I was only 80 miles from Chicago that morning. It was rumored that traffic on I90E would be stopped at the Wisconsin/Illinois border and be turned back. This rumor proved to be untrue, and the conference went on as scheduled. However, several of the speakers who were planning on making the trip by air were prevented from doing so on account of the tragedy. To their credit, the National Park Service kept the Lincoln House open as a sign of national unity; I thought it altogether fitting and proper that they should do this.

In the last five years, I have published three books and have written two more dramatic plays that are slated to be published in 2007, my fortieth year. What the new decade holds in store for me is anybody's guess. Whatever it is, I'm sure it will be interesting. There is an old cliche, "Life begins at 40." In that case, I'm ready; bring it on!

--Bryce O. Stenzel