Minnesota Tour - Days 32-50 of 178 Day Tour

I think it was Thomas Hardy who once famously said, “You can’t go home again.”  Of course, leave it to Diedre to remember that it was Oliver Hardy who more famously said, “Here’s another nice mess you’ve gotten me into.”  I think both kind of sum up our time in our home state, the Land of 10,000 Lakes, a promised escape to freedom for asylum-seeking Iowegians, and, of course, the home of the legendary and mythical state bird ... the mosquito. 

As we left gorgeous and sometimes boring South Dakota, our cabin mantra became: “Whatever we idiots have done, it's not that bad ... we're still moving."  We limped into camp in Maple Grove, MN, on Wednesday, June 5, where the angels of the north, Rick and Eileen Nygaard, tended to our wounds, washed our feet, and took us out to dinner.  We had first met the Nygaards in January (sort of ... small world story to follow) the first night we spent in AB1 in Tucson at that 3-day trial that tests the limits of human emotion and the strength of couples’ relationships, namely “RV Boot Camp.”  That night in the mammoth RV park, I noticed the RV next to us just happened to have a Minnesota license plate.  I introduced myself to the lady of the motor-home (Eileen) and told her I was originally from St. Louis Park, MN.  When she said her husband was also from SLP, I figured I’d try a long shot.  “Class of ’68?” I offered.  “So is he,” was her response.  And then lo and behold, out of their palatial estate on wheels comes her husband who took one look at me and announced, “Alexx?”  We hadn’t seen each other in 45 years, yet he knew me on sight.  And from there and the wonder of the inter-web, a friendship has been re-established.

     The next day was a crucial one in the now-on-life-support operating system of our home on wheels.   I had done a few, yet very excusable, shall we say ... stupid things that most car-brained guys would have known immediately not to mess with, but I, with my combination artist-softball player brain, was not quite so savvy.  We took our ailing girl, AB1, to that oasis of RV repair, Shorewood RV in Anoka, MN (It’s not for nothing that Anoka is called “The Halloween Capitol of the World.”)  As far as we could tell, AB1 had gone off the deep end when, and this is my diagnosis, there was trouble with the flux capacitor; it had unknowingly sent us into the future ... 3 weeks to be exact.  Because of government regulations, I can’t tell you much about what happened, the whole “time-space continuum” thing and all, you know; suffice it to say, however, that a wise person might take it upon themself to buy all the shares they can of “American Girdle” ... I’m just sayin’.

     Now cast out into the cold, cruel, RV-less world, we depended on the kindness of strangers ... and family ... for our well-being.  Jean Alexander, a woman who claims she’s my mother, and long-lost brother Mark and his keeper Linda, took pity on us lost sailors and treated us to the hot new dining spot in downtown Minneapolis, The Butcher and Boar.  With us nearly comatose, they forced liver pate and Beluga caviar down our gullets. 

A nearly hysterical Diedre was brought back to life by the simple imbibing of a “flight of Rye Whiskey.”  NOTE: A group of crows is called a “murder,” and a pack of leopards is called a “leap”; so, too, is then three glasses of rye appropriately called “a flight.”  Go figure.

     Thus would begin the last 8 days that I would ever spend in my boyhood home, a place I hung my cap and soiled socks off and on since June of 1958..  It’s funny how things have changed.  On my daily three-mile, heart-surgery inspired, walk (now at day 530 and panting), I explored my childhood neighborhood that first day around 11 a.m.  It was quiet ... too quiet ... almost spooky.  Then it struck me - it's the milk carton generation.  No kids are allowed out of the house unsupervised.  There was not one child to be seen on this fine summer day.  When I was growing up on this same circle, there were about 35 homes with 76 kids under the age of 15.  We were never at a loss for things to do: girls out skipping rope, boys playing baseball in any family’s yard, trips to the drugstore for comic books and baseball cards, lemonade stands, and theatrical plays.  The sound of children could be heard everywhere.  And now, today ... nothing.  I guess things change.  My mom is the last parent of those neighborhood families still living in the neighborhood in which I grew up, and she’s leaving it in October for an assisted-living apartment.  She’s not sure what to do with the old place.  She’s narrowed it down to three possibilities:  1) sell it;  2) preserve it as a shrine to me; or 3) turn it into a Taco Bell.

     Sunday, June 9, was a big day for the Stuart-Kaye family.  The Broadway Tony awards were on TV that night.  Like so many of you, we hosted our annual Tony’s party, complete with costumes.  Diedre came as “Nora” from Ibsen’s drama “A Doll’s House,” while I went a little more seriously, donning the garb of “A Knight Who Says Ni” from “Monty Python’s Spamalot.”  And for the 16th year in a row, we both tied for best costume as no one else showed up.

     Great friendships were rekindled back in our home state.  We invited ourselves over to Dick “The Ax” Anderson’s house on Medicine Lake for cocktails.  Later in the week we had dinner with Steve “Alps” Alpert and wife Jane.  I’ve known Ax and Alps since age 5 when we were in Miss Somonson’s 1st grade class.  Alps and I actually met in kindergarten when we got into a fight and he bit me..  I was crying and all, so my big brother came over, grabbed Alps, and told me to bite him back ... and being the cool, calm, and collected sensible 4-year old I was, I bit him back.  And we’ve been the best of friends ever since. 

     The next day we met up with an old actor friend, Jack Melberg, for lunch.  When I say “old” friend, it’s only because he is ... 77 at last count.  Jack’s a funny guy; he says that when it's his time to go, he wants to be shot by a jealous husband.  Here he is testing that hypothesis by kissing my wife.  
 Later that week Diedre had lunch with the T.E.A. (Target Equity Acting) group friends while I spent the morning trying to get a knot out of my shoelace.  Turns out just Jack and Jennifer Kirkeby could show.  Or so she told me...wait a minute...didn't she just see him at lunch the previous day?  That old dog...Jack, not Diedre.
 We then had dinner that night with one of my newer friends, Bob Meller and wife Chris.  I’ve only known Bob for 44 years ... wait, are we getting old or what?

     Other outings included a day-trip to the scenic river town and antiques mecca of Stillwater, MN, where we met up with great friend Craig Campbell, a 6’6” glass blower (To clarify, HE’S 6’6”, not the glass). 




Diedre had an errand to run, so when she noticed a store window with a sign that read “Husband Day Care Center,” she dropped us off.  Inside the Madcapper Tavern, another sign read: "If you're drinking to forget, please pay in advance."  I liked that place right away.

     I also lucked out that day meeting a celebrity on the streets of Stillwater.  As Minnesota is the home of famed “Peanuts” cartoonist Charles Schultz, it wasn’t totally unlikely that I’d run into one of his guys.  Here I am with Linus discussing how “Life, indeed, is Like a Bowl of Chocolates”

     Minneapolis is such a wonderful town 10 months of the year (don’t get me started on December-January).  There are 5 lakes virtually in the downtown (well, uptown) area that are great for walking.  On June 13, the two of us replicated the magic of walking around the idyllic Lake of the Isles.  It’s not just the site of my favorite house (which I’ve been taking pictures of for 33 years-I hope the residents don’t think I’m stalking them), but is also where Diedre and I met on our first date January 2, 1988, 11 a.m.  I know, you’re probably thinking, “Hey, what’s a big spender like Alexx doing chintzing on a first date with the lovely Diedre, especially when she had so many better opportunities, such as Oscar Steinmetz, the local butcher).  So anyway, it was 10 degrees that fateful morning, yet the walk made it feel like it was only 14.  We talked, laughed, did each other’s hair.  After 1 hour, I thought it had gone swimmingly (skatingly?)  But then, with no warning aforethought (I just made that word up), she announced that she had to go home to have, uh, uh, ... have her drapes measured.  Yeah, that's the ticket.  Well, I wasn’t going to take an insult like that lying down, so to get even, I married her.  Bet she’ll never try that dumb trick again.

DK is the tiny red spec on the stage.

     The next day we walked another of Minneapolis’s wonderful lakes, Lake Harriet.  There we lucked out and were able to find the legendary Lake Harriet Tree Elf’s abode.  People leave all sorts of notes and little gifts for the elf in his hovel.  They even used to leave coins for him, but then the I.R.S. got involved and it became a whole big thing.  Lake Harriet also has a wonderful band shell for summer concerts.  Never one to leave a stage unacted upon, here’s my wife reciting a monologue from that Broadway flop, “The Rooster Crowed at Midnight.”

     Later that day, we made our way back to Shorewood RV, paid the handsome ransom ( Ooh,”The Handsome Ransom,” a new play name!) , and welcomed our girl, AB1, back into the fold.  Life could now begin anew.

    Saturday, June 15, we hit Lake Minnetonka, the Twin Cities most bucolic location for the cities’ swells and the site, 22 years ago, of the Kaye and Stuart post-wedding day boat outing.  My college roommate, Diamond Jim Schroer, had us out to meet his new lady friend, a most charming Brit ex-pat named Mary, and a wonderful lake-neighbors Mark and Nancy.  Mary is the 5th in a somewhat recent run of English ladies who either through marriage to or dating of American male friends of ours, or else just through being great people, have become friends of ours.  In a previous life, Mary had done eye make-up for none other than Lady Di.  English Mary made a wonderful gourmet dinner for the 6 of us.  She was so charming I had to ask what the hell she was doing with the eccentric Diamond Jim.  Mary said the attraction was really all about Jim’s being a “doofus genius,” really smart but really stupid at the same time---sort of what happens when a Carl marries an Ole (inside college rivalry humor-sorry, Camilla)..  A Harvard business grad, Jim worked for STP Corporation and took up car racing, then worked for R.J. Reynolds and took up smoking.  I just hope he doesn’t take that job with Ex-Lax International.

     Their friends, Mark and Nancy, had perhaps the greatest first date story I ever heard.  Mark somehow fumbled through an invitation to Nancy to join him golfing, a sport which Mark could take or leave.  When they met at the course, there was Nancy, resplendent in her oh-so proper golf attire, all the way down to the fact that her golf shoes matched her golf bag.  Mark, on the other hand, was wearing an “I’m With Stupid” T-shirt, cut-off jeans, and was toting a half-set of clubs (only the odd-numbered irons) and was carrying them in a beer cooler.  What do you think the odds would be that these two would eventually marry?  Well, Nancy teed off first and hit a nice shot that landed on the green.  Mark figured it was all over then, so throwing caution to the wind, he teed up his ball, closed his eyes, and swung with all his might.  And of course (You can see what’s coming) the ball lit out like a laser right at the pin, bounced twice on the green, and banked off the pin and into the hole!  A hole-in-one on the first swing he ever took in front of his future wife.  Top that if you can.

     The next day was Father’s Day, so as a special present to me, Charlie, Casey and Samantha (our three cats) only used the litter box twice each.  (Apparently they slept most the day.)    Ever the huntress, Diedre searched through the forest, setting snares and camouflaging herself in an attempt to catch our dinner.  She succeeded mightily, stealthily hunting our main course down at Kowalski's Gourmet Grocery Store).  In the meanwhile, I foraged for the necessary wood to build a roaring fire ($5 at the campground store).  We felt like cavemen as we ravaged the aforementioned prey: Rock Cornish Game Hens Under Glass with asparagus tips.  We can hardly wait for the invention of the wheel.

Diedre’s younger brother Remy, his wife Lisa, and daughter Becca were joining us at the campsite for a really “roughing it” cookout.

    Miracle of miracles occurred on Monday, June 17.  The book, The Fastest Gun in Hollywood: The Life Story of Peter Brown, was actually published.  It was written by the same chimpanzee who’s penning this idiotic blog.  It’s available at fine book stores and laundromats practically everywhere (or not).  The royalties from this book will finally get me that brain surgery I’ve been saving up for.

     On a more serious note, I’d like to tell you about my brother Mark and my journey over to the state capitol to the Minnesota Historical Society.  We had set up a meeting with one of their curators for us to donate my dad’s letters, clippings, and memorabilia he had saved from his time in Patton’s 3rd Army during World War II.  Besides letters he had written from various places in Europe (the censors often excised any reference to locations over there), we also gave them his Bronze Star.  The orders included along with the medal read as follows:

     “This Bronze Star is awarded to Private First Class Mac Alexander, infantry company, M regiment,       for his heroic achievement in connection with military operations against the enemy.  On January 20, 1945, in Saarlautern-Roden, Germany, an enemy patrol isolated PFC Alexander’s observation post from the main body of his unit.  Alexander spied enemy snipers in a nearby building, their fire menacing a U.S. squad.  Braving heavy artillery and mortar fire, Alexander made his way through a blasted wall and into the building containing the snipers.  With another soldier, he rushed the hostile group and disarmed and captured the four Germans.  His daring intrepid action reflects distinct credit on PFC Alexander and typifies the high traditions of military service.”

     Way to go, Dad!

     That evening, my mom treated us to dinner at the Minikahda Club, the venerable golfing establishment she has belonged to since 1952 and the site of Diedre and my wedding rehearsal dinner in 1991.  Joining us were Mark, his wife Linda, and long-time friends and neighbors Ken Radde and Bonnie Call.  Ken and Bonnie have been dating for 38 years ... I’m sure they just want to get it right when (if) they get married.  Ken’s a real regular guy; he classed up the act that night by ordering a “North Dakota Martini” (a beer with two olives).  He had recently been golfing as a guest at the Golden Valley Country Club.  At the snack bar at the 10th hole, the member with whom Ken was golfing insisted he meet the guy working the counter there.  Ken was greatly surprised to see that it was Darryl ... as in the Newhart TV show.  You know, “Hi! My name’s Larry, and this here’s my brother Darryl ... and this here’s my other brother Darryl.”  I think it was the 2nd Darryl Kenny met. 

     We concluded our first tract of time in the Twin Cities Wednesday night with another cookout, this one with the Nelsons and the Alperts.  There was no biting of any kind that night by Alps or me ... unless you include the hamburgers.  

     On Thursday, June 20, our final stop in Minnesota-Part I (We plan on returning in August) was at Carleton College in Northfield, home of the infamous “Jessie James Less Than Stellar Attempt at a Bank Robbery.”  Carleton has been a big part of the Alexander family: I somehow graduated from there in 1973; my parents first met there after WWII, him a grizzled army veteran and her, a young blonde debutante from Naperville, IL; other graduates include my uncles Judd and John, my aunt Marianne, and the black sheep of the family, my grandmother Veta.  It seems that back in 1917, co-ed Veta, chafing at the 7 p.m. curfew imposed on all young Carleton ladies, snuck out her dorm window and co-opted a horse and buggy for a Flappers version of a joy-ride.  Little did she know (maybe she did) that the purloined mode of transportation belonged to the dean of the college.  Soon after, grandmother was  sent packing to finish her stellar educational career at Northwestern University.

 Now I was back at Carleton for my 40th reunion (40th?!  Wait, that can’t be right ... let me do the math ... OK, I guess it must be right) Anyway, the 4-day, old-farts’ party started off with a golf scramble.  Now, earlier that day, Diamond Jim Schroer’s e-mail had been hacked by Philippine scammers.  They had gotten hold of his address book and had sent 1,500 e-mails to all his “friends” saying he had been kidnapped just outside of Manila and would be freed for a $25,000 ransom.  I put “friends” in quotes, because of all those electronic epistles sent out, only 1 person seemed concerned enough about Jim to respond.  College basketball teammate John Ophaug told the kidnappers he would wire them $1,000 immediately, but they would first have to send him Jim’s right ear.  Now there’s a real pal.

Jim and John Trucano, my other Carleton roommate my senior year, teamed with Diedre and me for the scramble.  John had been on the golf team at Carleton and Jim had been given personal golf lessons by Arnold Palmer, so it was no surprise that, teamed with us, our team finished last.  Here’s Jim (on the roof) and John commiserating our loss at AB1.

     On day two of the reunion, I completed the donation of my dad’s archives by giving them his memorabilia from Carleton (1941-42; 1946-49).  He had been on the varsity basketball team back then and had been captain (and coach) of the golf team.  He was famous for saying years later, when told of the college’s new library: “Where was the old one?”

     The day was topped off by fireworks and then a short concert by fellow St. Louis Parkite and Carleton classmate Paul Stiegler, singing tunes from his first CD titled “Days Gone By.”  It’s really quite good.  Paul was one of two Carleton doctors to surprisingly show up at the Scottsdale hospital prior to my heart surgery in ’12.  A retired E.R. doctor, he’s transferred to the music business, even though there is more blood and screaming in the latter.  

On Saturday, June 22, the day kicked off with the parade of classes.  The ’73ers were all there dressed up in our finest Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band outfits.  Then I was honored to be part of the Carleton alumni book signing; it was the first I had touched a hard copy of my new book, The Fastest Gun in Hollywood: The Life Story of Peter Brown.  We played some Rotblatt softball in the afternoon, thoroughly kicking the asses of those young upstarts from the class of ’78.  “Rotblatt” softball was named for an obscure White Sox pitcher of the 50’s, Marvin Rotblatt.  You could look it up.

     The reunion was topped off by a wonderful dinner staged in the new Creative Arts Center the college recently purchased.  I’m pictured here with single-name phenom “Strauss” and Carleton President Donald John Cowling whose reign of terror lasted from 1909-1945.  Cowling is the lively looking one of the three.

     Leaving the college bright and early Sunday morning to begin the Michigan portion of our trip, we were barely down the farm-strewn highway when a car raced madly by us and pointed at us to pull over.  I was sure I had done something terrible, like leaving a cabinet door open or forgetting that Diedre was still in the ladies room back at the college.  But no, it was just Steve and Camilla Obaid, wanting to say one last good-bye.  Steve is the other Carleton doctor who took it upon himself to check on my heart surgery in that infamous Scottsdale hospital/gulag a year-and-a-half ago.  It was great to see them one last time, and then it was off to another reunion; this one would be Diedre’s family reunion in Charlevoix, Michigan.  More on that next week.

(Note: I’ll try to write shorter and more often as we’ve finally figured out this whole “interweb-in-an-RV thing.)
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Hi All - Diedre here.  Just want to add a couple notes here.  First - to all of you who have been thinking we've been in South Dakota for the past month - our apologies for the delay in getting our recent travels accounted for in words and pictures.  In the interest of saving a dime we have ended up with pretty crappy internet access at the campgrounds I selected.  Consequently blogging becomes impossible.  We are now finding more libraries along the way and next year my reservations will definitely be at campsites that provide internet.
Secondly...I typically add very little to the writing portion of the blog and save my contributions to photo ops and a few suggestions for chuckles.  But I just wanted to add a special thank you to all of you who have purchased Alexx's book about Peter Brown.  It really meant a lot to us that so many friends show up at the Carleton book signing to purchase the book.  There will be more opportunities for autographs that we will keep you posted about, but if you just can't wait to read it, you can purchase it at Amazon.com.  (Sorry, Kindle version is not yet available.)  I am so proud of the the work Alexx did on this book and he tends to underplay it.  So here's to you Alexx!  Please help us market the book by writing a review on Amazon if you like the book!  Thanks all.  Next blog update will be soon!