Reminiscences must be personal, even self-centered in character lest they become something other. I register the hope that I might speak for many when I talk about the experiences that were mine.
In the spring of 1948, when I was a junior at St. Olaf College, Norman Nordstrand, Dean of the College, stopped on campus one day and told me that I had been awarded a Schaefer scholarship to attend the American Summer School at the University of Oslo. If I didn’t want it, he was sure he could find someone who did. I knew very little about the summer school and nothing about Schaefer. All this took place before bureaucracy and proper ways of scholarships had been invented.
This was good news. I was a Norwegian major. More importantly, however, I had been one of 25 soldiers who trained to be useful in the invasion of Norway. We would go to Norway either by parachute or by submarine, in fact, before the invasion took place. In my prayers I frequently mentioned to God that if it were a matter of indifference to him, I had a high preference for the submarine. But after six months of special training, all plans to invade Norway were abandoned. For us it was as if we had trained for the olympics and then have them cancelled in the last minute. But now finally, I would (?!) go to Norway and would enter through the front door.
When I saw the ship on which we were to sail all joy vanished. I had spent more than eighty days on such ships in the Pacific, sleeping in holds where the bunks were stacked five high. But now we had 1/3 the passengers and there was no equator sun to fry us by day. The Marine Jumper, as this ship was called, transported students. Some got off at Plymouth, England. Another group got off at Le Havre, France. The last stop was Oslo. We left New York on the 17th of June and came of Oslo a day earlier than expected, June 27th.
The ship had its gun turrets - but with guns removed. Because my basic training had been in anti-aircraft, the navy assigned me to a gun position when we sailed from New Guinea to make a landing on the island of Luzon. The navy knew what it was doing. My watch or post was from midnight to 4:00 in the morning. Never in the history of World War II had the Japanese ever attacked an American ship during these hours. But in those nights, I learned to know the vastness of the Pacific and what solitude was.
It should not therefore come as any surprise to any of you, that one night when sleep would not come that I wanted to climb up in one of these gun turrets just to relive an old experience. But what do you know. Every last gun turret was occupied. When in the late 60’s and early 70’s students across our nation chanted “Make Love not War”, my thoughts went back to that night that I marveled over the ingenious manner in which those gun turrets had been converted to new use.
If going by ship was not an intrinsic part of the summer school it was certainly a major asset. There were nearly daily orientation sessions. Erling Christophersen, the Norwegian cultural attaché in Washington D.C., took time off to be the director of the summer school. He gave a few language lessons, useful phrases. He taught us the international student song, Gaudeamus. American students were an isolated group – few even sensed that just being a student meant also an identity with an international community. On the provincial theme he taught us “En god gammel bondemann” which became a kind of summer school national anthem. What “Um ja ja” is to St. Olaf. Registration took place on board ship.
Al Griffin, a black student at the University of Illinois, organized choir with more than 60 voices with daily rehearsals. Their first contribution was at church service at sea. This choir made a mighty presence in Norway, both at the opening and closing ceremonies of the summer school, on the 4th of July and a fifteen minute concert carried over Norwegian radio on the 3rd of August, King Haakon VII’s birthday. When appropriate Al Griffin could sing “Ol Man River” with the best of them. If I remember correctly, the choir did well on “Beautiful Savior” and a spiritual entitled “Steal Away”.
A student government was also formed on board ship with an agenda for action after we landed. The procedure went about as follows: All who were nominated for the position of student body president were candidates. All candidates had to give one, but only one, campaign speech. The candidate getting most votes became president and the six runner ups became members of the student council. Here I find myself in a difficult position. The election was not exactly rigged but tilted in that direction. There were ten or more candidates for president, I being one of them. There were 240 students, more than 20 of them had St. Olaf College connections. The other candidates did not have a chance.
Perhaps to alleviate a sense of guilt, I wish to name the six council members that worked with me. This was no showcase student government. There was much to do and little time in which to do it. Anton Abrahamson was from Brooklyn. He could generate enough ideas in one day that would take a life-time to implement. Marion Cleeves form California studied at Berkeley. She was dignified and poised, but warm and charming. She was an eloquent speaker and we used her frequently for occasions where speeches were needed and we liked to exhibit the best we had. John Foss, solid and sensible, was a Minnesotan lad who studied at the U. of M. Solveig Grette was the Ingrid Bergman of the summer school, save for a minor difference. She was even more beautiful. She was gentle, intelligent, modest and gracious. She did not have the slightest notion of how beautiful she was, and that made her even more beautiful. She was very useful. No one could deny her anything she asked for. Then there was Conrad Hoff, a newly made High School Teacher who had studied at Mankato, Minnesota, was a rough and tumble kind of leader. He loved work – any kind of work. If you came by with a suitcase, he would insist on carrying it for you. Finally there was Kathryn Woods. Only later did I learn she was St. Olaf, graduating in 1945, a year before I reentered St. Olaf in 1946. I do not think I have ever worked with a more talented, cooperative and harmonious group. Scholarship – year book –
But to go back to the crossing. Erling Christophersen the formation of a choir and a student government and registration all went for to create a sense of cohesiveness – unity and common experience even before the curriculum got underway. The summer school we had would have been unthinkable had we flown in the day before classes started.
We lived at Blindern Studenterhjem but that year we did not eat there, but in a science building in the direction of the Radio Station. After breakfast we continued our walk to that building. Our culture course, taken by all the students, held forth in the auditorium there. The University grounds, now crowded with buildings, was an open meadow. We arrived just in time for haying season. At that time the dormitory grounds ere manicured to perfection. The long walk way leading to the subway stop was lined with lush flower beds and the fountain seemed fresh and new. Adding to the enchantment of that dormitory setting were the nearby birch groves. The fact that it never got properly dark at night turned your thoughts to poetry. Exactly why Oslo’s bird population seemed to gather just there and go completely bananas with chatter and song at 2:30 in the morning still remains a mystery.
Norway was still in a heroic mode in ’48. Signs of austerity were everywhere. Some trucks and taxis roamed the streets. Doctors could buy autos. People longed to have refrigerators and washing machines but foreign currency, then called “valuta” was needed to get Norway’s industry going – there was rationing on sugar, coffee and most other things. American cars were called “Dollar Glis”. They asked us if it was true that we had parking problems in the States. We said yes and they said we should have as good. A phone call cost 10 ?re. The trikk had one price – 25 ?re. You could stay at Hotel Norge for 10 kroner per night. One looked hard to find materialism in Norway in those years. It is very easy not to be materialistic when you can’t get what you want even if you have the money.
The fact that Norway’s high officials and noted scholars took the American students and the summer school seriously had a powerful impact on the student group. The minister of Church and Education came onboard the Marine Jumper as it docked and wished us welcome. Rector Otto Mohr did the same within the solemn confines of the Aula with the Munch Murals in the background. Halvard Lange, The Foreign Minister, wanted us to know what Norway’s foreign policy had been since the end of the war. Equally flattering were the arranged debates in the parliament building where three views were expressed. Torolv Kandahl, editor of Aftenposten spoke for the conservatives. Bernt Nissen for the liberals and Haakon Lie, for labor. Lie was a clear winner when it came to vitality, good humor and colorful language. In recent years, Haakon Lie and I became friends of sorts. I helped provide him with information on a book he wrote on Andrew Furuseth, A Norwegian-American labor leader.
When we arrived a day early, the city of Oslo took charge. Transported us by boat to Ingierstrand, a municipal beach, hosted a dinner and dance in the evening. Oslo’s Borgermester presided over the dinner. His name was Bull.
A similar pattern held true for many who lectured at the common culture course. Francis Bull, perhaps Norway’s most dazzling lecturer, was no less effective in English. Two years later I followed several of his literature courses at the University. Unforgettable to me at least was Karl Evang, Norway’s director of health, a stout and fearless defender of Norway’s health insurance program. When an American student asked him what possible incentive a Norwegian doctor had to do good work, his only response was “that is a typical American question”. The man was invincible.
Sigmund Skard also rose to high popular levels with blunt and frank speech. As head of the American Institute at the University and with years of America experience he could speak with authority about the image Norwegians had of Americans, an image created by American movies, literature, sensational journalism and advertising. It was a faulty image, but the Americans themselves had created it.
Ingrid Semmingsen, then a rising authority on Norwegian emigration gave one of two lectures carefully crafted and full of substance but her style was bland. I may have been the only eager listener. Later we became life long friends.
Giving an elevated status to the summer school was the publicity it attracted. The venture was new, experimental, perhaps daring in its scope – The Oslo newspapers and perhaps many others, were full of the summer school: articles, photos, sketches and interviews. Even Wilmar Thorkelsen came to Oslo to write for the Minneapolis Star. Wilmar Thorkelsen became the well known religion correspondent for the Star Tribune. He noted that this was the largest single American student unit in Europe, that 20% of the group came from the Midwest, most of them from Minnesota. According to Thorkelsen, Norway at no time in its history had Norway sponsored a summer school. Norwegians had better ways of spending their summers. Decorah-Posten, which now did most of its news collection with a scissors did not lack for material. It kept the Norwegian-Americans informed. Worthy of news was certainly a black choir director who had mostly a white choir. Even more noted was Julie McLean from North Carolina. She chose a black girl for a roommate. This was 1948. I repeat her name, Judy McLean, the acknowledged heroine of the summer school.
The weekend excursion may have been common fare for many years. A trip to Nore power station, the largest in Western Europe. A weekend at Sandefjorden, the Whaling Museum, lodging aboard a floating factory and an evening at the home of Lars Christensen, Norwegian whaling tycoon. The walkway from the water to his home was lit with torches, tables bulged with costly dishes, an orchestra played in the background. The ultimate in elegance and gracious living. Then a weekend at Maihaugen and Lillehammer. Not to forget the Oslo attractions Akershus, the Bygd?y Museums, Frogner Park, Nordmarka and Blom Restaurant. Not to forget a visit to the embassy.
The summer school staff of that year merits some attention. Erling Christophersen has been mentioned as director, but he was more visible on ship than later. Norman Nordstrand, the Dean of the summer school, was ever present. Philip Boardman, who had a remarkable likeness to Charlie Chaplin, was assistant director and may have done most of the work. He did not strike you as an authoritative figure, but later for many years he was the director. He had a sense of humor. He and an Englishman wrote a funny book entitled Veni Vidi Viking. Then there was Hedin Bronner. He was so efficient that he never seemed to do anything at all. But he was registrar, treasurer and taught one course in Norwegian. We became life-long friends. A Philip Henderson, a pipe smoking college president from somewhere, managed the Veterans who attended the school on the G.I. Bill of Rights. His wife was a Dean of women. A student from the class of 1947 named Joe Granquist assisted Dean Nordstrand. He was very helpful on weekend excursions.
A might(y) power at the Summer School was Fr?ken Haegstad, the House director of the Studenterhjem. Her body was small but her will loomed as large as the Jotunheim mountains. I formed some conclusions about her which I have not dared share with anyone until now:
For years she had ruled over dormitories for young Norwegian men. She loved each one of them and they in turn respected her. It was kind of reverse harem situation.
She did not like Americans and least of all in her dormitory. Americans were a raucous lot. The men slouched, women giggled, there was constant boisterous chatter, pushing and shoving. The men did not bow nor the women curtsey and they put their feet on everything. For years she had brought decorum and good manners into the world she ruled – in a word civilization. Norway had just finished with one barbaric invasion and now comes another.
Because of my office, I had to see her frequently about things, but they were missions impossible. I thought of her privately as Kjerringa mot Str?mmen. We even sent over Ingrid Bergman but she remained unmoved.
But Fr?ken Haegstad did host a farewell dinner. If her heart was not in it, then her habits of proper decorum, and the crushing obligation of hospitality rested deep in her soul. She appeared that evening in a colorful bunad, not a hair was out of place. She was a perfect exhibit of poise, dignity and regal bearing.
It followed as a matter of course that I would have to speak at this dinner. I dressed in my best, tied a perfect knot in my tie and polished my shoes. Prepared a combination “takk for maten” speech and a toast to Fr?ken Haegstad. Some years earlier I had actually confronted Japanese machine gun nest and been less scared than now. Somehow I got through it. The toast was given and I asked Fr?ken Haegstad to stand while the accolades were given. They were weak at first but astonishingly enough they gained in intensity as time passed. Then she did something entirely (un?) expected. She did not sit down but walked over to me, clinked her glass against mine and looked me long in the eye, but never said a word. I saw in those eyes a glimmer of tenderness and there was a tiny trace of a smile at the corners of her mouth. Ladies and gentlemen this was Norwegian love.
Whatever is true, in Fr?ken Haegstad I had met Norway’s unconquering spirit, and now realized that the invasion of Norway for which I had trained was both superfluous and unnecessary.