Alfredisms

Unpublished Journal
Jan. 10, 1992

The weather is warmer and dryer—an open winter is how the winter of 1991–92 is being described, though there is still most of January and all of February and March before this winter can accurately be described as open. Most of the moisture, to date, has come as rain and welcomed. The big snows came the last of October and first of November. The Polkites figured on a closed winter. Predicting is a chancy occupation when it comes to weather and length of life. Predicting is a mental exercise to forego surprises. The only surprise from this mental exercise is the occasional accuracy of the prediction.

Unpublished Journal
Jan. 8, 1992

The weather has been stormy Jan. 7 and 8. Most of the moisture came as rain on the 7th. Today started out warm and then a north gale brought a sifting of snow and freezing temperature—a January thaw preceded a January freeze. Today is a day for staying inside and looking out. Inside the print shop the chores are now cleaning the presses, organizing material, ridding it of the remains of children’s toys and sorting through adult’s tools.

Unpublished Journal
Jan. 2, 1992

I learned, through reading about it, that there undoubtedly was a time when life was evolving on the planet Earth that was lived without eyes. Not to see!? Incredible! There was light and no eyes to see it.

In the dark of morning the day began with thunderstorms (calm ones) that continued, off and on, during the light of morning, with heavy clouds trying to extend the dark into the light. The resulting light of night is dark enough to cause some questioning if there was a sunrise.

Yesterday’s high temp reading was in the 80s, which was appreciated. It proves the possibility of global warming can still be one of the many worries and fears of the future. Today will probably be another warm day. I’m writing this bit before 9 a.m. I still have a tight grip on my resolution never to predict the weather. The weather column I wrote for the Polk Progress reported what the weather had been. I never went out on a literary limb and predicted the next week’s weather.

Unpublished Journal
June 17, 1993

What bothers me most these days is how easily I tire. I can remember when it took strenuous effort over a period of days, not hours, before I had to recharge my batteries. Now 10 hours in bed, reading and sleeping are needed. I think new batteries would help, but I’m forced to wait until the heroic technologists have developed a no-fail battery for the electric car. It’s a matter of priorities. A non-noxious car is more important.

“When his painting had to take a backseat to publishing the Polk Progress, [Norris Alfred] began to express his humorous side with his ‘Whatzits.’ These are simple line drawings with color often added that took on a more abstract and whimsical nature.

Unpublished Journal
Jan. 13, 1992

I have always had a special interest in trees, which seems odd considering I was born on the Midwest plains, which were more grass than trees. The individuality of trees—cottonwoods, in particular—were the cause of this compelling interest. When I think about the plains, my thoughts concentrate on space.

Nebraska Wesleyan Graduation Speech,
Dec. 15, 1989

From my Progress perch I have been studying the residents of Polk and community for more than 30 years and have stumbled upon a Great Truth, which I think will lose none of its greatness when extrapolated to include all of Nebraska, the United States and the world— People can be divided into two basic groups: Talkers and Listeners. I was born a Listener. You may well wonder why I am standing here talking. I have two reasons. First— I don’t listen so good (which is how the Progress Swedish Philosopher described the behavior of a small great granddaughter, who had accompanied her to Sunday church services—“She sat so good.”) My hearing is deteriorating. Second—Listeners can be divided into writers and nonwriters. I have spend the past 30 years writing. Talkers like to hear themselves talk. Writers like to read what they write.

Unpublished Journal,
Dec. 28, 1991

For many years, while writing for and publishing the weekly The Polk Progress—described by critics of the effort as “The Polk Regress”—I spent two to three hours between 5 and 8 a.m. at this typewriter putting down, in black and white, opinion, ideas and stray philosophical thoughts. Alvena Lind, the Progress Swedish philosopher, was of fortunate help and inspiration. She is certain we were put on this planet to do something—because “If you don’t do anything, you get out of practice.” Couple that observation with “If you don’t talk, you never say anything,” and Alvena’s constant talk and doing is understood.

Unpublished Journal,
Feb. 15, 1992

Mother Alfred was 95 years old when she died. The final five years were spent in the Covenant Home in Stromsburg. Senility had a strong grip on her mind, and memories, distorted by that grip, became her reality.

“Some Holiday Notes”
Dec. 30, 1982

Within the Polk, Neb. Horizon the world was white Christmas morning. The big snow had slipped past to the north leaving only a thin covering here. If snow is a Christmas blessing, we are grateful for its thinness. Thinness in snow cover, the human silhouette and line of cursive script, is preferred. It is not admired in hair on head, winter coats or soup.

“I Want Him Home”
Sept. 19, 2971

Last November a journalism student from the University of Nebraska spent a day interviewing us and one of the many questions she asked was, “What do you think of amnesty for those who fled to Canada rather than fight in Vietnam?” We had managed to handle her previous questions, even coming up with a credible answer for “Why did you paint your doors red?” We replied, “The doors needed painting.”

“Polking Around”
Oct. 5, 1972

Perhaps our truthfulness is not dependable, but there are subscribers who depend on our knowledge of Polk families when ordering the paper.

Unpublished Journal, Feb. 15, 1992

Polk was only seven years old when Dad and Mom Alfred and their four children moved to the new town at the urging of Rev. F.E. Benjamin, pastor of Polk’s First Baptist Church. Rev. Benjamin was a builder of communities and churches. The idea that there might be a “Second” Baptist Church and that Polk might become a city had a strong hold on the residents’ hopes and imaginations. Reality finally set in, but that was twenty years later with the Great Depression and drought of the 1930s.

The Museum of Nebraska Art (MONA to its friends) has several of Norris Alfred’s intriguing pieces of art in its collection. To the left is “Whatzit,” an undated steel engraving plate that is a gift of Dick Herman. The term “Whatzit” was used at least twice in Alfred’s naming scheme for his works; “Untitled” is by far more common. It is likely that Alfred felt that his works could generally speak for themselves.

"Polking Around"
May 9, 1974

By Norris Alfred

Lawrence Ackerman died at the Central City hospital Thursday and was buried in the Stromsburg cemetery Saturday. He was 79. Lawrence was a loner who had become a familiar figure on Polk’s Main Street after moving into the hotel many years ago. During the past year we could see he wasn’t well. He had grown thin and would walk into the Food Shop in the morning with his hands in his pockets, not for warmth nor from nonchalance, but to help hold his trousers up.

Sept. 23, 1971
“The Prison Riots and ‘Southern Strategy’”

By Norris Alfred

Living in a rural Nebraska village, surrounded by summer’s greening, a blue sky, a full circle horizon with sunrises and sunsets; where the only manifest hostility is nature’s violent storms—we cannot conceive what life is like in the black ghettos of the cities. To grow up on concrete, in a hard, sharp-edged environment where security can only be obtained with a lock, is foreign to us.

"Polking Around"
June 12, 1969

The Nebraska State Department of Roads has issued a news release explaining the mysterious green and white mileage markers erected on all rural state highways in Nebraska. On the highways which cross the state from border to border, the number indicates the mileage from the state line to the motorist’s present position. Depending on the direction of the highway, the number tells the mileage from the southern border or from the western state line. If the highway does not cross state lines, the number indicates the mileage from the origin of the highway, also from west or south.

"Polking Around"
March 15, 1984

Norris Alfred, as many of our readers know, was an artist as well as a writer (and a few other things besides). The proof press piece featured below is from the Polk Progress and was provided by Dick Herman, former editor at the Lincoln Journal, to Bill Lock.