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The Boy in Nebraska and the Ice Man of the Alps

The Uncertain Journey into Manhood

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The Boy in Nebraska

"Tell the people not to be afraid of the plains, but to encounter them with any kind of conveyance they can procure."

--- Frontier Guardian, 1851

She held him in her arms as long as she could. Then it was time to let him go. She was sitting alone with the boy inside a wagon that belonged to another family in the company. They told her that she and the boy would be more comfortable there. It would keep them out of the sun during the day and away from the prairie breezes at night. Up until then, she had to walk. The boy at times rode atop the handcart she and other members of the company took turns pulling. On other occasions he was carried on his mother's back or up on someone else's shoulders. Sometimes, like now, he would be in the wagon of a family fortunate enough to own one and a team to pull it. For the past two days, his mother had ridden with him in the wagon while the owners walked. They had insisted, and she didn't refuse.

As the men in the company approached the wagon, she pulled the edge of the blanket he was wrapped in more snuggly around his face. It was a blanket she had given him at birth. She made it herself, just as she had made all of his clothing. She remembered wrapping him in the blanket for the very first time. It was a little older now, more threadbare and not as soft as it had once been, but he loved it and wanted to carry it everywhere he went, calling it by a name no one could quite interpret. His mother placed it in a trunk along their other belongings for the trip, retrieving it each night so he could sleep with it. They were allowed to put the trunk in the wagon being used to haul the belongings of people who didn't have enough room on their handcarts. Now she had retrieved it for the last time. It had first been placed around him when he came into the world. Now it was being wrapped around him as he was leaving it.

The men outside the wagon stood patiently as she kissed him on the forehead one last time and then pulled the blanket up more completely to cover his face. She knew she had to give him up. For days his condition had worsened. What medicines there were in the camp were scarce, and those he had been given were useless. The coughing became worse. His sleeping was fitful. His temperature rose. The brethren in the camp gave him numerous blessings, using a small amount of the oils that had been dedicated for such a purpose, laying their hands on his head and invoking the authority they said they had from God to do such things. But, nothing helped. She held him in her arms all that last day in the wagon, hoping and praying now more earnestly than ever that he would at last be well. But, it was not to be. And now he was gone.

She nodded to the leader of the company, who then moved forward and raised himself up so he could reach into the wagon and take the boy from her arms. Other men in the group helped her down from the wagon. They gave way to her daughter, who had been waiting patiently with the others and now rushed to her side. One of the women took her by the arm and escorted mother and daughter to the opening in the soft prairie soil the men had just finished digging moments before. Someone brought a chair for her, to which there was a collective sense of bewilderment as to how anyone managed to put it on board any of the wagons. But, all later agreed that it certainly served its purpose at that particular moment.

The leader of the company and another man placed the boy down into the opened prairie. One of the members led the group in a song about God being with them "'til' we meet again." A member of the group who was particularly close to the mother and fond of her children spoke about the mystery of God's ways, the death and resurrection of Jesus, and the promise of eternal life. Someone said a prayer for the boy to rest in peace, the mother to be given the strength to bear her loss and a request that God shine on her and the rest of them for the remainder of their journey. With that, the men who had been holding shovels began closing the prairie dirt over the boy.

This wasn't the way it was supposed to happen. They were supposed to complete the trip together as mother, daughter, and son. It started so hopefully, with a sense of the past behind them and the promise of a new life ahead. He was only two years old and far too young to understand all that had brought them on this trek or where they were going. His sister had a better idea because she was older. Even so, the changes in their lives had been so large and upending that even she was often uncertain what to make of it all. Now the mother and daughter were left to finish the rest of the journey without the boy. The mother would recount later that her little girl — eight years of age — was now "all I had of my own." The boy made it only part way and would have to be left behind on what his mother called the "dry and dusty plains."

The boy's passing was a major change in their lives. Up until then, the most dramatic change of all occurred when the mother converted to a new religion that had its origin in America. She was introduced to it by two missionaries who spoke of new sacred Scriptures, a restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ in the latter days, and the establishment of God's kingdom under the direction of a prophet as in ancient times. She was encouraged, as were other new converts, to join other members of the church who were gathering far away in the mountain west. So she left her home in Worcester, England. She sailed across the Atlantic with her daughter and her son, who she referred to as such a "lovely child." She left behind her parents, her brother, his family, and numerous relatives. Left behind also was England with its "lovely flowers" that smelled of sweet perfume and its "peaceful villages with their peaceful inhabitants."

She also left behind her husband. The decision, she said, was his. He gave her the offer to go, and she took it. She was afraid that if she didn't accept his offer when it was made, she never would. She said he didn't want to go with her because, as she said, "he could not believe in the preaching as I did." So she took the children and went without him. She was responding to a high calling that was stronger than the bonds of marriage and powerful enough to make her believe she could make the journey without him. The new religion was all too persuasive, even if it meant breaking the family apart, uprooting herself and her children from all they knew, and leaving her husband behind.

After sailing from England, she had yet to make what she called the "long and tiresome" trip to the mountain west, where the new religion was sinking roots with a strong determination not to be moved again. She recalled in later accounts that she got through it all right, even though "sunburned and not much better looking than the Indians." At the first gathering upon their arrival, she felt alone, not knowing anyone there. But she quickly made acquaintances, some of her own choosing but most by being thrust into a community where all had to contribute to the uplifting of the kingdom. There was little time or tolerance for feeling sorry for yourself or sitting idly by.

Her husband came a year after her arrival. Apparently his ties to family were stronger than hers. But nothing had changed in her eyes. She said he was the same there as he had been in England. He couldn't see the "truth" as she did. He blamed her, she said, for bringing him there. They just could not get along, so they finally parted. Sad as it was to be married to a man you cannot get along with, she said, it was best for them to separate. The husband moved to Wyoming, married again, and had a son. She wished him to rest in peace at learning of his passing.

She too remarried, this time to a man who shared her religious beliefs. This meant she could be married in a religious ceremony that bound her and her new husband to each other for time and all eternity. For reasons best known to her, she at last had the marriage bond that suited her religious convictions. In the process, she lost, or gave up on, one husband in pursuit of her religious convictions to find another that suited them.

She moved with her new husband to a northern part of the religion's expanding settlements, where there was good soil to grow wheat but the winters were harsh and long-lasting. They had children of their own. She at last was home.

Along the way, she had given up her homeland, broken away from a recalcitrant husband, and lost a son. The boy to this day remains buried somewhere near Florence, Nebraska. He didn't make it to the mountain west. He didn't get to know his father or ever learn anything about him. He didn't meet his mother's new husband, who she called loving and who said how thankful they should be for their "nice little home where all is peace and comfort." He would never see the snow-capped high mountains to the east of their peaceful valley, nor would he see the sun set each evening in a blaze of orange and red above the mountains to the west. He wouldn't see the water run clear and fast down the numerous canyons that fed the valley. Nor would he catch fish from them. Nor would he marvel at the huge herds of elk and deer that drank from their banks.

Today, modern highways cross the same terrain where he is buried. High speed automobiles race to the spot in the North Platte River where wagons and push carts once moved westward in search of a religious refuge in the intermountain region or the lure of gold further to the west in California. There is no marker to show where the young boy was laid to rest. No one knows where that even might be today. For all anyone knows, the spot may be covered over with asphalt for a McDonald's drive in. Wherever it is, out there somewhere on the dry and dusty prairie of Nebraska is a young boy who never completed a trip his mother thought important so very long ago.

The First Paper Boy on the Moon

"We choose to go to the moon and do other things not because they are easy, but because they are hard."

---- John F. Kennedy

He was on his morning paper route when he decided to be the first man on the moon. The sun that morning had yet to clear the horizon to the East and the moon stood high and bright in the blue light of dawn to the West. He had looked at the moon many times before, but it never seemed quite so near, or bright and large as it did that morning. The idea that he might stand on it one day in the future did not seem silly at all, at least not that morning.

Just think of it, he told himself. He would get on a rocket ship, blast off from earth and ride out into space. After landing the ship he would suit up, open the door and then step down on the moon's surface. He would be standing where no one had ever stood before. After walking around, he would gather up some moon dust and rocks. He would take pictures. He would get to see what the earth looks like from out in space. He would want to see what the stars look like from someplace other than on earth. Then he would get back on his spaceship, close the door behind him, and blast off for home. He would land the ship back on earth, give the scientists the space dust and moon rocks and show everyone the pictures he had taken. He would be the first person ever to go to the moon and back.

The idea of going to the moon came to him after seeing two movies about space flight at The Main, one of the three local theaters dotting Main Street in the small town where he lived, The Main was the biggest and the best of the three, He was especially fond of the owner who once told him he had "sophisticated tastes" because he bought a Peppermint Patty one time at the candy counter while the other kids were buying Hershey bars or Milk Duds, And The Main always had the best movies, The ones with Roy Rogers, Gene Autry and the Durango Kid were his favorites, They were, that is, until he saw Rocket Ship X-M and Destination Moon.

Of the two, Rocket Ship X-M was the clear winner, It was filmed in black and white, making it dark, mysterious and shadowy. The overall effect was spooky and unreal. Even the music was weird, sounding as though it was coming from someone waving around a big piece of tin or making music on a flexible timber saw. The end result was a perfect movie for an eleven-year-old boy with a big imagination sitting alone with his Peppermint Patty in a darkened movie theater on a Saturday afternoon.

Rocket Ship X-M was about a crew of astronauts in a rocket ship destined for the moon. A mechanical malfunction, however, caused the spaceship to veer off course and land on Mars instead. Initially, the astronauts believe Mars to be uninhabited, but they soon found otherwise when they encountered beings who from afar resembled primitive cavemen and whose only weapons were rocks, which they use to pummel the invaders from earth. Several of the astronauts are killed, while the others beat a hasty retreat back to their spaceship and blast off for home. But, because they had gone so far off course getting to Mars they were not sure there was enough fuel to make it back to earth. It turned out in the end they were right. They didn't have enough fuel to make it home and the remaining astronauts on board all died. The young boy felt better, however, once it was made known that another try at space exploration would be attempted in a new rocket ship.

The movie, of course, was flawed on any number of counts, and by modern standards it would be open to severe ridicule by the movie critics of today. It was never explained, for example, why the scientists back home could not manage to land the spaceship on the moon as planned. The mechanical malfunction also was never explained. It probably wasn't necessary. It was just one of those things that happens in space. Nor was it explained why or how the astronauts remained standing on takeoffs and landings throughout the flight. And it was not explained why the astronauts wore no space suits, and why none was needed in the thin atmosphere of Mars. But none of that really mattered. More important was the excitement of rocketing through space, the unexpected landing on Mars, the tentative and frightening exploration of the bleak Martian landscape and the discovery of primitive Martians who looked like Neanderthals and used rocks as their only weapons. That was more than enough to fire the imagination of a young paper boy whose only earthly mode of propulsion at the time was a second-hand bicycle. Then, of course, there were the old, broken-down, rusty autos out in the fields behind his house that were immobile but perfectly suited as a creative means of transporting him on flights of fancy to the moon, or Mars, or wherever.

Destination Moon, on the other hand, was an entirely different type of movie. It was about scientists and engineers standing around draped in white lab coats taking notes on clipboards, pointing to complex mathematical calculations on blackboards and conferring with their colleagues around large conference tables. Their rocket ship stood spotlessly white on the launch pad awaiting final decisions and a precisely-timed countdown. Controlled clouds of exhaust escaped wistfully from time to time out of openings and various hosing attachments in anticipation of an imminent liftoff. There were difficulties in getting a rocket ship launched, but when liftoff finally came, it was a magnificent display of fire and smoke that propelled that gleaming white spaceship upward and outward in an arc that was calculated to bring about a perfect landing on the moon. Once there, astronauts in bulky space suits breathed manufactured oxygen out of tanks on their backs while taking measurements and communicating their findings with the command center back on earth. Future astronauts were shown living and working in modular buildings designed as earth's first space colony. There were no mishaps. There were no mechanical malfunctions. The spaceship was destined for the moon, and the moon was where it landed. There were no aliens, no rocks thrown, and no questions about empty fuel tanks. The astronauts remained seated during takeoffs and landings, all of which were preceded by a large amount of preparation and elongated countdowns.

But, the story in Destination Moon wasn't really about the astronauts. It was about the rocket ship and the guys in the white lab coats who made it fly. It was more of a documentary than a story about spacemen and landings on the moon. It was in color, but that did little to keep it from being boring. It was only mildly helpful in feeding the young boy's fascination about moon travel. It did, however, offer to him a more realistic view of what he could expect. He now had a sense of how hard it would be. He now understood how far it was there and back. And he had a deeper appreciation of what it would take to be prepared. But he knew he could do it. He felt he should do it. That morning on his paper route he felt certain he would. If the astronauts on board Rocket Ship X-M could do it while standing in flight, so could he. And, so, with a shove of the left foot that he had firmly planted on the pavement only moments before, he rebalanced the bike once again, placed both feet squarely on the pedals and raced off to finish delivering the morning account of the mundane events of earth.

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Excerpted from The Boy in Nebraska and the Ice Man of the Alps by Anthony T. Cluff. Copyright © 2016 Anthony T. Cluff. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse.
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