For a Friday, it had been even duller than normal at the Record-Herald. After work, Mike McMahon decided to stop off at the Spearfish Lake Bar and Grill for a beer and a burger, and maybe see if he could think of some way to keep the weekend from dulling out on him.

By the time he got to the bar, it was pretty well full and noisy from the factory workers getting out of work, and Mike had to settle for a booth back in the back, near the large table where a group of guys was already well on the way to getting blasted. As he sat there, Mike heard such words as “gooks,” “slicks,” “hooches,” and “Charlies,” and wondered if the bunch of half-drunks could be talking about Vietnam. Perhaps, he thought, but he paid them no mind.

It looked to be a dull weekend. Unless something happened, and soon, he probably would spend the weekend sitting around his grubby little apartment down on the dumpy end of Railroad Street, and watch a few ball games on TV. Mike gave some thought to hopping in his car and heading down to Camden, to see if he could stir up some action there; with the Chili Festival the next weekend, there wouldn’t be time then. But then there was nothing set up for him to do in Camden, either, unless maybe he could pick up some girl, and the chances of that seemed slim.

What he really would have liked to do is to go out on a date with some girl, any girl. Kirsten kept impinging on his mind – she really knew how to get his attention – but every time he had made the slightest effort to get to know her a little better, she had brushed him off.

“Women,” he said to himself. “Who the hell knows?” Maybe he could go fishing, he thought. Take a couple of six-packs and get drunk while he was at it.

Just then he heard a voice: “Mind if I join you?”

He looked up. Kirsten! Of all people …

“Sure,” he said, his hopes rising. “What brings you down here?”

“Oh, I’m just kind of looking for somebody,” she said absently as she sat down. “Kind of crowded in here.”

“I thought you were going out to Carrie’s place again,” he probed lightly.

She shook her head. “She usually spends the nights out there in the summer,” she explained, “but she said she had to stay in town tonight. I’ll go out there in the morning.”

Well, maybe there was a chance! Still, Mike didn’t want to push too hard. “Does she have a nice place there?” he asked.

Kirsten nodded. “It’s a real nice place. It’s a little on the primitive side, but that’s all right. They like it. I just go out there, watch their kids sometimes, and lay around in the sun and go swimming.”

Mike was helpless to avoid visions of Kirsten in a bikini rising in his mind. They were nice visions. “You have a good time?” he asked.

“Oh, yeah, it’s a lot of fun,” Kirsten said. “Too bad summer’s almost over, but it’s fun while it lasts.”

This was about as much notice as she had ever taken of him. Maybe now was the time … “Do you have any plans for dinner tonight?” he asked.

“I don’t know, yet,” Kirsten asked. “I’m kind of waiting for somebody to come in, and if he does, maybe I can get him to take me to dinner.”

Another promising start deflated. Mike was sure that she was waiting for the roofer with the nice buns she had been raving about all week. He could, in his mind’s eye, see Kirsten go over to the guy, rub that nice body of hers up against him, blow in his ear … well, hell, the guy might not come in. Might as well keep talking, be friendly, maybe it would pay off in the future. He groped for a topic that would keep her attention. “Hey, look. You’re a local girl,” he said. “What’s this deal about some kind of a feud between Garth Matson and Donna Clark?”

“Oh, everybody knows about that,” she said. “You grow up in this town, and you hear all sorts of things.”

“It’s all new to me,” Mike said, trying to draw her out. “What started it?”

She shook her head a little. “I don’t know how much I should say about this,” she said, lowering her voice, “It’s not the kind of thing that people talk about in the open. But what I heard was that she ran off on him, though she used to be married to him, and he’s been trying to get even with her ever since. And she’s been trying to get even with him for getting even with her.”

“When did this start?”

“Oh, gee, back about the time he joined the army, back in World War II. A long time ago.”

Mike nodded. This was a start, although he already pretty much knew what she had told him. “Usually when something like that happens, there’s a hell of a custody battle over the kids,” he commented.

Kirsten nodded. “You know, Carrie’s mom is Mr. Matson’s second wife. Carrie said one time that Mrs. Clark never had anything nice to say about Mr. Matson. When she was growing up, Barbara and Frank – those are Mrs. Clark’s kids – used to say that all Mrs. Clark did was put Mr. Matson down. Carrie said that Frank always used to be scared to come over when it was their turn to be with Mr. Matson, and I guess Barb really hated Mrs. Matson over it.”

Mike shook his head. It sounded like every custody battle he’d ever heard about. “What kind of things did she say?”

Kirsten shrugged. “I don’t really know, I guess. I guess just how rotten and nasty Mr. Matson and Mrs. Matson are. I mean, it’s kind of strange, since they’re both real nice people. I mean, I know them.”

“Well, with the kids involved, I can see how it could get nasty,” Mike agreed. He’d seen it happen with a school friend, and it hadn’t been nice at all.

“The funny thing is,” Kirsten continued, “Mrs. Clark is a pretty nice person, too, so long as Mr. Matson isn’t mentioned. Carrie told me one time that Mrs. Clark helped her out once when she really had some troubles, so I guess she even gets along with Mr. Matson’s kids.”

“But Mrs. Clark and Mr. Matson are at each other’s throats all the time?” Mike queried. “After thirty years, it sounds like it’s mostly a habit.”

“Could be,” Kirsten agreed, scanning around the crowded room; Mike figured she was looking for her roofer, but apparently, he wasn’t to be seen.

At least he had managed to keep her attention this far, and she was giving him some facts he hadn’t had earlier. Right at the moment, this big deal between Garth Matson and Donna Clark seemed to be a custody battle that had gotten out of hand. What else could he say that would keep Kirsten’s attention? “What kind of things do they do to each other?” he asked.

The gang of men at the big table telling war stories roared at a good punch line, making it hard for Mike to hear her. “Oh, mostly petty little things, I guess,” Kirsten said. “Like the time that well, I was real little when this happened, but there was this preacher at the Methodist Church that Mrs. Clark and everyone really liked, and Mr. Matson wouldn’t give the church a loan for their new building unless the church fired the minister.”

“So did they?”

“They fought for the longest time. I remember our old church was crowded and all run-down, and everybody wanted a new church. I was real little, but I remember everyone was real upset, and finally we got our new pastor and our new church, and Mrs. Clark was real upset over it. She made a big speech in church and said we ought to stay in the old building rather than knuckle under to Mr. Matson’s immoral money. Then, they voted her down and she didn’t come back for a couple of years. I guess I didn’t really understand what it was all about at the time.”

Mike nodded. Well, if the two were going to squabble, they didn’t want to keep it in the family. At the same time, with both Matson and Clark being big community benefactors, it wasn’t amazing that there wasn’t a word of this in the clip files that Mike had spent several hours going through that afternoon. He had learned more from Kirsten in a few minutes than he had learned from the clip files in a fair amount of looking. He was sure he could get more out of her, but didn’t want to seem to be prying, either. Maybe the thing to do was to change the subject, and not seem too interested. “Where did you go to college?” he asked.

“Oh, I went to the Community College down in Camden for a while,” she told him. “But that’s a long drive, and when the chance came up for me to get the job at the Record-Herald, I took it.”

“You like working there?” he asked.

“Oh, it’s fun,” she told him. “It’s not as dull as some things I could imagine, but the money is nothing great. If something else were to come up, I could get interested in that, too, I suppose. I can’t see spending my life there, like Mrs. Meyers.”

They managed to sit and talk for an hour or so about one thing and another while Mike studiously kept the subject away from Garth Matson and Donna Clark. Kristen kept continually scanning the room, but after a while, the place seemed to empty out a little as the crowd that had dropped by for a beer after work left to go home to supper. Mike could detect that Kirsten was getting a little frustrated. Perhaps now was the time to try again: “I’ve heard that there’s this place down by Albany River that has a pretty good steak,” he said. “Like to come with me? I’m buying.”

Kirsten gave another scan around the room, still fruitlessly seeking whoever it was she was looking for. “I wonder what could have happened to him?” she wondered aloud to no one in particular. Finally, she made up her mind, apparently deciding that a free steak was better than nothing. “Why not?”

Spearfish Lake Record-Herald, August 13, 1975

POLICE NEWS

Accidents

The Spearfish Lake County Sheriff’s Office reported a minor personal injury accident occurring at 5:05 PM, Friday, August 8. Deputies said that a limb fell from a tree on County Road 919, striking a pickup truck driven by Hjalmer Lindalsen, breaking the windshield and giving Lindalsen minor cuts and abrasions; he was taken to Spearfish Lake Hospital, where he was treated and released.

The summer of 1965 was drawing to a close when the Evachevski family reported to Fort Bragg, and Sergeant First Class Gil Evachevski reported to Headquarters, Special Warfare Center on highly unscenic Smoke Bomb Hill, for duty as an instructor.

Living at Bragg was a little different than living in Germany had been, and the instructor position meant that Gil would probably be stable there for the full three-year tour – important to them both, for, without talking about it, they had decided that Gil would do his best to avoid another Vietnam tour. They had a growing family, two bucking and one in the chute; Gil had not only had his turn in combat, but had it twice, and it seemed wise to not push his luck any further. Not that he wouldn’t go if he had to, but he would use what finesse he could manage to avoid another combat tour.

The three years at Bragg went quickly, with Brandy born in April of 1966 and Tara born in March of 1968. Gil taught class after class at the school, and sent most graduates directly to Southeast Asia; sometimes that was hard, too, as Special Forces was a rather small group, and word from the war frequently came back to the school, sometimes bearing good news, but more frequently, bad. During that period, Gil picked up his last stripe, becoming a Master Sergeant.

Shortly after Tara was born, Gil’s tour at Bragg was drawing to a close, and so too, as it happened, was his enlistment. It did not take Gil much investigation to find out that if he stayed in the service, he was headed back to Vietnam, nor was he surprised at the news. People kept bugging him to re-enlist, and he kept putting them off, until finally, he laid down the law to the Commandant of the school: “Either I get a stabilized three-year tour in Germany, or I’m out of the Army in June.”

“Lost your nerve, Gil?”

“No, I don’t want to lose my wife.”

It took some doing, but finally, orders came through for Germany, and Gil filed his re-enlistment papers, but for three years. He could make his mind up then.

They went back to Germany, to the same post where they had spent the first three years of their married life. They had German friends they were glad to see again, and though living on the economy was not the bargain it had once been, it was still a good deal. The three years in Europe went much as they had before, and in 1969, their last child, Daniel, joined them and Carrie drew the line. Five pregnancies in eight years was enough, especially when she had to work so hard after each one to get her figure back where she thought it belonged.

Even though the war in Vietnam was winding down, Gil knew that he could not avoid another tour there if he stayed in the army; in fact, even with the “stabilized” tour in Germany, he wasn’t sure until about early 1970 that the army wouldn’t send him there, anyway, so he and Carrie knew that he’d be retiring in the summer of 1971.

They had made their minds up from the beginning to move back to Spearfish Lake; after all, it was home, and they had money in the bank. Perhaps they could have a permanent home, and regular lives after all. Doing what, they weren’t sure.

They often talked about the possibilities. “You know what I’d really like to do,” Gil said one day, “Is spend the summer laying around the club, and just waiting to see what turns up. I’ll have some damn decent retirement pay, so maybe I can find a job that doesn’t tie me down too bad.”

“I’ll get these kids in school,” Carrie said, “and I’m getting a job, too. I’m tired of sitting around the house, being a playroom director.”

“Tell you what,” Gil said. “We go back to Spearfish Lake, you get a job, and I’ll watch the kids for a couple years. Can’t be as nerve-wracking as Vietnam.”

“Want to bet?”

“Maybe I’ll see if Battery D needs a master sergeant. Probably not, they like to bring the people up in the Battery, but everything’s a little screwed up right now. But, if they don’t need me, I’ll stay with the kids, you get a job, and we’ll wait for something to come up.”

“Sounds fine,” Carrie told him.

They had spent summer leave time from Ft. Bragg at the West Turtle Lake Club, though they hadn’t made it back from Germany. Even so they missed their friends there, and they missed home, so going back to Spearfish Lake seemed like a logical idea. The Colonel and Helga wanted them home, too; a hint to Carrie’s father that they were thinking about moving back led to an offer to purchase of one of the larger cabins at the club in a sweetheart deal, and the kicker came when the Colonel was able to arrange for them to buy a repossessed home in Spearfish Lake at a bargain rate. As was typical, Colonel Matson had a crew from Clark Construction go through the house from top to bottom, bringing it back into shape, and never sent them the bill. It was settled. The Evachevskis were going home.

They came back home in the summer of 1971. Carrie was ten years older and a lot wiser than she had been as a teen-age girl smitten with the handsome Green Beret. In spite of five kids and ten years of married life, she was still a beautiful young woman, still an advertisement for her mother’s ideals, although Carrie, like her father, had slipped away from them somewhat. A vegetarian when she married, she had acquired the taste for steak and hamburgers, but tried to hide it from her mother.

Shortly after they got back, Gil had an audience with the commander of Battery D. “We’ve tried to keep the T.O. filled from the bottom,” he was told. “We don’t really have space for someone with an infantry and special forces background. Now, if it was artillery, and you knew something about SP-155s, it would be a little different,” he was told.

“Can’t help you much,” Gil admitted. “I can make a four-deuce mortar sit up and talk, but this big stuff is just something I would call for on the radio.”

“Maybe if you wanted to come on board as a staff sergeant …”

“Naw, I worked for all these stripes. I thought I’d ask. If you ever need me, you know where to call.”

“Thanks,” the battery commander said, relieved that Gil hadn’t wanted to make an issue of it. He knew Gil’s father-in-law could have put on a lot of pressure if he’d wanted to. “I’ll remember that.”

They mostly spent their summer lying around at the club. It was something of a relief for both Gil and Carrie to not have to cover up their vacation activities. Though many in Spearfish Lake still snickered at the West Turtle Lake Club, the snickers never got to Gil. After all, he was a still-remembered Marlin halfback, a big man, and still all muscle, and an ex-Green Beret with two Combat Infantry badges. He was not a person to be snickered at.

They soon discovered part of the reason Colonel Matson and Helga were so happy to have them home: Carrie’s youngest brother, Phil, had graduated from Moo U in the spring, and had taken a job in Florida, of all places. All of her brothers and sisters had left town by now, except for her half-brother, Frank, and the old Matson house out on the Point seemed rather empty. Having some grandchildren around helped to fill the void.

In the fall, old Mrs. Berlin decided to retire from the Record-Herald when they shifted over from Linotype to offset; she said she was too old to learn how to run the new Compugraphic equipment. Carrie happened to be at the right place at the right time, and soon was setting type for the paper.

Predictably, three preschoolers drove Gil nuts within a month. He was soon wondering if a nice, peaceful Special Forces Camp in Vietnam that only got attacked every week or two might not be easier on his blood pressure, and he started to look around for something that might get him out of the house.

Scuttlebutt moves fast around a newspaper. Fully aware of the fact that her husband was going to blow a circuit breaker if he had to put up with the kids all the time, Carrie heard that the Spearfish Lake Appliance Store could be had for the right price. She and Gil thought about it for a while, and before long, Gil was in the business of selling televisions, dishwashers and stoves, and the kids were being left at a sitter.

The next four years passed quickly and peacefully. Both had been away from Spearfish Lake for many years, and it meant developing a new group of friends and a new style of living, but soon, it was as if they never had left, and the army was far away.

Spearfish Lake Record-Herald, Oct. 3, 1971

TYPESETTER RETIRES AFTER 40 YEARS AT RECORD-HERALD

Mrs. Joyce Berlin has decided to retire from her job at setting type at the Record-Herald after 40 years on the job.

When Mrs. Berlin joined the staff of the paper in 1931, it was rare to have a woman working at the “back-room” job of running a Linotype machine, but she said she thought she could handle it. She was taken on in a trial capacity, and stayed on for all these years, keeping the complicated machine fed, and setting most of the type used in the paper until very recently, when the paper changed over to a new typesetting method.

Mrs. Berlin, and her husband, Pat, who has retired from Clark Plywood, have some plans for their retirement years; They want to do some traveling, but plan to winter in Florida. “I’m getting too old for these Spearfish Lake winters,” she said recently.

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