Category: Gil & Hazel Lindgren

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Gil & Hazel Lindgren Our Families Our Memories Roots & Shoots

Remembering Ted

We all mourn the passing of Ted Lindgren but in spite of hope and some sense that he would live forever, we understand that all life ends with death and that our existence ends … The existentialist philosopher Jean-Paul Sarte was wrong in one sense because every life, like Ted’s, lives on with something, that is not nothing. Memories are living things and our memories of Ted are of amazement and wonder; his accomplishments are unforgettable and will remain an example for all who follow. Those who follow may not match his accomplishments academically and those parts of life that brought him joy. Because of his disability from a stroke, over nearly two decades, much of his mindfulness may be fragmentary and left with those who were closest to him across those years. We saw Ted on Zoom calls from his nursing home bed and always felt joy with his smile and wave to us.

I for one regret that so much passed across time between my brief encounters with Ted as a teenager, playing ball with a younger cousin on the lawn in front of the big porch of the Lanyon farm house, and the life-changing event his stroke. During those nearly 60 years, I was too busy with my life and struggle to put into place a structure for living, working and enjoyment of what was closest to me. In those missing years, I knew that Ted graduated from Iowa State University with a degree in engineering, that he and his brother Carleton had moved beyond Ames, living and working on the east coast, but there was too little that passed from the RR to me through my parents other than as small talk that could be recognized but passed off in favor or more immediate matters of mind. I knew that Ted went on to more advanced study and degrees, as it turned out a PhD in electrical engineering and inventions of brushless motors that led to patents and probably issues of what are now known as technology transfer matters involving the financial exploitation of intellectual property.

That story is important to our family and my hope is that Anne, John and Lisa will write about it for all of us to learn and reflect on Ted’s accomplishments and struggles. Those years must have had enormous meaning for Ted and Bet as well as their children’s lives—family life in Texas, Up state New York and Florida was undoubtedly impacted in too many ways to count. We always know far too little about the life of another. That applies most directly to the physical part of life; when and where events occurred, what happened, what changed. We can create timelines — our physical chronology — of those physical event of birth, death, marriages, children, divorces, attending schools and college, hobbies and recreations, memberships in organizations and employment in place and time; but our access to the cognitive and even emotion (unless these may have physical manifestations) is often at best elusive. The cognitive may have physical manifestations such as writing and recording, with drawing (sketches or meticulously detailed, artistically executed, beautiful paintings), photographs and movies or video, and especially writing of notes, journals, letters, or formal papers and applications are important artifacts to sustain memories of a life.

Our hope is that Ted’s life is remembered through those physical artifacts that he left with his children and now his grandchildren who remember better than his more distant relatives ever could. We are reminded of our questions that were not or could not be asked of our parents, grandparents, great grandparents. These questions not asked don’t linger well, but nevertheless are points of importance for the future because they represent a part of our gaps, our ignorance most which cannot be recovered.

With death there is always a loss. Love lingers and is now represented in memories, only memories and the special thoughts that arise when we encounter the artifacts of a life once lived and now gone for eternity. From earthly eternity. Earthly life goes on and an important part of what remains are memories, which are fleeting but supported by the physical artifacts. I hope we all rededicate our efforts to capture those memories and artifacts of our ancestors; parents remembered by children and recorded … digital recording and the analogue film and vocal files are ephemeral or potentially ephemeral. We can capture our moments for the future now with written records of what we remember. It is hard but important to take a blank page and begin simply; “I remember …”.

Gathering memories and artifacts are certainly for us but should be mostly for our offspring who otherwise will never know of the amazing accomplishments that surround our lives … no matter how big or small … no mater of impact … no matter how seemingly mundane or how stimulating. We are not judges but only recorders for some future time that we cannot fully appreciate or even contemplate. What we have missed may bring tears—but our hope that all of those tears are of joy aid not overwhelmed by our notable sadness at the moment of passing. Life is amazing. Ted’s life was certainly amazing and we will cherish our memories of his life and accomplishments and his family.

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Gil & Hazel Lindgren Our Families Our Memories

I Remember Carleton Lindgren

Subject: Carleton Lindgren

Family Map: Frank and Amy -> Gilmore and Haze -> Dick, Ted, Carleton, Jon

Author: Jay Lindgren

Family Map: Carleton Lindgren -> Jay Lindgren

What I remember about my father is that in his eyes, life seemed to be one big science experiment.  Experiments were conducted on nearly a daily basis, frequently with several running concurrently.  The experiments were interesting, educational and sometimes dangerous and terrifying.  

Carleton’s undergraduate degree was in chemical engineering.  I remember several times being astonished at his ability to use chemistry in everyday life. This included being able to dissolve just about anything, a love for epoxy cement and a deep understanding of the chemistry of swimming pools and batteries.

Carleton’s interests were wide and varied.  There were experiments in chemistry, physics, anatomy, physiology, astronomy, psychology, optics, combustion, finance, simple machines, off roading, airplanes and car repair to name a few.

I derived more joy from the more physics oriented experiments, but they frequently came at a price of having to endure experiments on topics in which I was not as interested.  I remember the first time  I shot a squirrel and asked my father to teach me how to clean it.  The experience turned into a four hour lesson on the surgical techniques that could be employed to remove the intestines without contaminating the meat.  I learned a lot that day, but not really any practical way to clean a squirrel.

The experiments were not always rigorous.  One time we decided to measure the IQ of the family Basset Hound.  We hit the literature and found several tests to conduct. Basset Hounds are not known as smart dogs and within the spectrum of Basset Hound intelligence, our dog was at the bottom end.  Neither one of us had the heart to say the dog had a low IQ.  So we found unusual tests to conduct, cheated for the dog and declared him a genius.

One of the more dangerous experiments involved estimating the velocity of a bullet as it left a rifle.  The experiment consisted of suspending a block of wood from a string, firing a gun into the wood, measuring the height of wood’s swing and using the physics of inelastic collisions to estimate the initial velocity of the bullet.  Because it was a cold and snowy January, rather than conduct this outside, we decided to use our basement.  Luckily my aim was true, I hit the wood and measurement was successful.  Being that it is always easier to beg for forgiveness than get permission, we had neglected to warn my mother.  She simply heard a gunshot go off in the basement without warning.  I’m not sure if she ever really forgave us.

Later in life Carl’s passion for experiments evolved into simply feeding animals and enjoying their reaction.  He would go to a “day old bread store” and stock up on old, moldy loaves of bread, sometimes buying nearly a 100 loaves at a time.  I remember one time standing at the boundary of a zoo looking through a fence at an exotic deer standing right next to a big sign that said, “Please don’t feed the animals”, etc…  His face lit up and he immediately started to feed the deer as much bread as the deer would take.  I expressed my concern about the ethics and legality of this behavior and questioned if it would hurt the deer.  He just looked at me like I was as stupid as a Basset Hound and keep pushing bread through the fence.

Footnote:  In case you happen to be the owner of a Basset Hound, please don’t feel bad.  We further tested the ability of the dog’s nose and his ability to apply the information he got from scent.  We found him to have a truly exceptional nose.  When holding a treat and asking the dog to sit, he would put on a great show of effort and sit down in order to get a treat.  When asking the dog to sit and not holding a treat, he would usually just walk off, lay down or find something else to do.  Empirically I found this to happen100% of the time.  The nose could not be fooled.

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Gil & Hazel Lindgren Our Memories

I Remember Hazel Hill Lindgren

Memories: Hazel Hill Lindgren 
                        by Jon Gilmore Lindgren
                        December, 2020

Hazel Hill Lindgren was my mother, married to Gilmore Lindgren, son of Frank and Amy Johnson Lindgren. I was the youngest. My three older brothers were Richard, Ted and Carleton.

My mother’s obit has her official record of life so this is to fill in a few recollections about her long life. As an overview, her life was like I suppose the majority of married women of her time. She ended up living her adult life in her husband’s community instead of her own. This, of course, happens today to both men and women but then it was mostly women.

She grew up a Methodist and spent most of her life in the Covenant Church of my father’s community. She told me late in her life it wasn’t quite as comfortable for her but she enjoyed it nevertheless.

Mother Hazel had a strong curiosity of the art and intellectual life. She combed over the two or three newspapers my parents subscribed to as well as several magazines looking for poetry. She clipped out poetry she liked and carefully preserved it in note books. At church and community events she was asked often to read a poem she thought fit the occasion. I know she enjoyed doing that.

When I was in High School there were various student evaluations and achievement tests to fill out. I remember on a couple of occasions the question, “Does your family subscribe to any of these?” One listed was The New Yorker. I would guesss there were few farm children within many miles who marked yes. It did not occur to me that was probably unusual. It was the kind of reading our mother enjoyed.

While some conveniences came along during her decades as a wife, mother and farm partner the physical and mental demands of farm life had to be tough ones. Until I was maybe six years old mother used a wringer washing machine and a clothes line. There were six in the family so the volume was daunting. She cooked those years on a cookstove that burned corn cobs. I remember how my brothers and I would hang around that cook stove and talk in the winter because it was the warmest place in the house. She, on the other hand, would be asking us constantly to move out of her way so she could tend to things on the stove.

I have the impression she was a steady hand and safe ear for other women in the neighborhood. Over time I learned of things they confided in her but were matters not to be shared with others.

In her youth she was a track athelete. I believe she ran the hurdles. She seldom talked of this–I recall seeing a picture of her in her track outfit. Since I was the youngest by a few years I spent time around the farm house with her when my other brothers were in the fields working. I recall once at maybe five or six years old running as fast as I could and being quite amazed at myself. Mother, being the only other person around, had to hear me brag about how fast I could run. I said I was sure I could run faster than her. So, we had a race. She dashed past me easily. I felt rather sorry for myself thinking others had no right to tarnish my ego–I complained to her about beating me. She replied with a smile, “I’m really competitive in running, I don’t like to get beaten either.”

While for years she often did not feel well, she ended up being the caretaker of our dad. She kept his spirits up during his several years of illness. After he died the entire family wished she would not stay in the farmhouse. But, we could not come up with an alternative we thought she would like. Then, she figured out herself the right place was in Ames near Iowa State University. She was happy there for several years. It was a fitting reward for so many decades of spartan rural life.