BOOK REVIEW by Dennis Ginoza
January 26, 2010
“The Big Burn” by Timothy Egan
(Teddy Roosevelt and the fire that saved America)
Gifford Pinchot, a product of the east and Yale, believed that forest fires could be controlled. Author Timothy Egan weaves in a superb way, America’s struggle to save our forests, the national parks, and nature’s gift to this continent.
President Teddy Roosevelt, once a collector of insects and frogs, teamed with Gifford to save Americas forest before the lumber companies, the railroads, and this nation’s rich and powerful would exploit further, this nation’s vast and rich forest.
August 10, 1910 was a tipping point. The drought stricken forests of Washington, Idaho, and Montana were swept by a fire uncontrollable and extremely devastating. Egan recounts the spread of the fire, how men and animals were caught in the firestorm, towns completely burned, or as said, “it was like all of New Jersey had burned, border to border.”
This account is worth reading. It is about pioneers with dreams to keep America with its cherished natural beauty—John Muir, the politics of power and the money grab, the tension between conservation and lining investments with profit, more often greed, and the mind of politics in this nation’s earlier days. And there is personal intrigue in the lives of those who shaped this nation.
For those who still enjoy America’s land of beauty, this is a story about how the woods of Appalachia, the Smokey Mountains, to all the forests in the west, in Idaho, Montana, to Washington were preserved. What this nation has was not preserved without sacrifice, the courage of a few, and the guiding hand of leadership. Without conscience, a nation cannot survive.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Blindness Didn't Hold Him Down
Blindness Didn’t Hold Him Down (The Story of Guildford Street)
January 8, 2010 by Dennis Ginoza
During the freshman week at William Penn College in Oskaloosa, Iowa, I met another first year student, Harold Street of Mabel, Minnesota. He invited me to meet his uncle who was blind. As we entered the house, I heard the pounding of a hammer upstairs. I asked Harold, “Who is that?” He said, “That’s my uncle.” “I thought you said he was blind.” Harold said, “He is!” He would become for me a great inspiration.
Guilford Street, Harold’s uncle, was both amazing and remarkable. He was remoldeling the attic to a make it a college room for two. He showed me his Braille measuring rule. He had the tools to work his carpentry by the feel of his fingertips. He also did all the plumbing. Guilford said, “The only thing I don’t do is electricity.” That brought out a laughter. He also was a master of caning chairs, the seats and back rests, with an intricate weaving system.
Guilford was a Quaker pastor who wrote his sermons in Braille. He also wrote letters on a manual typewriter, remembering where he was in his sentences and paragraphs.
In my junior and senior years of college, I lived with Guilford and his wife Iva, in the guest room downstairs. Harold and Howard Stoner roomed upstairs in the attic. When we walked into the house, he would recognize our footsteps. He would check, “Is that you, Dennis?” At the dinner table, when we enjoyed an evening’s visit over coffee and Iva’s delicious cinnamon rolls, I watched Guilford as he maneuvered the coffee cup, reach for a cinnamon roll, and engage in the conversation with ease and interest. His hearing was sharpened by his inability to see. He was aware of where everyone was sitting and could direct his conversation.
One evening, it was about 6:30 p.m., the sun had already set, Guilford was not sitting in his usual chair in the living room. I asked Iva, “Where Guilford?” She replied, “He’s outside?” “What’s he doing outside? It’s dark.” She said, “He’s outside weeding the garden.” “I don’t believe it. This I’ve got to see,” was my response. Guilford had lined each of the rows with a string tied to some stakes. He followed the string and felt for the weeds, pulling them, leaving intact the vegetables that had sprouted. Amazing, I’d say!
One Saturday afternoon in the fall, Iva said to me, “Dennis , will you drive Guilford to church tomorrow? I’m not feeling too well.” “Of course, “ I responded. “But I need a map.” “No, you don’t need a map.” “I don’t know how to get there.” Our conversation went on. Then Iva, with a big smile on her face said, “Guilford will tell you how to get there.” Guilford knew every turn, every bridge, every bump on the road to the church 50 miles away. And we returned home without missing a turn. That was more than impressive!
Iva Street was Guilford’s seeing eye. She placed his clothes in the drawer so he knew where to find whatever he needed for his daily wear. She neatly placed his ties on one end of the drawer. The house was arranged so he could easily move about from the bedroom, down a short hall, into the kitchen, the living room, and the basement where he caned his chairs. At the table, the plates, drinking glasses, napkins, and silverware were placed so he could take his fingers and map where they were.
When Guilford walked in a public place, you would offer him your arm, he would take hold of it and walk at a fair pace. If there was a step or an uneven sidewalk, all you had to do was tell him what’s coming, and Guilford would manage the rest. He also had a walking cane that he used especially in places where he needed further guidance.
After I graduated from William Penn College, I hadn’t seen Guilford for a few years. Iva died and he eventually moved to Hesper in northern Iowa to be with his son Clare and his wife, Julie. After I married my wife Sylvia, I mentioned to her, “There is a man I want you to meet. He is blind, a Quaker pastor, who is remarkable.”
I called Guilford and I said I told him, we were coming for a visit. Guilford said, “I’ll have lunch ready for you.” I was again amazed. When we drove up to Hesper and found his single trailer next to his son’s home, we knocked on the door. “Come in,” he said. He was at the kitchen counter preparing lunch, a sight to see. He had a pot on the stove boiling potatoes. He had a paring knife in hand, slicing apples for a fruit salad. “I also baked a loaf of bread,” he said.
We had a delicious lunch and enjoyed recollecting our Oskaloosa days. Our friend Harold Street was now married to the girl next door, Marcia Nehre. Howard Stoner who was the other college student who shared the attic with Harold was now graduated. Beloved Iva had been laid to rest, but her loving care, hospitality, and kind ways, are never to be forgotten.
As we sat enjoying our meal, Guilford said, “Besides baking bread, there is something else that I am into.” He said, “I am now into canning.”
Guilford Street, a man never to be forgotten, was born on September 21, 1898 near Hesper, Iowa. He graduated from Mabel High School in 1917, a school in Minnesota a mile from the Iowa line. In 1922 he graduated from William Penn College. He also studied at Upper Iowa University in Fayette.
For seven years, Guilford taught school. He sold real estate, clerked in a store, and worked in a toy factory. After the 1929 stock market crash, he joined thousands in unemployment.
In 1930 he was invited to serve a Friends meeting (church) in Marshalltown, Iowa. In September of that year, he took his first charge in Hartland, Iowa where he pastored for three years. It was at Hartland when he started to have trouble with his eyesight. He had a detached retina in his right eye. A corrective surgery was performed at the University Hospital in Iowa City. In the six weeks, after two operations, a blood clot formed and he was totally blind in his right eye. The vision in his left eye was fine as it was corrected with glasses.
Four years later, as he was serving the Bloomington Church near Muscatine, a retina detachment affected his left eye. Apprehensive about another surgery, after the first failed, with advice from members in his congregation, in 1942, he went to Chicago for a surgical procedure. Up until 1950 he was able to distinguish daylight from darkness.
At the age of 44, Guilford learned to read Braille, and used a Braille Bible for study and preaching. He created an outline for his sermons but preached from memory. He enhanced his knowledge and wider interest by listening to “talking book recordings.” Many blind persons obtained their record players provided by the government.
After Hartland, he served churches in Newton, Muscatine, Eldora, and Hesper, Iowa. Hesper, the oldest church in Iowa, founded in 1855, was served by his great grandfather, Aaron Street. (His grandfather also pioneered the organizing of a Quaker church In Springwater not far from Hester.)
Guilford and Iva raised two sons. Clair has served in mission work with the American Friends Service Committee to help feed the hungry in India. He also taught and worked as an administrator in a boy’s school near Calcutta. He taught at the Chesamis secondary boy’s school in Kenya, Africa. Their younger son Keith served as teacher in Wapello, Iowa, having received his master’s degree from the University of Western Illinois.
Guilford Street demonstrated that blindness need not hold down anyone from using their gifts and talents. He always kept a positive outlook. He was strengthened by a deep faith in God and supported by a wonderful woman, Iva. As a young college student, living with the Streets, I learned that physical limitation need not hamper learning, relating to others, nor making a significant contribution in the lives of a larger community. And foremost, Guilford epitomized for me the importance of the inner qualities and attitudes that determine one’s character.
January 8, 2010 by Dennis Ginoza
During the freshman week at William Penn College in Oskaloosa, Iowa, I met another first year student, Harold Street of Mabel, Minnesota. He invited me to meet his uncle who was blind. As we entered the house, I heard the pounding of a hammer upstairs. I asked Harold, “Who is that?” He said, “That’s my uncle.” “I thought you said he was blind.” Harold said, “He is!” He would become for me a great inspiration.
Guilford Street, Harold’s uncle, was both amazing and remarkable. He was remoldeling the attic to a make it a college room for two. He showed me his Braille measuring rule. He had the tools to work his carpentry by the feel of his fingertips. He also did all the plumbing. Guilford said, “The only thing I don’t do is electricity.” That brought out a laughter. He also was a master of caning chairs, the seats and back rests, with an intricate weaving system.
Guilford was a Quaker pastor who wrote his sermons in Braille. He also wrote letters on a manual typewriter, remembering where he was in his sentences and paragraphs.
In my junior and senior years of college, I lived with Guilford and his wife Iva, in the guest room downstairs. Harold and Howard Stoner roomed upstairs in the attic. When we walked into the house, he would recognize our footsteps. He would check, “Is that you, Dennis?” At the dinner table, when we enjoyed an evening’s visit over coffee and Iva’s delicious cinnamon rolls, I watched Guilford as he maneuvered the coffee cup, reach for a cinnamon roll, and engage in the conversation with ease and interest. His hearing was sharpened by his inability to see. He was aware of where everyone was sitting and could direct his conversation.
One evening, it was about 6:30 p.m., the sun had already set, Guilford was not sitting in his usual chair in the living room. I asked Iva, “Where Guilford?” She replied, “He’s outside?” “What’s he doing outside? It’s dark.” She said, “He’s outside weeding the garden.” “I don’t believe it. This I’ve got to see,” was my response. Guilford had lined each of the rows with a string tied to some stakes. He followed the string and felt for the weeds, pulling them, leaving intact the vegetables that had sprouted. Amazing, I’d say!
One Saturday afternoon in the fall, Iva said to me, “Dennis , will you drive Guilford to church tomorrow? I’m not feeling too well.” “Of course, “ I responded. “But I need a map.” “No, you don’t need a map.” “I don’t know how to get there.” Our conversation went on. Then Iva, with a big smile on her face said, “Guilford will tell you how to get there.” Guilford knew every turn, every bridge, every bump on the road to the church 50 miles away. And we returned home without missing a turn. That was more than impressive!
Iva Street was Guilford’s seeing eye. She placed his clothes in the drawer so he knew where to find whatever he needed for his daily wear. She neatly placed his ties on one end of the drawer. The house was arranged so he could easily move about from the bedroom, down a short hall, into the kitchen, the living room, and the basement where he caned his chairs. At the table, the plates, drinking glasses, napkins, and silverware were placed so he could take his fingers and map where they were.
When Guilford walked in a public place, you would offer him your arm, he would take hold of it and walk at a fair pace. If there was a step or an uneven sidewalk, all you had to do was tell him what’s coming, and Guilford would manage the rest. He also had a walking cane that he used especially in places where he needed further guidance.
After I graduated from William Penn College, I hadn’t seen Guilford for a few years. Iva died and he eventually moved to Hesper in northern Iowa to be with his son Clare and his wife, Julie. After I married my wife Sylvia, I mentioned to her, “There is a man I want you to meet. He is blind, a Quaker pastor, who is remarkable.”
I called Guilford and I said I told him, we were coming for a visit. Guilford said, “I’ll have lunch ready for you.” I was again amazed. When we drove up to Hesper and found his single trailer next to his son’s home, we knocked on the door. “Come in,” he said. He was at the kitchen counter preparing lunch, a sight to see. He had a pot on the stove boiling potatoes. He had a paring knife in hand, slicing apples for a fruit salad. “I also baked a loaf of bread,” he said.
We had a delicious lunch and enjoyed recollecting our Oskaloosa days. Our friend Harold Street was now married to the girl next door, Marcia Nehre. Howard Stoner who was the other college student who shared the attic with Harold was now graduated. Beloved Iva had been laid to rest, but her loving care, hospitality, and kind ways, are never to be forgotten.
As we sat enjoying our meal, Guilford said, “Besides baking bread, there is something else that I am into.” He said, “I am now into canning.”
Guilford Street, a man never to be forgotten, was born on September 21, 1898 near Hesper, Iowa. He graduated from Mabel High School in 1917, a school in Minnesota a mile from the Iowa line. In 1922 he graduated from William Penn College. He also studied at Upper Iowa University in Fayette.
For seven years, Guilford taught school. He sold real estate, clerked in a store, and worked in a toy factory. After the 1929 stock market crash, he joined thousands in unemployment.
In 1930 he was invited to serve a Friends meeting (church) in Marshalltown, Iowa. In September of that year, he took his first charge in Hartland, Iowa where he pastored for three years. It was at Hartland when he started to have trouble with his eyesight. He had a detached retina in his right eye. A corrective surgery was performed at the University Hospital in Iowa City. In the six weeks, after two operations, a blood clot formed and he was totally blind in his right eye. The vision in his left eye was fine as it was corrected with glasses.
Four years later, as he was serving the Bloomington Church near Muscatine, a retina detachment affected his left eye. Apprehensive about another surgery, after the first failed, with advice from members in his congregation, in 1942, he went to Chicago for a surgical procedure. Up until 1950 he was able to distinguish daylight from darkness.
At the age of 44, Guilford learned to read Braille, and used a Braille Bible for study and preaching. He created an outline for his sermons but preached from memory. He enhanced his knowledge and wider interest by listening to “talking book recordings.” Many blind persons obtained their record players provided by the government.
After Hartland, he served churches in Newton, Muscatine, Eldora, and Hesper, Iowa. Hesper, the oldest church in Iowa, founded in 1855, was served by his great grandfather, Aaron Street. (His grandfather also pioneered the organizing of a Quaker church In Springwater not far from Hester.)
Guilford and Iva raised two sons. Clair has served in mission work with the American Friends Service Committee to help feed the hungry in India. He also taught and worked as an administrator in a boy’s school near Calcutta. He taught at the Chesamis secondary boy’s school in Kenya, Africa. Their younger son Keith served as teacher in Wapello, Iowa, having received his master’s degree from the University of Western Illinois.
Guilford Street demonstrated that blindness need not hold down anyone from using their gifts and talents. He always kept a positive outlook. He was strengthened by a deep faith in God and supported by a wonderful woman, Iva. As a young college student, living with the Streets, I learned that physical limitation need not hamper learning, relating to others, nor making a significant contribution in the lives of a larger community. And foremost, Guilford epitomized for me the importance of the inner qualities and attitudes that determine one’s character.
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