I have never really understood LinkedIn, and yes, I know that says more about me than it.
But I don’t think LinkedIn understands me either. That’s based on this list of new jobs LinkedIn thinks I might be interested in:
General manager for a charter company
Production scheduler for John Morrell
Regionall sales representative
Metal paint manufacturing engineer for Polaris
Financial adviser for Edward Jones (THAT’s the funniest one of all. Me managing YOUR money.)
Maintenance engineer for a major health care corporation
An “overpayment recovery associate” (that sounds like a fun job, one that puts you in contact with lots of happy people)
And territory sales representative for Careers Unlimited.
I hate fake, treacly stories that purport to be true but in reality, not a chance.
Like this one:
The man brought the three cards, the three boxes of candy, and the three sets of flowers up to the cashier for checkout. The cashier rolled her eyes at him as she looked at his wedding band and mumbled…”these players make me sick.” This caused everyone else to look at the man funny too. So the man responded…”one set is for my mom because my dad passed away and he used to do this for my mom…and he taught me how to give love. The next set is for my wife because I love her and she teaches me how to receive and treasure love. And the last set is for my daughter…because it’s up to me to teach her how she should be treated and who she should give her love to. Have a blessed day.”
Space reasons meant today’s column about Jack the Great Bear dog had to be edited. A lot.
Here’s the story I wanted you to read:
Dan Grider tell in love with a dog, knowing someday that same animal would break his heart.
The heartbreak happened Tuesday, when Grider took Jack on one last ride to Great Bear Recreation Park, then drove him to the veterinarian’s office. Jack had been diagnosed with cancer just hours earlier, and despite the tempting promise of life-prolonging surgery, Grider looked in his dog’s eyes and knew it was time to let him go.
Grider isn’t the only one grieving for Jack. For 10 years, the spaniel-retriever mix had greeted visitors to the skiing and hiking area between Sioux Falls and Brandon. He often came out in the warmer months, but in the winter Jack was a fixture.
Between staff and visitors, it’s a family at Great Bear, Grider says, brought together in part by the brown-and-white dog who happily greeted everyone who came through the door.
A notice on Facebook announcing Jack’s death received so many notes of condolence that even the devoted Grider was surprised.
“Oh, we loved seeing Jack when we visited! His floppy ears always made us smile as he greeted us at the chalet,” reads one message.
Another says, “So many funny memories of Jack at GB … grabbing the hot dog right out of the young skier’s hand (just too hard to resist).”
Jack’s final act of mischief also involved the theft of food, Grider says. He allows himself one “cheat day” a week on his health regimen, and that day it meant a cheeseburger. It was on the table when he left the room, gone when he returned a few minutes later with Jack nearby, a sheepish look on his face.
Soon after, however, Jack’s appetite disappeared. Grider coaxed his appetite for several weeks, then made a trip to the veterinarian. Preliminary blood tests came back negative, but a few days later Jack staggered into a wall as he tried to stand up.
That trip to the veterinarian uncovered cancer and internal bleeding.
It was a day Grider had dreaded so much he almost didn’t get a dog. He had grown up with pets, he said, and he knew how painful it was to say goodbye.
“I know you outlive dogs,” he says, sitting in his office at Great Bear. “And that hurts.”
His then-wife thought having a dog would be good for their children, however, so Grider in 2003 headed to the Sioux Falls Area Humane Society. He already decided to bring home a small terrier.
When he arrived, however, the terrier had been adopted so he began to browse among the other dogs.
And there was Jack. A spaniel-retriever mix. Skinny. Dealing with fleas. And with a certain air about him.
He caught Grider’s eye, and Grider tossed Jack a ball.
“He looked at me like ‘you threw it, you go get it,’” Grider says, smilling at the memory. “Fifteen minutes later, we were out at Great Bear walking the trails.”
After cleaning Jack up, he began to make regular appearances at Great Bear, sitting contentedly under Grider’s desk or heading out to meet the skiers. Jack reveled in the patting, petting and stroking and never minded the occasional French fry that fell nearby.
A ski area suited Jack perfectly.
“He loved to run through the snow,” Grider says. “If it was just made or just groomed, four to five inches deep, he’d go running and barking, his tongue hanging out. If I drove the snowmobile to the top, he’d race along up there.”
Jill Lerdal, Great Bear’s event coordinator, and her husband, Pete, became Jack’s surrogate parents. When Jack and his “little brother,” Duke, a toy fox terrier, decided they’d rather live apart, the Lerdals took Duke in.
On the days Jack couldn’t go to Great Bear, he pouted. There’s no other word for it.
“He pouted and wouldn’t look at me,” Grider says.
Grider and Jack met when Jack was 2 or 3 years old. In the decade since, Jack had gotten a little arthritic and a little hard of hearing, but he looked much younger than his years.
Then the cancer came.
Grider was faced with the decision all loving pet owners dread.
“He was my friend,” Grider says. “We had gone through a lot of thing. I could never let him suffer. … When I took him back to the vet, he died in my arms. It was terrible, but I knew it was the right thing.”
The right thing, sadly, means Grider no longer can listen to Jack’s snoring at night. The food dishes are empty, and life at Great Bear a little less joyous for the family of employees.
“It’s an empty feeling,” Grider says. “Jack had been everywhere I went. At the Atlantic Ocean, he ran on the beach and chased the gulls. There was no one who met him that didn’t like him. Even if they weren’t dog people, Jack won them over.”
Sometime later this year, Jack’s ashes will be scattered at Great Bear, over the hill he used to run.
Don’t mind me. I’m just testing to see if my blog is finally showing up.
We received a stop-the-presses press release today that announced the Top 20 Most Romantic Cities in the U.S. according to Amazon.com.
And Sioux City, SD, made the list for the first time.
Of course, we know Amazon.com means Sioux Falls, SD, because what romance could there be in Sioux City, Iowa?
The cities were determined by “compiling sales data of romance novels and relationship books (both Kindle and print); romantic comedy movies (digital and DVDs); a collection of romantic music, including Dean Martin, Barry White, Luther Vandross, Maxwell and Miguel (CDs and MP3); as well as the sales of sexual wellness products.”
Two questions: Who are Maxwell and Miguel? And by “sexual wellness products,” do they mean multi-vitamins?
The list in order includes:
1. San Antonio, Texas
3. Knoxville, Tenn.
5. Alexandria, Va.
6. Orlando, Fla.
7. Vancouver, Wash.
9. Spokane, Wash.
10. Dayton, Ohio
11. Columbia, S.C.
12. San Jose, Calif.
13. Murfreesboro, Tenn.
14. Round Rock, Texas
15. “Sioux City, SD”
16. Las Vegas
18. Everett, Wash.
19. Eric, Pa.
20. Clearwater, Fla.
I tried to find some connection in the cities but wasn’t really successful. Several in Florida where it’s hot and humid. Several in Washington state where it’s cold and drizzly. Several in places that just sound boring.
*** Got a confirmation this afternoon, and Sioux Falls is more romantic — or more needy — than Sioux City.
A Sioux Falls veteran who survived the Dec. 7, 1941, attack on Pearl Harbor has died.
Konrad O’Hearn was 91 when he died Tuesday, Jan. 28. His memorial service is Saturday morning.
It’s a quiet passing for a man who belonged to an unusual “club.”
In 2011 South Dakota was home to five Pearl Harbor survivors. Darrel Christopherson of Vermillion died the month after the anniversary. Jean Mehegan of Brookings died June 26, 2013, in Brookings. and Stan Lieberman and Steve Warren both apparently still live in Rapid City.
Here’s the story on Konrad O’Hearn that ran on the 60th anniversary of Pearl Harbor:
Konrad O’Hearn never learned what happened to the seven white hats he was soaking in a bucket before 8 a.m. Dec. 7, 1941.
He went back to look once that long, awful day had ended.
All seven of the jaunty white hats and the bucket were gone.
He didn’t care. All that mattered was he was alive.
O’Hearn, now 91, was a gunner’s mate on the USS Maryland. He had been stationed in Pearl Harbor for almost a year, and he was enjoying it.
O’Hearn, 19, was 6-foot-3¼. He stood out among his fellow seamen on the Maryland. He was the youngest of Chester and Dorothy O’Hearn’s three sons and the last to enlist in the military.
The morning of Dec. 7, the Maryland was docked between the USS Oklahoma and Ford Island. O’Hearn was tending to mundane chores below deck, next to the compartment set aside for the Maryland’s band. A young band member burst in.
"He started yelling, ‘The Japs are bombing us,’ " O’Hearn said.
"Not too long after that, the chief band master came down and grabbed that kid, and he said, ‘You almost got me killed.’ He was facing the kid so he didn’t know" that Japanese pilots were coming in behind him, prepared to strafe the ship’s deck.
Then, a bugler blasted the call to general quarters, ordering everyone on the Maryland to battle stations. O’Hearn went up to his 5-inch anti-aircraft gun on the boat deck. It took three men to put in ammunition and one to direct the gun upward. O’Hearn’s job was to direct the gun from left to right and back again.
The quartet began aiming their gun at the Japanese planes flying overhead.
"We knew we hit one," O’Hearn said. "We didn’t set the time fuse, and we fired and hit the airplane. It blew up, and there were pieces all over the place. That was all that was left."
Today, O’Hearn doesn’t know how long he stayed behind the gun.
"Time just stood still more or less," he said.
"The first attack was at 7:55, so they said. I don’t know when the second one was, right after. Then the Japanese admiral decided the surprise was over so let’s go home."
As the planes receded, O’Hearn surveyed the devastation around him. .
"The harbor was on fire from the oil that was burning on the surface of the water," O’Hearn said. "Everybody was scared to death. I could see people praying everywhere I looked. They all got religion, me included."
O’Hearn could see the USS Arizona, which lost the greatest number of men of any ship during the attack.
"They said it broke her back, which it did," he said.
Then, the Maryland’s seamen ate a hasty lunch before beginning the clean-up work on their own ship. Later that month it would travel to Puget Sound Naval Yard for repairs.
Back in Sioux Falls, O’Hearn’s parents waited for news of their son. He was allowed to send one postcard home, and he had to decide between sending it to his folks or his fiancee, Beatrice Conklin, whom he had met in seventh grade.
He chose to mail it to his folks and remains puzzled by what happened next.
"They lived six blocks between them, and it was two weeks before she found out," O’Hearn said.
Beatrice had learned of the attack through the newsreels that ran before movies at the theater next to the restaurant where she worked.
DATE OF BIRTH: April 2, 1922, in Sioux Falls
FAMILY: Wife, Beatrice, died March 28, 2006; two daughters, one of whom is deceased; five grandchildren; three great-grandchildren; four great-great-grandchildren.
AFTER THE NAVY: Discharged Nov. 22, 1946, re-enlisted Dec. 16, 1946, with a second discharge Dec. 21, 1960. He retired in 1984 and moved back to Sioux Falls in 2006.
WHY THE NAVY? "Because I would have my food with me, I had somebody to cook it, and I had a place to sleep. In the Army, you were probably on the ground."
I vowed to never take one of these quizzes, but how could I not do one on dogs?
I’m a pug, by the way. Now I’m retaking it with my second-choice answers.
I wrote today about Francis J. Los, who was born in South Dakota and died during World War II in France.
A 22-year-old Frenchwoman named Karen Sallier tends his grave as a thank you for the sacrifice he made.
Here is an example of what she does:
It supposedly originated here.