Hello friends,
About a year ago, my aunt Judy sent me an envelope with some paperwork she found after my uncle Ron's death. Ron was my mother’s brother, and he had been in possession of these documents from their father for 40 years or so.
Manila envelopes play an important role in Windfall; the contents of one that arrived in my mother's mailbox before her death are what spurred on the nine-year search I detail in the book.
So I was wary of what I might find inside the manila envelope from my aunt. Windfall was already printed, on its way to bookstores and libraries and all of you. What if the contents changed everything I knew about the woman at the center of Windfall, my great-grandmother, Anna? Or what if the envelope contained information so juicy it should have been part of the book?
I stashed the envelope in my office closet, among the tubs of family photos and my files from nearly a decade of research. It was an uncharacteristic act of restraint for me, a journalist trained to report breaking news first.
But what else was left to find? I first started work on the project in 2013, and as many of you know, traveled 11 times to North Dakota in search of answers. In fact, it was in 2013 that I found some of the best material, including proof that Anna's husband committed her to the state asylum shortly after their son—my grandfather—was born.
My curiosity finally got the better of me, and back in November, I opened the envelope and examined its contents. Inside was a 5x11-inch manila accordion file. The document wallet smelled of disintegrating paper and the past, and it appeared to contain papers treasured by my grandfather, Ed. One of the first documents I unfolded was a yellow certificate from May 2, 1942. It verified Ed had crossed the equator for the first time on the S.S. Argentina, a World War II-era troop transport ship.
I remember my grandfather only as an old man who enjoyed listening to the police scanner from his recliner in Helena, Montana. With this document in my hands, though, I envisioned him as a 35-year-old private first class, on his way to war. The crossing ceremony, a naval tradition, must have been a morale boost for U.S. troops headed to the South Pacific. It was meaningful enough that Ed held on to proof of the longest journey he would ever take away from home and back.
Then there were Ed's union membership cards from the lead smelter where he worked before the war, and the brewery where he worked afterward. His Army discharge documents. Paperwork to prove to the Veteran's Administration that he had lingering effects from contracting malaria in the South Pacific. A failed application to be a U.S. Border Patrol agent. I found other documents that could have provided additional telling details in my book: Cancelled checks from 30 years of taxes paid on the land he inherited in North Dakota from Anna. The checks demonstrated the importance to my grandfather of the land bequeathed to him from a mother he never knew. I already understood this, but the documents made clear that Ed had always held out hope that the land would yield oil riches for his family, one of the themes of Windfall.
And then, paydirt! It was a handwritten invoice from a retailer in Noonan, North Dakota. As you can see from the photo above, the letterhead on it read: "Stakston's General Merchandise and Meats." In smaller script: "Undertaking Supplies." It seemed a macabre mix of merchandise, but in small towns in the American West, where else but a hardware store would you buy a coffin?
The invoice was for the June 1946 funeral of a man named Torger Hysjulien, who along with his wife, fostered Ed as a baby after his mother was committed to the asylum. This is about all I knew about Torger, other than a curious detail I'd unearthed in previous research: He was missing his right arm at the shoulder, according to a 1918 document that excused him from the draft during World War I. Torger's casket in 1946 cost $175, plus $3.50 in taxes. Embalming was itemized at $40. Flowers were $9.
Torger's burial would have been my grandfather's second journey to North Dakota for a funeral following his discharge from the U.S. Army in August 1945. His previous trip had been just nine months earlier, to bury his biological father, Andrew. I knew Ed traveled from Montana to North Dakota from a short newspaper item announcing Andrew's death. I had driven that route many times in my research, and could easily imagine this second trip for Ed, a few months from turning 40. Ed would have been a different man than the one who crossed the equator four years earlier. He was now a father to a baby girl, my mother, as well as a veteran safely home from the war.
I found a photo online of Stakston's in 1940. It had two plate glass windows flanking the front door and an awning to shade the interior from the harsh northern prairie sunlight. I imagine it was much the same in 1946, a bell ringing as Ed pushed his way in. Perhaps the shopkeeper looked up from his work—butchering meat for a customer?—and nodded to my grandfather in wordless acknowledgment of grief. Other customers would have met Ed's eyes, too. Certainly the news had already made its way to the store. The proprietor, a man named A.L. Stakston, most likely knew Ed was coming. It was always a small place.
Later, when the other customers returned home that evening, I imagined them relaying the news at supper—over the meat they purchased at Stakston's. "Ed Haraseth is back in town," they might have said. "Another funeral." And perhaps, with more hope: "He just had a baby girl."
I barely knew my grandfather. But with these documents, I grew closer to him. They filled in details I didn't know. My mind eagerly made meaning—made a story—from what I did know. As a writer, I don't need to know everything to tell you the story of what most likely happened that day. Because you, too, know what it feels like to return to your hometown, to be greeted by people who knew you as a child. We all know what it's like to grieve a loved one or to be overjoyed by the birth of a baby. These universal human experiences bind us together with empathy. We never know the full details, of course. But we know enough to tell ourselves stories about what might have happened.
I suspect that's why my grandfather saved the invoice in the accordion file where he stored the most precious documents of his life. It was his personal ledger of expenses paid, of debts owed, of wars fought and benefits earned. He must have wanted to remember the day he went back to the place of his birth, to tell himself stories over and over again. Otherwise, he would have discarded the invoice. Seeing it whenever he opened the file must have brought back memories of his hometown long after he'd left it, with no intention ever of returning for good.
But I don't know, not for sure. And I'm fine with that. Not all details are knowable, particularly when it comes to family secrets. Some mysteries are destined to stay buried in the caskets, the ones bought in the backrooms of the general mercantile, in a store just off Main Street, in a small town in a windy corner of the country, in the year after the war ended.
Yours,
Erika
P.S. I have a small request this week. Windfall has only 16 written reviews on Amazon, which is….not ideal. Books need at least 50 written reviews to make any sort of impression on the algorithms that help readers discover them. Could 34 of you help out? A couple of sentences make a big impact on the success of a book like Windfall. Thank you!
THE NEWS
All the links…
Two fun events coming up! I will be at Eagle Harbor Book Co. on Bainbridge Island, Wash., at 6:30 p.m. on Thursday, March 9. The next day, I’ll be on the other side of the state in Spokane, for a 7 p.m. event at Auntie’s Bookstore. Please spread the word if you know anyone who might want to come!
Windfall got a nice little mention in the February edition of Reader’s Digest.
I had a great chat recently with Amy Wang, the Oregonian’s former books editor. For Portlanders, the interview is in today’s print edition of the newspaper.
Speaking with Lori Messing McGarry for Real Fiction Radio was such a pleasure, too!
Remember when I wrote about visiting Butte? This is a stunning investigative piece about the cozy relationship between EPA officials and the open pit mining companies operating in way too close proximity to homes, schools and businesses. And don’t miss this story about Our Lady of the Rockies by Leah Sottile, also in High Country News.
For Boise readers: An amazing list of book clubs to join throughout town.
Airplane pants! I’m not sure how I feel about these jean joggers, but if you like ‘em, it looks like they’re on sale. (Longtime Windfall Dispatch readers know: we love linking to a good yoga pants story around here.)