Here is some interesting stuff concerning the article I wrote on my father painting a car pink because a teacher wished she owned a pink vehicle after the Superintendent bought a pink Buick Roadmaster in the town of Newfolden Minnesota. I put out the call for help tracking down details and the facts. I got three letters from three brothers, whose father was in on some of the practical jokes my father and his friends used to pull. They not only offered a couple of more culprits names in the scenarios but also my guess as to what happened was pretty much spot on. Elaine Roering had her mid 50’s vehicle stolen from her driveway and pushed down to my father’s body shop where the troupe of 4 possibly 5 men sanded, masked, and painted her car pink. Before she awoke the next morning, the pink car she wanted so bad, was back in her driveway. By the way, Miss Roering passed away in 1997 at the age of 91. The letters I received also confirmed that a few bottles of beer may have been consumed in the process. I was also told there were many practical jokes pulled by these guys…so that means more to come.

In fact, I’ll tell you one right now. My father was an avid deer hunter. I was horrible at it. But one year the hunting party filled all their tags and sent the deer to the locker plant in Newfolden to be processed, wrapped and labeled. So when all was ready, my father drove back North and picked up his share of the meat and we had a freezer filled to the brim. We would have venison once or twice a week. Mom would come downstairs and grab a steak from the freezer and leave it on the counter to thaw out before she un-wrapped it. As supper time drew close, she got the stove and frying pan ready. What I heard next was the most blood curdling scream I ever heard come out of anybody’s mouth. I quickly ran upstairs and found my Mom breathing heavily and pointing at the white freezer paper and inside was not a venison steak but a BEAR PAW. Someone had wrapped a bear paw (not a pastry now, but a real black bear paw) and marked venison steak on it. She immediately had suspects and started making calls up to Newfolden and Middle River Minnesota. Uncle Clifford was her first call and of course he denied everything. He may not have done it, but she could tell he knew who did. It was tough to get him to smile sometimes, let alone get him to laugh. She made several more calls, but never did find out who put the bear paw in our batch of venison. Nobody was talking! Dad came home and heard the story and was promptly told he was taking us out to eat. Pop said that he had nothing to do with it either but mom said she’s wasn’t cooking that night. I can’t remember where we ate…but I can tell you it happened again two months later!