Fellow citizens march down Marquette avenue on their way to demonstrate in front of the Better Business Bureau for a living wage, sick leave, immigration  and other issues.

Last week I attended a march in downtown Minneapolis. It was late afternoon with a clear pale blue sky and a cold wind, like an invisible ocean current, flowing around the buildings. A group of about 100-200 people gathered at Peavey Plaza and then on the street.

This march has its roots deep in American history. It was inspired, in part, by the Boston Tea Party and guided by the timeless examples of Gandhi and Dr. Martin Luther King Jr..  It was an expression of our basic freedoms of speech and assembly.

Demonstrating is at the heart of our democracy. It is a sacred ritual. It is our heritage and our legacy.

As we marched along chanting we were pulled closer together, just as in a church, as when the priest calls to the congregation and it responses en mass. It is a single voice transformed into a mighty chorus. It is the voice of a common consciousness shared amongst strangers. It unifies. It is a moral drumbeat.

Along the march I threaded my way amongst the people looking for images that expressed the moment. The group was diverse with Native Americans, students, young families and seniors. Some came with signs or wore distinctive clothes; one woman was dressed as a holocaust inmate.  These people were dedicated. They showed up despite the late afternoon time and the cold wind.

This was an authorized demonstration with a police escort. In squad cars, on bikes and foot the police made certain that we were safe from the traffic. They redirected traffic so that we could exercise our rights. I was surprised that during the demonstration, even though it was now rush hour, only a couple of cars honked in protest and only one pedestrian loudly objected to the inconvenience.  I didn’t hear a word against the demonstrators themselves or the causes they championed. It made me proud of my city and all of its citizens.

Afterwards, as everyone dispersed, returning to their everyday lives, they carried with them the affirmation that they are part of something greater than themselves and that there are others who share their concerns.

Demonstrations are a natural outgrowth of who we are as humans. We are wired to want to be part of a greater community and to contribute to a greater good. When we do this, our self esteem increases and we are energized. When we do this, we are Americans.


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Solidarity and Hope In Numbers

Solidarity and Hope In Numbers

The Twin Cities Women’s March was led by a Native American color guard. Behind them were 90,000+ people who came to support women’s issues and oppose the newly inaugurated Pretender President.

On Saturday I attended the Women’s March in the Twin Cities. It was the most amazing thing that I’ve seen in decades. The only other time that compared to this was Richard Nixon’s 1973 inauguration. But that is another story.

The weather was overcast, damp and cold. The kind of winter weather that Minnesotans call balmy.

Word of the demonstration supporting the Women’s March in D.C. had been spreading for sometime. By Saturday over 20,000 people had pledged online to march to the Minnesota State Capital in St. Paul. It would be a good turnout if the weather didn’t dissuade demonstrators from coming.

For the last week, I had been doing an informal survey of who was planning to go to the local march.  I was surprised at the number of folks who said they planned on going. I was similarly surprised by an equal number of people who knew nothing of the event in St. Paul. Needless to say, I passed on information and encouraged them to join.

I went to the march with my good friend Kathy. We used the light-rail to get to St. Paul. There was an ever-growing crowd at the train station and the feeling was upbeat. We got onto an almost full car and headed off. By the time we got to the downtown station to transfer to the St. Paul bound train, the entire train was jammed until no one could get on. At the transfer we met with a continuously expanding torrent of people. The ride to St. Paul was even more crowded. The excitement and friendliness of everyone kept claustrophobia at bay.   It was just the beginning to an inspiring day.



Green Line station on University Avenue swamped with marchers.


Marchers coming from bus and light-rail stops pass by state capital on their way to join main group of demonstrators near the St. Paul Cathedral. In an hour they would march back, 90,000+ strong.

As more and more people appeared I began to suspect that the estimated number of 20,000 marchers was correct. However, the torrent of people coming from the bus and train stops didn’t let up. They just kept coming and coming. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.  During the speeches the number of marchers was updated to 45,000 and then again to 60,000. Each announcement was greeted with a tidal wave of cheers. The sound of the crowd cheering sent a shiver through me. This was the sound of democracy. This was the sound of the American people standing up against the Pretender President and his cronies.

Lessons Each Generation Must Learn


Kathy holding a Planned Parenthood sign that she carried 12 years ago in the 2004 women’s march in DC.

The crowd was a mix of all ages, races and creeds, each well represented. It was a rich tapestry of humanity. For the first time in years I felt part of something bigger. My optimism has returned.  I have hope.


Looking back from the Capitol towards the Cathedral, a quarter of a mile away.

Every generation must learn the same lessons that their parents and grandparents have had to learn. Since the Vietnam War and Watergate, we Americans have become complacent. We assumed that democracy was a force of nature that would always prevail. We forgot our history. Now we are paying the price with a Pretender President who is intent on undoing 70 years of bipartisan policies and commonly held values.

Democracy is not a spectator’s sport. It only works when each of us takes responsibility for our part in governing. Democracy requires an educated constituency that understands how our government works, each citizen’s responsibilities, and the lessons of human history.

Democracy only works when we are engaged for the long-term. Now, more than any other time in our history, we face an existential threat that took years to evolve and will take years to correct. We have hard work to do.

Let’s rejoice at this opportunity the Pretender has provided us and get to work. In the coming days and months more and more people will come to realize the danger the Pretender and his supporters pose to the U.S. and the world. Opposition will continue to grow and with it a renaissance of ideas, idealism and altruism.

Rejoice for the challenges we face. The future is open for us to write.















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Rest Easy America

Rest Easy America
Creative Commons License
Rest Easy America by Les Phillips is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

American politics in 2016 is very scary.

A large, vocal minority are expressing their anger at our political system by supporting Donald J Trump, a man who has clearly demonstrated throughout the primary and now general election his psychopathic personality.  Lying, threatening, dramatically changing positions for each audience, and promoting a bigoted agenda against African Americans, Mexicans, and immigrants.

Every day brings new assaults on logic and the truth.  At least once a week he says something that in any previous campaign would have killed a candidate’s chances and yet he continues to register about 43% in national polls. Almost half of the electorate supports a man who knows nothing about the Constitution or the Bill of Rights. They support a man who starts out his campaign appearances by threatening the media. On occasion he has singled out specific journalists who later required the Secret Service to escort them out of the hall and to their cars.

The fire of anger, ignorance, and bigotry is being fanned by the Right-Wing media who have, after 30 years of propaganda have prepared the a segment of white America to follow a demagogue who embodies the ugliness they have been broadcasting.

I fear for this country. There are strong similarities between now and the fall of the German Wiemar Republic and the rise of Adolf Hitler.

I could go on and on about how Trump is unqualified to be president and how he is a genuine existential threat to the U.S. and the world, but what is the point?

All that is left is to vote for sanity on Election Day, November 8th.

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Black Lives Matter

Black Lives Matter

James and his daughter Aria. With each generation comes the potential for the Phoenix to rise from the fire and ashes of previous generations.

On Monday last, I went to the Black Lives Matter encampment in front of the Governors Residence in St. Paul, to see for myself what was going on, to talk to some of the folks and take some pictures. I did this and returned home to write this post. For the following four days I’ve tried to marshal my ideas. Every day something would happen to add yet another complexity to an already daunting situation. President Obama’s speech at the memorial for the five murdered police officers set off a storm of protest. The police and some protesters thought that what he said had in some manner betrayed or minimized the losses that each group had suffered.  I kept trying to write but nothing sounded right; nothing felt right.

I’ve decided to post my first draft because it seems closer to what I feel. Here it is.


I drove over to the Governors Residence in St. Paul to get a firsthand look at the Black Lives Matter encampment. The day was hot and humid with skies overcast, the kind of weather that breeds thunderstorms and tornadoes.

Black Lives Matter had occupied the sidewalk and street in front of the governor’s mansion. The wrought iron fence that separated the public from the mansion was covered with signs and banners. Both the US and Minnesota flags at the residence flew at half-staff. Bob Marley was on the PA. About 50 people were scattered about, involved in the mundane daily routine of political action. No drama.


Supporters, many white, have provided supplies for the protesters.

They were there to demand justice for a young man, Philando Castile, who had been shot to death by police during a traffic stop. Philando’s death came just two days after another black man, Alton Sterling, was shot to death in Baton Rouge. In both instances Alton and Philando were carrying guns, one illegally the other legally with a permit. In both cases citizen videos showed men dying under questionable circumstances without weapons drawn. The following day, in response to these deaths, a young black man opened fire on police who were monitoring a peaceful Black Lives Matter march in Dallas. Five officers were killed, another seven wounded, along with two civilians. The following night, protesters in Minneapolis attempted to shut down a portion of the freeway. What began peacefully, ended with 21 police officers injured and 46 protesters arrested.  Protests continue all over the nation. Everyone is uneasy. This situation could escalate into a summer of even greater violence.

I parked my car on a side street within a block of the encampment. The Governors Residence is on Summit Avenue, a tree-lined boulevard with beautiful large homes from another era.  Direct access to the Summit Avenue was blocked by police squad cars and saw horse barricades. A group of black officers were talking and drinking bottled water. Under their blue shirts they wore bullet proof vests, the kind that provide protection from pistols and knives but are useless against military style weapons like the one used in Dallas. I approached them and offered my condolences for the police that had been killed.

Halfway down the block was the Black Lives Matter camp. This was a vigil commemorating the death of Philando Castile. At the same time it was also a statement of faith in justice and the belief that the future could be made better. Why would people march in protest unless they believed that their voices would be heard and that meaningful change would occur?

A black woman with hennaed hair approached me and asked if I was with the media. I said no, that I was a local blogger, and that I had come to see for myself what was going on. She said that Black lives Matter had prepared a statement. Her voice changed to an official tone and she said, “We have a duty to fight for our freedom. We have a duty to win. We must love and protect one another. We have nothing to lose but our chains.”

How often have I heard a declaration like hers over the last half century? Each time it has signaled another painful, incremental step toward greater equality, greater justice. That’s what a peaceful revolution is all about. Small steps, never enough but headed in the right direction, until after decades there is a noticeable change. There are always grievances that remain, that in time, will ignite another fire of protest and another small step in the direction of justice. This is the life blood of democracy; injustice leads to protest which leads to change.

It is easy for me to take the long view. I don’t know the people dying. I don’t feel like my neighborhood is under siege. I don’t feel personally threatened. I can only partially empathize with the grieving families. I have experienced death and crushing grief. But, none of my losses were the result of violence. I have no idea what it feels like when someone I love is killed through the actions of another. That is a layer of pain I hope that I will never endure. Yet daily, families across our nation are forced to live with it.

Death through violence is devastating. Death at the hands of someone you are supposed to trust, like the police, is worse. It is betrayal.

Among the posters on the fence was a rain stained placard with the following poem by Jeffrey Joseph Young.

20160711-01-044-1w        Jeffrey Joseph Young and Crypto.

Because of my skin

Because of my skin I am worthless.
Because of my skin I am judged more than those of the fairer.
Because of my skin you are uncomfortable.
Because of my skin I feel devalued and unwanted.
Because of my skin you are quicker to react in a more violent manner.
Because of my skin your approach is more cautious.
Because of my skin I receive a less friendly greeting at the grocery store.
Because of my skin I was pulled over because I fit the description of a suspect.
Because of my skin you squeeze your purse tighter as I walk by.
Because of my skin I am dehumanized and thought of as savage.
Because of my skin I was forced out of my homeland and made your slave.
Because of my skin I was passed around and thought of as not human.
Because of my skin I do not have a name, I am only a nigger.
Because of my skin you beat, raped, murdered in cold blood, sic dogs on and hung my brothers and sisters.
Because of my skin I get shot with my hands up.
Because of my skin I get choked harder when I said I couldn’t breathe.
Because of my skin I get my license to carry but am still terrified to carry my gun.
Because of my skin I get shot when I told you that I had my license to carry.
Because of my skin I get tackled and murdered while selling CDs.
Because of my skin I am shot first and asked questions last.
Because of my skin I can’t answer your questions because I am dead.
Because of my skin you are the oppressor and I am the oppressed.
Because of my skin I get your brutality and not your humanity.
Because of my skin I see the lack of democracy and the real hypocrisy.
Because of my skin my life doesn’t matter.
Because of my skin I do not matter.
Because of my skin …
Because of my skin?
Because of my skin.

I met the poet, Jeffrey Joseph Young and his dog Crypto. He is a gentle young man with black and white parents. He straddles both worlds. The fact that I need to describe him as such simply underscores the continuing power of race in America.  We still live in a nation where skin color is history and destiny.

Later, I met another young man, James, and his 7 month old daughter, Aria. He told me that when he was a child, his father had exposed him to bad influences which had resulted in a troubled youth. Now he was showing his daughter a positive world of community and engagement. Later, when I looked at the picture of James and Aria I thought, “From the fire rises the Phoenix.”

At last the weather got to me and I headed back to my car. Along the way, I encountered more police, standing in the shade and drinking water. Again I offered condolences for the officers killed in Dallas. Violent death is violent death and its effect on family, friends and community is devastating.

I found it all confusing. Protesters and police separated by violence and yet bound together by fear and grief. I hope that all of the deaths this week will be the catalyst to meaningful changes. Peacefully seeking justice and understanding will lead us all from this darkness.



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Face of the Machine

Face of the Machine

I’ve begun to simplify my life by getting rid of the clutter of 69 years.

Because I have no siblings, wife or children I have no one to whom I can leave the jetsam and flotsam of my life. So rather than dumping a huge load of shit on my brothers-in-law, I’ve decided to get rid of unused or unnecessary things. I tend to move slowly on projects, so I figure I’d better get started while I still have some good years left. It’s going to take years.

Looking at all this stuff is like time travel on steroids. Each image carries not only the memories of taking the picture but also of the time surrounding it; little bubbles of life captured in the amber of photosensitive silver. It’s an amazing experience to discover that my memory hasn’t flat-lined but still works great. Just don’t ask me what I had for breakfast.

I’ve been reviewing my accumulated work and trying to get some control of my 55 years of photography. I’ve got 100,000s of negatives and slides; most of which have never seen the light of day. Like Vivian Maier, I’ve documented my life through photography and squirreled it away. Unlike Vivian, I’ve occasionally shown a few of my images and now, I am working to get my art out into the world rather than die and leave it all to the vagaries of chance.

This is not a somber task. Each day I find treasures.

When I take a photo I have two simultaneous thoughts. One is conscious composition, weighing the context, drama, shapes, light and shadow. The other is subconscious, a clearer eye that sees beneath the moment and imparts meanings that I’m not aware of at the moment. It is only later as I work with the image in Photoshop that the two thoughts merge into a cogent whole. Each image surprises me.

While creating an image I often enter a meditative state. Often it leaves me feeling enriched. I used to get the same feeling working in the darkroom. However, Photoshop is more rewarding. I am able to see my ideas come to life almost instantly, not requiring long hours in the darkroom exposing, developing, washing, and drying before there is a proof to evaluate. In addition, Lightroom and Photoshop offer capabilities that only the most sophisticated photo labs could offer.

I’m having fun and using my brain. Perhaps in the process I’ll create pictures that will tell a story.

Eventually, what will become of all this stuff? Haven’t a clue. As I separate the wheat from the chaff I am looking for those images that are either of artistic or historic interest. Perhaps at a later time, I’ll find a historical society or museum who will give them a home.

Technical Note

I’m scanning the the best of the keepers at 6400 dpi which creates huge files that allow me to make prints 13″ x 19″ or larger. I’m also using an Access database to list and describe what I’m keeping.

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Photo is from 08/21/2015 when smoke from western forest fires transformed Minneapolis sunsets.

This morning, I woke up early. My subconscious alarm, that reptilian part of my brain that automatically warns me about ancient threats, had gone off. Something was wrong and I could smell it. Smoke. I got up and went through the house sniffing for the source: nothing. The campfire smell was coming from outside. Sunrise confirmed it with a molten red sun.

Smoke from two forest fires, the gigantic fire in Alberta, Canada and a blaze up north near Bemidji are pumping vast amounts of CO2, particulate matter and noxious gases into the atmosphere. I can still smell it at mid day. A pale high altitude haze mutes the power of the sun.

Preoccupied with the endlessly repeating of the presidential campaign’s non-news, the media has given little attention to the fire in Alberta, even though it is a disaster of historic proportions. A city of 90,000 people has been evacuated; one of the largest evacuations in North America in 100 years. Some of the vast oil sands pit mines, refineries and pipelines are threatened. Over 25,000 acres of northern forest, vital for sequestering CO2 from the atmosphere and combating climate change have been destroyed.

What we are witnessing is another example of global warming and the future problems that we need to begin preparing for. Fort McMurray is a product of the oil boom. In the 1950’s it had a population of about 1,000 people but today it was 90 times that size until the fire. People from all over Canada and the world flocked to Fort McMurray for work and a chance at a better life. What survives of Fort McMurray is a ghost town.  Now what are they going to do? How can you rebuild a city if its people have been dispersed, businesses and infrastructure destroyed?

A lot of people will not return to Fort McMurray. The tar sands oil boom is over and the army of workers once needed to build the mines, refineries, pipelines, housing, and associated infrastructure are no longer needed. Some of the smaller tar sands mines are closing down completely. Fort McMurray was already feeling the impact of lost jobs before the forest fire but, now the situation is far worse. The fire has taken many service jobs as well. The Alberta and Canadian economies will feel the effects of this fire for years to come.

The majestic old growth trees that made this area beautiful are gone. An area of over 390 square miles has been stripped of its ecosystem. When the rains eventually come there will be mud slides and flooding. It will be decades before a forest returns and it will be scrub and not the majestic old growth. Even if you lived in Fort McMurray for your entire life, would you return to the desolation?

What happens to the 90,000 or so refugees fleeing the fire? Where will they live temporarily and in the long-term? What will they do? Will they have resources to rebuild or relocate and start fresh or will they be condemned to poverty? Will there be long-term psychological support for those that are injured or traumatized? These are the questions that will come up again and again as climate change forces people from their homes and livelihoods.

To deal with climate change effectively we must also create sustainable social programs and institutions that address the dislocation of large numbers of people over a long period of time. Otherwise, all of us face a very uncertain future; just one climate event away from poverty and homelessness.

It’s time to open our minds and think creatively. Our future depends on it.


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Veterans Day: Geometry of Loss

Veterans Day: Geometry of Loss

It was a warm, late summer day. I had dropped off a friend at the Twin Cities airport and was heading home. My drive took me passed Fort Snelling Military Cemetery.  I’ve lived in Minneapolis for 35 years and had never gone onto the grounds. But on that day I was drawn in. As I walked among headstones I saw how the bone white marble markers, laid out in endless rows and columns on living green fields, created the impression of the dead radiating out in all directions in endless lines. It was the geometry of loss and grief.

Military cemeteries are stark reminders of what war has robbed from us; all those vibrant lives lost and so many more wounded in flesh and spirit.

Veterans Day

Traditionally, Veterans Day is a time for reflection; a time to resurrect memories good and bad. It is the one day in the year where we observe 240 years of military service by millions of men and women and the ultimate sacrifice too many of them made. Most of us think of Veterans Day as dedicated to remembering the past.

However, Veterans Day is also a day to contemplate the future and the sacrifices we will ask of our fellow citizens who answer that Call. It is a day when we reconsider the terrible costs of the past. It is a time when we can look to the future and apply the lessons of history.

Veterans Day is for asking the question, “What causes are so important that they demand we pay a blood sacrifice?”

Walking through Fort Snelling with all those lives laid out before me, stripped away my emotional armor. I stopped before a pair of headstones, one belonging to a soldier who had fought in the First World War and lived until 1950, and the other was his wife who had lived another 40 years until 1990. His stone reminded me of the millions who had survived war and returned home wounded in body and mind. Her stone stood for all the military families touched by war.

All those markers represent a complex web of relationships expanding outward from the person to the family and beyond. They also represent the flow of consequences forward through time: initial medical and psychiatric care and the extended support for the maimed, broken families, addicted, homeless, and troubled.

What We Owe Our Service Members

First and foremost, we owe those in the services a pledge that we will never allow them to be sent into conflict without a thorough public debate, active involvement of the Legislature and the Executive, and unstinting long-term support for all personnel and their families. We have to do much better than we have so far.

In particular, whether a war is ongoing or a looming possibility, we are responsible as citizens of a democracy for weighing war’s moral, human, social and economic costs. We are also responsible for communicating with our legislators. If they refuse to debate and make decisions, it is then our duty to make them listen and act.

The worst thing that we can do is send our service members, their families and our nation into an unnecessary war.

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My Response to Black Lives Matter

My Response to Black Lives Matter

Recently, I was walking down an alley and saw this lonely glove lying on the pavement. Immediately I thought of the Black Lives Matter movement and took this photo. It was only later, while creating the above image, that a number of possible interpretations came to mind. I’ll let you find your own meaning.

I haven’t always been a supporter of Black Lives Matter.

I am a 68 year old, white male and Bernie Sanders supporter. My conversion to Black Lives supporter started the day that Bernie’s speech was cut short by Black Lives activists.  At first I was I was pissed.  I saw their action as an attack against Bernie and a slap in the face of all white civil rights supporters and activists. I felt that I had been criticized personally.

And besides, don’t All Lives Matter?  That is how I equivocated for a year. I had an excuse that allowed me to ignore the Black Lives people and their message.

In truth, Black Lives Matter was holding me to account for my inaction.

It took time to put away my anger and cool off enough to hear their message.  In the following weeks as Black Lives spokespeople were interviewed on news programs and discussions occurred in the media, I came to see their point.

I had become numb to the constant assault against black people.

People don’t change their behavior when they are comfortable. They change when something distresses them.

We whites, including liberals, are too comfortable. We assume that because we supported civil rights and other social movements that somehow that was enough. I realized that there is an epidemic of questionable police violence and that much of it is directed at people of color, in particular black men, women, and children.

Black Lives Matter shook me and woke me up.

Everyone, not just liberals, needs to take time to consider where they stand on Black Lives Matter.  Yes, police aggression has been directed at all races but, black Americans suffer the brunt of the violence.  With the exception of Native Americans, black Americans have suffered institutional violence the longest. We have allowed it to continue to long. It must stop.

Yes, All Lives Matter.

But it is Black Americans that represent the rest of us concerning police violence. In the Civil Rights struggle where black leaders such as Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and activists like the Student Non-violent Coordinating Committee demonstrated how to non-violently assert their rights. The social justice movements of the last 45 years owe a great debt to the Black Americans who stood up for their rights and in so doing, showed the rest of us how to stand up for ours.

Once again, Black Americans are taking on another social justice fight that affects us all. Its time to pay attention to their experiences and messages. They apply to all Americans.

That’s why I no longer equivocate:  Black Lives Matter.

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Ice Safety: what to do if you go through

Ice Safety: what to do if you go through
Minneapolis Fire Department firefighters present an ice safety demonstration to a group of parents and children at the Lyndale Farmstead Park ice rink. Pictured from left to right are FMO Dean Anderson (kneeling), Capt. Dennis Scott, and Firefighters Pete Hallstrom and Shane Thorn. 

In early February, Minneapolis Fire Department firefighters demonstrated ice safety to a group of parents and children at the Lyndale Farmstead Park ice rink.  In near zero temperatures the firefighters showed what to do if someone falls through the ice. Their message: Ice Is Never Safe.

But now that spring is here and temperatures are warmer ice safety is even more important.  If you chose to venture out on to ice here are steps to protect yourself.

Ice Awareness

Be aware of ice conditions and where thin ice might occur. The strength of ice cannot be judged by looking at it. Ice strength and thickness are determined by a number of factors.

The depth and the size of a body of water affect the temperature of the water and ice stability. Deep water remains colder longer and preserves the ice while water in shallower areas warms up faster, weakening and melting the ice.

Water currents also weaken ice. Moving water slows ice formation in the winter and speeds thawing in the spring. Places to avoid are streams or drainage outlets that enter into or out of the lake or pond. Other areas to avoid include channels between lakes and beneath bridges. In addition, some lakes are fed by underwater springs. These springs, which can occur away from the shore, feed warmer water into the lake. This water rises and weakens the ice from below.

Be Prepared

There are four things that you can do to be prepared before going out on the ice.

Clothing and non-slip boots are important. Dress in three layers for warmth. If you do go into the water these layers will hold water close to your body where it is warmed. This warmer layer of water temporarily protects you from hypothermia by slowing the cooling of your body.

Hypothermia occurs when your body cools down to the point that bodily functions slow and stop. This results in physical weakness, muscles cramping, extreme fatigue and eventual unconsciousness which can lead to death either from hypothermia or drowning.

A personal floatation device is a good idea. Whether in a boat or walking on the ice, it is the same body of water with a threat of drowning.

Weather and ice awareness is a must. The upper Midwest is notorious for rapidly changing weather which means changing ice conditions.  Local television stations as well as online sites, such as ones for fishermen, can provide some information about weather and ice. Other sources for information are local resort or bait shop operators. They know the areas that are traditionally dangerous as well as the most recent experiences on the ice. Lastly, check to see if there are any warning signs or notices before you venture out.

Have an emergency plan. Having a plan prepares you for action. Begin by telling someone that you are going out on the ice and your anticipated return. If with friends, discuss the plan and be certain that you are all familiar with ice safety procedures. Carrying a rope, ice picks and a floatation device is a good idea.

20140208-01-014-3_LesPhillipsMFD Firefighter, Pete Hallstrom shows skaters how to crawl out of a hole in the ice.










What To Do If You Go Through

You hear the ice crack and instantly you are in frigid water.

  • Stay calm and remember your plan. You do have a little time to act.
    Your body cools quickly because water carries heat away 25 times faster than air. As you chill your thinking and response times slow. In 32° F water an unprotected person begins to feel stiff and clumsy within two minutes. Next comes the feeling of exhaustion and within 15 minutes unconsciousness. After that, you have approximately 15 to 45 minutes before death. [i]
  • Try to catch yourself by extending your arms.
    Your outstretched arms will also slow your sinking.
  • Kick your feet to stay afloat.
  • Turn towards the direction that you came from.
  • Spread your arms out in front of you on the solid ice.
    This spreads your weight out over the ice.
  • Attempt to get out of the water.
    If you carry ice picks use them to pull yourself out of the water and onto the ice. Steadily kick your feet while getting out. If you can’t get out, place your outstretched arms on the ice and stop struggling. Your arms on the ice will help you stay afloat while minimizing movement conserves body heat.
  • Once on the ice, do not stand up but roll away from the hole.
    Lie flat and spread out your weight. The ice around the hole may not be strong enough to hold you standing.
  • Get off the ice as safely as you can.
  • Warm yourself immediately.
    Keep wearing your wet clothes until you have dry clothes and a warm shelter.
  • Seek medical attention.
    Falling into icy water can cause shock and other serious conditions.

What To Do If It’s Not You

  • STOP. Do not run up to the hole.
    You can’t help if you become another victim.
  • Call 911.
    This is a dangerous situation and professional help is needed.
  • Instruct and calm the person in the water.
    Explain the self-rescue technique as described above. In the excitement of the moment, it may be necessary to shout at the victim to get and hold his attention. Reassure him that you are with him and that help is on the way.
  • Attempt a safe rescue.
    Keeping your distance from the hole, extend something towards the victim, such as a belt, rope, ladder, rescue board, or jumper cables. If the victim starts to pull you in, release your hold and try again. If the victim is too far away, try to throw a rope or floatation device to him. Instruct the victim to either tie the rope around his body or put on the floatation device immediately, before he is too weak and stiff to do so.  When throwing the end of a rope to the victim, aim to throw it past him so that it lies within close reach. This makes it easier for the victim to grab the rope and wrap it around him.
  • If there is a boat available, push it in front of you up to the hole. Get in the boat and pull the victim over the bow. If there is a rope tie it to the boat so that others can pull the boat with you and the victim back to safety.
  • Get off the ice safely, keep the victim warm, seek medical treatment immediately.

Falling through the ice is serious but if you stay calm and know what to do, it need not be fatal.

This article was prompted by the recent death of a man who fell through the ice of a Burnsville pond[2].

[i] Kevin Monahan, Capt. The Chilling Truth About Cold Water. Shipwrite Productions.

[2] Paul Walsh. Authorities ID ‘big man’ who broke through ice on Burnsville pond, died. Star Tribune.  04/02/2014.

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Cancer and a Positive Spirit

Cancer and a Positive Spirit

My neighbor and friend, Pete, with his radiology team at the University of Minnesota. He’s giving a thumbs-up which reflects his positive spirit.

Over the last few weeks I’ve been privileged to accompany my friend Pete, a couple of times, to his radiation treatments.

It brought back memories of when I took Becky to her radiation treatments and the many emotions that I thought I’d packed away. But this was different. I knew what was going on and, most importantly, it wasn’t Becky. While I was concerned for Pete’s welfare, I was an observer.

Every cancer is different and every patient is too. The story that unfolds is unique and yet all too common.

I was walking down the alley after a light snowfall when I met Pete. He was shoveling his driveway. I stopped and we chatted  about the weather, reminiscent of the movie Fargo, and life in general. As I was about to go on my way, Pete quietly told me that he had cancer and that he was about to start radiation and chemo therapies.

I couldn’t believe it. Pete is one of the healthiest and active people I know and, yet, he had the Big C. Pete’s attitude, then and now, is very positive. He understands that the journey he is on has unknowns and that nothing is certain. Perhaps because of those uncertainties, Pete consciously decided that he would face it head-on cheerfully. He told me that being positive can manifest itself as an improved immune response and help the body fight the disease. A positive attitude also helps those that love and care for him.

Soon after talking with Pete I started getting occasional email progress reports that he sent to family and friends. They provided brief insights into his life as the treatments continued.

I offered to accompany Pete to treatment. Remembering Becky’s hard time with her radiation and chemo treatments and how despondent she could become, I anticipated that Pete would at some point begin to feel the effects of his treatments. To my surprise, Pete’s side effects were mild, although I suspect Pete would not agree since he had to give up coffee, wine and spicy food. He was able to drive himself to the hospital usually with his wife Kathi.

When I suggested taking pictures, Pete was immediately for it. So was the staff at UMN. Pete told me that all the staff that he interacted with were very caring. That was my impression too.

Radiation Treatment

In Pete’s case, treatment consisted of External Beam Radiation, radiation that, depending on the type of machine, can be either a stream of highly energetic particles or beams of X or gamma rays. The beam is focused directly at the tumor. All these types of radiation are dangerous to all living cells and that is why treatment requires extreme precision.

To insure that the treatment is on target it is necessary that the machine be aligned precisely and that the tumor does not move. To begin with, small calibration marks, crosses or dots, are tattooed on the body. They are used to align the machine. In the picture above there is a faint line of green light crossing Pete’s head and across his pillow. The reason the light is there is because he has not been positioned in the machine yet.

Next it is necessary to make certain that Pete will not move during his exposure to the beam. Depending on where the tumor is in the body, there are different molded forms that the person lies in. In the picture there is a form under Pete’s legs. Pete is also holding a red rubber ring which he will hold onto with both of his hands when in the machine. This will help stabilize his arms and upper torso.

Pete said of his treatments, “I’ve been getting a 10 minute cat-nap every day …”

Completing Treatment


Pete and his wife Kathi, daughter Gretchen, and son Nick.

There is a ceremony when a patient completes their treatment. They ring the bell that is in the waiting area three times.

About a week ago, Pete rang the bell. Patients and staff applauded and cheered.  Pete told me that the following day he collapsed, “Like you do after studying for an exam, where you’ve worked hard for weeks and your exhausted.”

As always, Pete is optimistic and already thinking of drinking coffee and eating spicy food.


National Cancer Institute, Fact Sheet, Radiation Therapy for Cancer.

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