Remembering Swede

In July of 1968, I returned from Vietnam with an assignment to go to Fortuna Air Force Station, North Dakota. My family and I drove a circuitous route from Denver through Kansas, Nebraska, Iowa, and South Dakota, then up through western North Dakota, arriving in the village of Fortuna on a Thursday afternoon. We got a room at Lee's Motel, and in the morning, I went out to the radar base to sign in and find out about housing. We were in luck. A house in town was coming available the next Wednesday. I took it, sight unseen.

On Saturday, I took some letters up to the post office to mail. The postmaster, a friendly sort of fellow, stuck his hand out through the little window and said, "I hear we are going to be neighbors. I'm Swede Benson."

I didn't know it at the time, but that friendly grin would stick with me for many years to come. He told me about Fortuna, and what living was like in that part of the world. As I got ready to leave, he stopped me and said, "When your movers come, take your kids across the street to my daughter. She'll watch them while you get moved in."

Back at the motel, I told my wife what he'd said and we both agreed that it would be better not to take Shannon and John to a total stranger, but on Wednesday, the moving truck was there before nine o'clock and about 9:30, a tall pretty teenager walked into the yard and said, "Hi. I'm Diane. I'll keep your kids while you get settled." Not only did she keep them all day, she kept them that night as well.

Later that fall, my pay got screwed up and I wasn't going to get a real paycheck for six weeks or so. One Saturday, Swede came across the street and asked if he could talk to me outside. He told me he knew we were having some trouble, so he'd made credit arrangements for us at the gas station and the grocery store. Then he said, "I've got a little money set aside. I can let you have $500 if you need it."

A man I'd known for two months or so was making an offer like that.

We managed to get through our monetary woes without making use of the credit or having to borrow Swede's money, but I never forgot the offer.

My son John was four years old when we met the Bensons. Little, white haired, and cocky, he and Swede really hit it off. John was proud to say his name in full, John Francis McNamara the Second, and he'd introduce himself that way to everyone he'd meet.

When my marriage broke up, Swede asked me to join them in the Fortuna AFS mixed doubles bowling league. I reminded him that I no longer had a wife, he said that Diane would be the fourth. We ended up in first place in the the league.

Swede put my on his curling team and taught me the rudiments of the game. I was doing pretty well until my knee went out on me and I had to quit. As I am writing this, I'm recuperating from surgery on that very same knee, some forty-six years later.

Swede took me golfing once - at Dr Mainprize Park in Saskatchewan. It was he, Don, Red Wilson, and me. It was the only time I've ever played the game.

I left Fortuna in 1970, but in 1972, I returned to North Dakota for a second Peace Garden State tour, this time at the radar station near Max, south of Minot. One summer day, I decided to revisit Fortuna. I drove straight to the Benson home only to find them loading in the car to go on a trip. We chatted for a while, and then they left and I drove out to the base, then back to town to Doug and Bonnie Grote's Roam Inn where I saw some friends.

I never did get back to Fortuna and moved on with my Air Force career, but I carried fond memories of Swede, Stella, Don, Diane, Joel, Rich and Mary and mentioned them often when I'd get to talking about North Dakota.   

One day in the 1990's, I Googled Fortuna, ND and got a hit on the Fortuna Curling Club. I sent them a note and got a response from someone who said his mother thought she remembered my name and that he'd see if anyone else knew me. A short time later, I got an e-mail from Diane saying "Hi, old friend." Later that year she and a friend and their daughters and their friends visited Washington, DC. I lived in suburban Maryland at the time, so I met them for dinner one night. It was Easter and the places I knew in the vicinity of their hotel were all closed, but we finally found a sports bar open. Heck of a place to take teenage girls, but they seemed to have a good time.

In 2005, my wife and I drove from Georgia to Fortuna for an Air Force reunion. At the picnic in the little park, I spotted Stella, so I stopped her. She knew me, but when we went up to Swede, he drew a blank until Stella reminded him about the little white-haired boy who lived across the street so many years before. Swede's eyes lit up and with that grin, said, "John Francis McNamara the Second."

I've never enjoyed a picnic in a park as much as I enjoyed that one. Donald and Mary were there as well as Diane and her husband. Finally, Swede got around to asking me about my golf game. I was embarrassed to tell him that the only time in my life that I'd played had been with him and Red and Donald.

Richard "Swede" Benson passed away yesterday. My eyes got damp when I read the note.  The world lost an awfully good man, but what memories he's left for us who knew him.  That grin and handshake, those quiet offers of help, and the things he'd do for his friends, neighbors, and those of us who would only be in his life a short time, the men and women from the radar base.

Rest in peace, Swede, and please give Stella and Mary a hug from me.