Therapeutic Theological Thought

by Penrod

Motto: “All therapy ends badly.” — Sigmund Freud

As the regular reader is aware, our writer has chosen Booth Tarkington's Penrod for his pen name. His column in this issue leads us to comment that our writer has a different attitude toward his big sister than did the Penrod of literary fame. Penrod’s sister Margaret was in alliance with Penrod’ s mother, conspiring to teach Penrod to dance, to do his part in school plays, and the like. — Ed.

When I was in the early grades, Margaret worked at Wool-worth’s, made money, and brought home presents for me sometimes. She was always nice to me. Fine as this was on her part, it was nothing compared to the time she took on Wendy Halvorson’s big sister for me. This event occurred one summer when I was probably 10, no older. Wendy Halvorson lived across the alley. He was a half-year younger than I and a considerable ruffian. In present day parlance, he “acted out” in a way that got him into trouble in school — and even, at that tender age, in a bit of trouble with the law. Most of the time I was on OK terms with him. We would play together once in awhile and argue sometimes, but, to my memory, we had never actually fought before this summer day. I don’t remember what we got into a fight about.

We were playing around in the gravel alley between our houses (he lived on 9th and I lived on 8th Street). It was midafternoon on a warm, clear, summer day. Just as tempers came to a boil and we were about to join in battle (something I was not eager to do, but ready nevertheless), suddenly, Wendy’s big sister appeared. And she was big. I knew at a glance that I didn’t have a chance against her. It was clearly unfair, but that, was not going to help me at the moment.

I figured I was doomed, but, even before I could sort through my options, Margaret appeared from somewhere. I could not believe either her appearance or the action she took. All I could do was be the grateful beneficiary and cheer her on.

Margaret did not question cause or justice. She just stepped in to face Wendy’s sister. That was a match! That fight was fierce. Margaret was up to everything Wendy’s sister could deliver. When it was over, Wendy and his sister withdrew from the alley, and Margaret made sure I was OK. She probably hugged me and I probably hugged her. My appreciation of and admiration for my big sister was unequivocal and unambiguous. In Paul Tillich’s terms, it was a “fragmentary moment of unambiguity.” — Penrod coupled with the knowledge that upwards of three dozen people were often accommodated there for as long as three weeks at a time, makes one realize that the most remarkable person at Skogsbergh’s Point was Erik’s wife Mathilda.

Little by little, the land-poor Skogsbergh sold off the property — breaking his heart — until by 1923 all was gone. I have often thought, given his unforgiving resentment of losing the Covenant school to Chicago in 1894, that the great entrepreneur could have been more innovative. Sure, he tried to work land deals in Camden and St. Louis Park, but he could also have arranged for the school to move to Saga Hill. But. perhaps like those of us who dream far too much of our lakeside retreats, he was just as human.