Comments on: Thursday, April 2, 1953: Half-baked Alaska

By: Jeffrey Carlson

Jeffrey Carlson — Sat, 21 Jun 2008 22:22:14 +0000

When I was six years old (1962) I ran away from home on my bicycle because my older brother was hitting me (he was eight). We lived in New Hope (44th & Aquila) and I ran away to my Grandparent’s home (42nd Ave & 28th St) in So Minneapolis. This is a distance of over 25 miles, through the heart of Mpls. I took Olson Memorial Hwy most of the way east to the Mississippi River, then south to the Lakestreet bridge. I remembered how to get to my grandparent’s home having visited there a couple of weeks previously. My grandfather Eric had taken us down to the river and regaled us with stories of my father’s exploits as a child living near the river. They were amazed when I knocked on their door. Still brings a smile to my face.

By: John Merkouris

John Merkouris — Wed, 21 Feb 2007 13:00:23 +0000

Great story! I know the Englund family from the Isanti area and a great, great family they are. My younger brother is married to an Englund girl. I had a similar dream when I was 11. I read a book about Alaska, and it so fired-up my imagination, I ended up there, living in Alaska for 23 years. I used to think that for those who came to Alaska from Minnesota (and there are many Minnesotans there), it was kind of like graduation and moving on up to the big leagues. Where Minnesota is civilized and organized, Alaska is huge and ungainly; still sorting out many priorities for development and enhancing the lives of people there.
Living there really opened my eyes to the high-level society Minnesota has become. I used to rail against the high taxes in the state, but I wonder if any state and boast the same levels of educational opportunities, health care, employment opportunities, cultural events and so on.
But, liver? Cooking liver over an open fire for breakfast? Indeed, these were some hearty boys!

By: Johnny l. Chappell Jr.

Johnny l. Chappell Jr. — Fri, 13 Oct 2006 17:46:06 +0000

WHENI WAS seven or eight we lived by a big mountain in marietta, ga. I would see the cars on the mountain waiting for my grandmother to come and get me. She lived in mpls. in the winter I would get me a stick and wrap me a few clothes on the end of it and head out of the door.I would go around the house where the heavy weeds were and camp out until I got tired and then I would go back home safe from my runaway journey.

By: R. Roycki

R. Roycki — Tue, 18 Apr 2006 14:24:09 +0000

I was about 7 or 8 when I ran away. I packed a little suitcase with some clothes, a stuffed animal, a fried egg sandwich, apple sauce and a pickle. Minnehaha creek was three blocks from my home and that was as far as I traveled. I stayed there for hours imagining my large family worried about me and starting to search for me. when I had enough(maybe 5 hours) I remember returning home hoping to to see relieved faces. As with many large families back then, no one even knew I was gone.

By: Ben Welter

Ben Welter — Sat, 15 Apr 2006 19:56:06 +0000

Perhaps inspired by TV shows such as “Leave It to Beaver,” kids growing up in the 1950s and ’60s had a penchant for running away. I recall stuffing a grocery bag full of clothes and storming out the door around age 5, planning to relocate permanently under the big mailbox at the corner. Quickly and quietly abandoned the idea when I found out the shelter wasn’t as roomy as hoped.

Did you ever hit the road as a kid? Why don’t today’s kids ever seem to run away? Maybe they’re afraid of a night without Xbox and microwave pizza.