I recently discovered a story, written by Lars Marum, my Norwegian immigrant, paternal grandfather, tucked away among other pieces of memorabilia I’ve kept in a Rubbermaid container. He was most likely eleven or twelve at the time, a boy, for whom English was a second language, living in Brooklyn, New York, with his three brothers, mother and seaman father.
Beyond his early schooling in Norway he was self-taught. His love for writing, and doing so with a fountain pen, is evident in the [approximately] 130-year-old manuscript I found among his many handwritten letters. A Run on Skis: A Winter Story from Norway isn’t a great story, but an age appropriate damn good one. It has [most likely] never been published or read, and only enjoyed by those for whom he wrote it and who loved him—a group in which I now include myself.
When he was twenty, he wrote to B.P. Raymond, then the president of Wesleyan University in Middletown, Connecticut, asking what he needed to do to become an attorney. In his response, a personal letter I also discovered, Dr. Raymond states “…there is no doubt of the necessity of collegiate training…attend some high school in Brooklyn or some conference academy…and then get into college.” He closes his letter to my grandfather, inviting him to meet some time in Brooklyn and discuss his situation.
Despite this contact with Dr. Raymond, my grandfather’s formal schooling ended after the elementary school years. Nevertheless, he was a prodigious letter writer. I cannot replicate his beautiful script, and I’ve typed his story just as he wrote it. I can see his unique grip on the fountain pen and his young hand setting down the words as this boy’s coming of age story unfolds in his beloved Norway.
“A Run on Skis: A Winter Story from Norway” by L. H. Marum
“Hello! Louis!,” said Tom, “ain’t you coming up to see us Monday and have some fun. Father has made me a new pair of skis, and I intend trying them then if this snow will only stay”?
“Well,” answered Louis, “I have no other place to go to so I will come up and take my skis with me so that we can have some fun. I will be up early and take Martin along for he received a pair of skis yesterday from his cousin, then we will look for a good place to run.”
This conversation took place between two schoolboys on a snowy day in midwinter, and as it had been snowing pretty heavily there was a good chance of their having some sport on the following Monday to which you will all agree, they had when you have read this story through.
Monday came, Louis and Martin were up early so as to get over to Tom in good time: Louis fixed the skis putting new straps and clamps on to save the foot from sliding to much forward.
The weather was first class, a clear blue sky and not too cold and all looked favorable to the boys. After they had eaten their breakfast they started out and were soon at Tom’s place where they saw that he had also made preparations for the day. After a little while Tom came out all ready for a ducking in the snow which he and the others would soon have enough of. He had his brother with him who carried a shovel, for what use you will see later, as he had no skis, and then off they were.
Not far from where Tom lived there was a hill that was very large and at some places very steep; here our friends stopped, and each of them started from the top of it at a place where it was not too steep, and took a run down towards a lake that was at the foot of the hill, which was now frozen and covered with a couple of feet of snow on top. After a few trips down the hill the boys decided to make a jump in the middle of the track they had made with their skis; this was what they had taken the shovel along for, and they at once set right to making a jump two feet high to start with and they made it hard and solid so that it wouldn’t break when they went over it.
When it was done, Louis, who was the oldest of the boys tried it to see if it was hard enough.
“Look out,” shouted Louis, coming down from the top of the hill at a great pace to the others who were standing watching him.
“Steady, Louis don’t fall now,” shouted the other boys in chorus, but Louis didn’t listen to this as he had enough to do looking out for the jump which wasn’t far away. In a minute he was right on the top of it and over he went landing safely six feet below without falling, now the other boys tried their skill in keeping on their legs over the jump. Tom trying first was as lucky as Louis, but when Martin came he had the honor of getting the first ducking over that jump, after him came Tom’s brother on Tom’s skis who was just as bad as Martin getting a good ducking in the snow making him look like a snow man.
This they kept up for a while Martin and Tom’s brother becoming just as expert as Louis and Tom.
“Let me make a higher one,” said Louis, “this ain’t anything, give me the shovel,” getting it he started to make it both higher and broader than it was. While he did this the others enjoyed themselves going from the top of the hill and out on the ice. It didn’t take Louis long to get a good jump made and when the other boys came to see if he had made a jump five feet high, and they were not long in saying that they wouldn’t be able to keep on their feet over it.
“Keep out of the way,” said Louis, “I am going to try anyhow, I don’t care for a tumble in the snow.” He went to the top and after strapping his feet to the skis he started down the hill. The boys were standing near the jump waiting for, and shouting encouraging comments to him. In a few seconds he was over it taking a swim in the snow. “Don’t do it so hard,” he said to the others while they were brushing the snow off him.
“Well don’t give it up Louis,” they said, “try again.”
“Give up, hey I don’t think,” he answered, after they had brushed the snow off him Tom took his turn, but he was no better off than Louis going on his head in a large bank of snow.
You might now think that they had now had enough, but not so, they kept right on and after a while they were all able to keep on their legs over this jump too. They didn’t think it was so late as it was until they could see that it was getting dark and they wished they could have had a little more time, but now they had to go home.
They first stopped at Tom’s home to get the snow better brushed off after which Louis and Martin said “Goodnight” to their friends and went to their own home. And I don’t think there were any happier boys in that city that night than they were.
Three of my grandparents wrote prose and poetry, as did my severely disabled uncle Hollis, my mother’s brother who drowned at twenty-six when I was three years old. Writing is in my roots, and regardless of whether the poems and prose of my forbears and mine are doggerel or valued verse, “only that which a mother could love” or publishable writings I’m privileged to feel their love for the written word, and grateful for the opportunity to write.
by 
Seeing this story by Grandpa Lars gives me a smile and insight into that prolific letter writer with accent-less English. He must have written this in the 1890s and soon after coming to live in Brooklyn, where he would remain for the rest of his life. Is this a reflection of a pre-teen’s athletic aspirations or looking up with admiration to his older brothers? What simple joy is expressed. Thanks for discovering this treasure.
Larry,
He may have been the least athletic Marum, but this story suggests he knew first-hand about boys-will-be-boys on skis. Thanks for reading and commenting.
Roger
What a wonderfully conveyed story of youthful friendship and fun. Unless young Lars carefully discarded any evidence of a first or second draft, let’s remember that he wasn’t using a Word Processor to write this, he was using a fountain pen and probably no white out. Who of us could write such a lovely story without those editing tools? I have been using them extensively just writing this!
While a bit of a stretch to go from Lars of Norway to Paul of Tarsus, I have always wondered whether Paul’s letter to the Romans was written straight out with the 1st Century equivalent of a fountain pen, no prior drafts or rewrites. If so, I marvel at the minds of both Lars and Paul.
Ted,
Thanks for reading and commenting. Yes, Word Processors make this writing gig easy, but I wonder if I don’t become a bit lazy w/re word choice, grammar, and usage as I depend on the “other” to remind, delete, and correct me–all of which our forbears had to do from inside out. I appreciated your thoughts on C.S. Lewis and Charles Dickinson’s love for pen dipping as they wrote. I can only imagine writing with a quill and blotter, although I do remember Lars blowing on wet sentences and occasionally carefully blotting freshly written words–all of which I believe he loved.
Roger
I’m not sure if I’ve ever had a ‘good ducking’ but it sounds like fun. Nice memory, Roger.
John,
Thank you for commenting. Perhaps you have, but in the midst of great fun and exhilaration it didn’t seem as such. My Norwegian isn’t what it once was, but I’m guessing this is a direct translation from the Norsk. If the ducking had happened to me I would have called it a “header.”–still fun!
Roger
No wonder skiing came so naturally to you – you inherited the gene. That is a Tom Sawyer like story and so fun to read. How great to have his written words as a legacy.
Giny,
Thanks for reading this piece and commenting. Lars was an avid reader, but I’m betting that behind that poured-over newspaper was an adventurous Tom Sawyer!
Roger
How fortunate you are to have the actual beautifully hand-written story of your grandfather, to connect you to your family history. Indeed it is enlightening and enriching to know from whence you have come. My experience of that came from
visiting Belorus and meeting many of my maternal grandparents’ family members who remained there when both of them immigrated here in the early 1900s. I remember feeling a deep connection when sharing meals and stories in the rustic
country home where my grandmother had been born, and from where she bravely set out on the adventure of her lifetime to make a new home and life in this country half way around the world. Thank you for sharing your grandfather’s treasured story to trigger my own memories.
Colette,
And thank you for sharing your first hand experience in Belarus–wonderful that you could be so close and form memories that way. Children love to hear their elder’s stories, I did, and now that I’m an “elder” I love hearing them again. Thanks for reading, commenting, and sharing your story.
Roger
Hi Roger, Recently I had my DNA tested and discovered I am 33% Scandinavian. I had no idea! As a result, I have been relating to everything Scandinavian that comes my way so this story by young Lars was very welcome. A delightful story it was. For me it was a microcosm of a life well lived in a day well spent. All the qualities were there: Hope, planning, challenge, struggle, persistence, optimism, companionship, support and satisfaction. Qualities that contribute to a successful life are all there in that one day. Even not wanting the day(the life) to be over so soon.
Besides writers of a legacy there needs to be keepers of the legacy be it in Rubbermaid containers or shoeboxes. As always, what you have written has given me much to think about. It is very enriching. Thank you, Dona
Dona,
Thank you for contributing to this online dialogue, and reading my words. And I’m glad you enjoyed Lars’ story. Perhaps your ancestors were the Scandinavians who stayed home, fished and tilled the soil, tended the cows and goats, wrote poems and sang songs, while their relatives sailed the seas and pillaged at will. I’m uncertain about my forbears admirable or questionable vocations, but as you suggest “there needs to be keepers of the legacy,” and so I’ll keep digging without attachment to the outcome.
Roger
Roger,
Since I have no family legacy written or spoken of a Scandinavian ancestor arriving with or without a trunk, I am suspecting my relatives are the very ones who “sailed the seas and pillaged at will.” The exploration is very interesting and like you, I am not attached to the outcome. Dona
Dona,
The exact quote eludes me, but the idea of being committed to the journey without attachment to the “fruit of the action” is a powerful way to live–difficult and challenging for sure.
Roger
130 years old and still preserved? How amazing is that? It must be wonderful to read what your grandfather wrote all those years ago and what beautiful penmanship he had. I appreciate how much you value articles, letters, furniture, ect from your folks who came from the old country. My mother was illiterate, couldn’t drive. My dad got his high school diploma in his 40s in the USA. Both parents were from the same little village in the Ukraine. So unlike you, I did not come from writers in fact my mom never even read a book or a newspaper. She would have me write her letters. But I share your passion of writing just the same and especially love to write letters. Feeling the pen in my hand making contact with the paper is one of my life’s great pleasures.
Jo Anne,
Thanks for reading and responding with your family’s story. My grandfather’s father was a seaman who may never have written a word, learned to drive, and felt most at home while at sea. Our roots, all of ours, have similarities and distinct differences. A small village in the Ukraine and one in Norway yield different, separate but equal folks–some of which can be sorted out, but some of which remains a wonderful mystery. And look at you “feeling the pen in hand making contact with paper is one of my life’s great pleasures.”
Roger