THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF NORMAN RAY NORQUIST
NORMAN NORQUIST wrote his autobiography a decade or so ago; it was published in 2012. It is available in hardback for USD $17.59, at the link at the bottom of this page. This price is the cost of printing the book only, as set by lulu.com. The family makes no profit; we just want you to have this record of our dad's amazing life.
Here are some excerpts from the early parts of his book:
"I ADMIT THAT THIS IS NOT a confessional, for naturally, I wouldn’t want you to see my dark side. If you are looking for that, you can write the biography yourself. There will be plenty of information available if you’re looking for it. Every coin has two sides. (It also has an edge.) So look between the lines and enjoy who you see– or want to see. I’ve tried the best I know to be very open. Actually it’s all laid out pretty clearly, so I hope you enjoy it.
To write an autobiography and be objective requires soul searching, which is good. Perhaps something will arise, that in dwelling upon it, will result in life changes that will cause me to be a better person. I’d like that.
As I do a self-analysis, I see a little boy, dependent yet independent, light hearted on the surface, a little uncertain, hopeful and positive. Maybe too trustful. There were times when I should have made decisions slower and less spontaneously; but as Popeye says, “I am what I am,” and if given the chance, I probably wouldn’t change anything...."
"IT'S FUNNY HOW SOME THINGS are remembered so vividly. My fourth birthday was one of those times. It was 1929– not a good year for people, but somehow my folks managed a present for me. I don’t think they ever forgot. This year it was the most beautiful blue shirt I’d ever seen. Maybe that’s why I like blue so much."
"BECAUSE WE HAD SOME MUSICAL ABILITY, Leroy learned to play the watermelon mandolin, and I the guitar. Mom taught us to harmonize, and we sang at a lot of PTA meetings and Sunday School programs at Hillsview. The church at Hillsview was Swedish, and although Sunday School was in English, church services were held in Swedish. You can believe those were fun for me. Ha!
I never heard my parents speak Swedish– except for an occasional “thanks” and “you’re welcome.” My grandparents, having come over from Sweden, spoke Swedish, yet their English was as good as if it was their native tongue.
Mom wasn’t especially mechanical, and I remember her taking me to church in our Model T Ford. I was too young to remember the technical problems she had getting that poor machine to work, but the whole memory was one of frustration and minor terror. It took her years before she was able to be relaxed when driving.
Dad, on the other hand, was fun to ride with. Later on, when we drove cars that shifted, he taught me how to double-clutch and power- corner. Lots of times those rides were really hilarious and I enjoyed every minute of it.
One year it snowed what seemed– to little me– to be about over my head. Of course my head wasn’t very high. Dad and the neighbors shoveled the roads out, what seemed at the time to be miles, and when they could get their cars out I remember them sitting out in the road carefully putting the transmission into contact without hitting the clutch. It would make the neatest grinding and groaning sound, along with leaving a lot of metal grindings in the transmission case. Oh well, you can always get another car!"
"ORANGE JUICE WITH CASTOR OIL– I don’t know why we had to take it, but maybe it’s all they had. At any rate, it didn’t pay to get sick, and I couldn’t get an orange down for years after; something to do with the aftertaste. It didn’t take long to get well. We would get a dose of sulfur and molasses, or if it was a fever, spirits of nitre. I kind of liked those, though, ‘cause the molasses was sweet and the nitre gave you kind of a buzzy feeling. It’s a wonder any of use lived to make it through puberty. Have you ever had turpentine and lard rubbed on your chest for a cough? Always cover it with a wool sock! –Or mustard plasters on your chest and feet? You can’t walk with a mustard plaster on your feet– it squished out between your toes. So they were always applied after you got to bed. They were supposed to create heat, and they sure did that– even to the point of a blister sometimes...."
"MY RELATIONSHIP WITH MY FOLKS was always good. They were both real sharp and intelligent people, even though neither of them had much formal education. I think they were artistic and refined people, having had to overcome some inhibiting influence of a dysfunctional family background. Dottie and I are aware of this in our background, and we’ve worked hard to make some changes that will benefit our lives as well as the lives of our children and friends. God has been extremely good to us, giving us strength and wisdom to cope with the things that make life anything but dull."
"ELECTRICITY WAS WIRED INTO OUR HOUSE about 1932. I don’t know where my dad learned all about it, but he installed lights and wall plugs so we could have an electric mixer for mom, a radio, and light bulbs in every room plus the barn, and a yard light. That was big time! Before that, we used coal oil lamps (kerosene) and then got a white gas lamp with mantles that gave off a brilliant light. We were always fixing up the house, and went from just plain floors to rugs, wall paper and even a blue davenport...."
"MOM, LIKE HER MOTHER, WAS a vibrant, energetic, affectionate woman who– like all of us– struggled to survive. She had a deep and abiding faith in God, and had accepted Jesus as her savior when she was a young girl. Being married to my dad must have been exciting and romantic, but the fact that he was anti-God must have made life very difficult at times. Dad was a provider, an honest, responsible man. Everyone loved him for his personality and dependability. I think you could say he had integrity coupled with a strong “there isn’t anything I can’t do” philosophy. I can truthfully say my parents weren’t dull, and being with them was a pleasure...."
ON FIGHTING IN WWII:
"MY FIRST MISSION (one of sixteen) was a bombing raid on Plauen, Germany, near Czechoslovakia. It was a tremendously long trip, crossing all the way over Germany, and miles beyond to the oil fields on which the Germans depended so desperately. At that time Germany was in a defensive mode, and was beginning to suffer tremendously at the hands of the U.S. and England. Many of their airplanes had either been destroyed or were inoperable because of the lack of oil. Many of their excellent fighter pilots had been killed, and younger, ill-trained men were having trouble handling the hot planes...."
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