Category Archives: Fascinating_People

Capone’s Mechanic

One day, we took a boat to Larsen Bay to visit with Jerry and Elaine Johnson. I knew that Jerry had some interesting stories about his father, who was born in Norway and had been Al Capone’s personal mechanic.

“My dad was a fantastic mechanic, who could tell what was wrong with an engine just by laying his hands on the fender,” Jerry told me. “He only had three years of schooling, but he was a mathematical genius. He couldn’t do figures on paper, but he could solve just about any mathematical problem in his head.”

Alphonse Gabriel “Al” Capone, a.k.a. Scarface, the notorious Chicago gangster of the 1920s, is probably best remembered for the Valentine’s Day Massacre in which he annihilated members of the O’Bannion gang. “Dad said that he was a good employer. He always paid on time, and he never tried to cheat you.” It was his attention to detail that finally got him arrested. He kept careful records on all his business deals and was convicted for tax evasion.

“Two goons stood guard, 24 hours a day, at the garage. Any time Capone wanted to go somewhere, they called my dad. If a part was needed, the goons could find one within 15 minutes. Capone had good contacts,” said Jerry laughing. “Capone’s cars were tanks. ‘Bulletproof,’ dad said. Whenever Capone came back from a trip, my dad was called in to service the cars. He wasn’t involved in smuggling, prostitution, or murder, of course; he was just the mechanic.”

When Capone went to jail, Jerry’s family moved to Alaska, and his dad got a job as an engineer at the cannery.

“One day he was mugged. The police found him lying on the ground behind the cannery and declared him dead. They called Gravedigger Odell, who also declared him dead, loaded the body in the back of the hearse, and filled out the necessary papers. Inside the hearse, it was warm and dry. Odell jumped in and began to drive to the morgue. Half way there, my dad sat up and asked, ‘Where are we?’ Gravedigger Odell nearly had a heart attack and almost crashed the car. My father survived, however, and lived many more years.”

Excerpt from the book “Kodiak, Alaska – The Island of the Great Bear” which can be ordered from Camera Q.

At the Kodiak Scandinavian Culture and Film Fest I will be premiering a new films about the Scandinavian-Sugpiaqs of Kodiak.  See festival site for more information.

Kodiaks Scandinavian Heritage – Reindeer herders

Lois Stover in Sami dress

People were drawn to Alaska for various reasons. Some arrived almost by accident, others came on a mission.

In 1882, the United States government initiated a program to aid the native people who were starving in southwestern Alaska. Sheldon Jackson, a Presbyterian minister who had established many schools up and down the Alaskan coast, was appointed to lead the project. In Siberia, he had seen herds of domesticated reindeer kept by the Chukchi people and thought that it ought to be possible to raise reindeer in Alaska. With government funding, he purchased 171 reindeer and arranged for a group of Chukchi herdsmen to accompany the animals across the Bering Sea to Alaska and teach the Yupik people how to raise them. It wasn’t easy to teach the Yupiks to herd reindeer, however, and when relations broke down completely between the Russian Chukchi and the Alaskan Yupiks, the project was terminated.

In 1894, they tried again. This time they hired Norwegian Samis, promising them a three-year contract, good wages, and free room and board. A group of 13 Sami reindeer herders left Kautokeino in Norway to come to Alaska and teach the Yupik people how to raise reindeer.

Four years later, a second group of 113 Samis were contracted and 537 reindeer were purchased from Norway. The project was a success and continued for several years. The animals increased in number and were divided into several herds. When their contract was fulfilled, some of the Norwegian Samis returned to Norway or moved elsewhere in the United States, while others married native women and stayed in Alaska.

Lois Stover and her sister, Mary Eyman, are descendants of the Norwegian Samis from Kautokeino. Lois moved to Kodiak from Bethel, Alaska in 1959. When I met her at a Sons of Norway meeting, I asked if I could visit her and hear more about her ancestors. Her house, ensconced in a grove of beautiful spruce trees, was located on the outskirts of town. We sat on the deck, and she and her sister, Mary Eyman, showed me their collection of Sami clothing and handiwork.

Lois and Mary’s grandparents came from Norway with the reindeer herd in 1898. Their grandmother, Ellen Sara, was only 15 years old when she arrived in Alaska and was pressured into an arranged marriage with a considerably older Norwegian Sami man. Ellen cried throughout her wedding day. “It made me so sad to hear about her marriage,” said Lois. “Grandma had three children in her first marriage. Then she divorced her husband, married another Norwegian man, and had four more children.”

“I’ve heard that the Russian Chukchi were rather rough on the reindeer, especially their milking technique,” continued Lois. “They would throw the reindeer on the ground and then suck the milk out, spitting it into a bottle. The Yupik couldn’t accept the way the Chukchi treated their animals. It was easier for the Norwegian Samis to teach their milking techniques – using their hands much the way you would milk a cow or a goat. The Samis from Norway had a much better relationship with the Yupik people than their predecessors from Russia, mostly because they showed respect to both people and animals.

“I think another reason was that the Samis and the Yupik people had similar cultures. They ate similar foods and clothed themselves in a similar fashion. The Samis adapted quickly to the Yupik way of life.”

Lois remembers that her grandparents often spoke Norwegian to each other “When my father started school he refused to speak English, and had to repeat first grade three times,” she said. “My grandmother told him that, if he didn’t learn to speak English, he would be in first grade until he was 30! That didn’t sound very good, so he learned English really fast!”

Tim, Lois and Mary’s father, continued his studies and, in 1937, became the first Sami-Eskimo to graduate from the University of Alaska.

“We were taught to be proud of our Sami-Eskimo heritage and to fight anyone who teased us!” Lois laughed. “But, of course, we didn’t really fight anyone.”

The girls learned both Yupik and Sami traditions, including how to preserve fish and dry reindeer meat. “I still love reindeer jerky. We were raised on reindeer meat and cloudberries. Cloudberries grow all over the tundra around Bethel where we lived.”

It wasn’t easy to raise reindeer in an area where caribou roam. They inspected the herd every morning, looking for the larger caribou bulls, which had to be chased off or shot. If they were not quickly removed, they might take off with several of the reindeer cows and weaken the herd.

“Many of the Yupik didn’t really want the responsibility of taking care of the herd,” explained Lois. “They often abandoned their herds during the fishing season. You can’t do that. The herds must be protected from caribou and wolves. Many lost their herds that way.”

In 1922, a herd of reindeer was transported to Akhiok on Kodiak, but no one took care of them, and they turned wild. There are still reindeer roaming the hills of southern Kodiak. “It would be fun to round up a few reindeer and start a new herd,” said Lois, her eyes glowing with excitement. “Grandfather always said that we were not here for the reindeer, the reindeer were here for us.”

Mary remembered all the good food they made following the slaughters. “Mother filled the intestines with blood, oats and spices to make blood sausages that we boiled and ate either hot or cold. She also made bread from reindeer brains, brain bread. It was hard and brittle, like Rice Crispies.”

Excerpt from the book “Kodiak, Alaska – The Island of the Great Bear” which can be ordered from Camera Q.

At the Kodiak Scandinavian Culture and Film Fest I will be premiering a new films about the Scandinavian-Sugpiaqs of Kodiak.  See festival site for more information.

Burton’s Ranch

Narrow Cape, the beach at Burton’s buffalo ranch, is a place on Kodiak I return to often. This is, without a doubt, the end of the road – as far out into Kodiak’s wilderness that you can come by car. Indeed, before the Kodiak Launch Complex was built in the late 1990s, the road was sometimes impassable. Back then, the 45-mile trip from Kodiak to Narrow Cape could take two to three hours.

In the late 1980s, the only paved roads were in the city. “The Road,” as it is called, was only gravel, and often riddled with deep holes and large rocks that had to be carefully avoided. The trip was long and tedious, and very few people ever bothered to visit Narrow Cape.

To get to Burton’s ranch, you drive east from the city along the winding road that follows the rugged coastline, rounding three inlets, Womens, Middle and Kalsin Bay. With all the twists and turns, the distance is more than doubled, but behind every curve awaits a new awe-inspiring view. The steep mountain slopes are blanketed in plush, green vegetation, dotted with wildflowers in white, blue, red, and yellow.

Just before turning off toward Burton’s ranch, the road passes Pasagshak Bay, a cove that, in the right light, resembles a tropical sea. There are always at least one or two people fishing in the Pasagshak River, which empties into the bay. During the Silver salmon run, the riverbanks are crowded with eager fishermen from Kodiak.

After Pasagshak, the road turns up into the mountains where the buffalo graze. Twenty years ago, when the road was at its worst, it was necessary for someone to walk ahead to guide the driver past the worst of the holes and rocks. Just before reaching the ranch, the road crosses a small creek. Today there is a bridge, but when I first came out here, there were only a few logs thrown across the ravine on which to cross.

Visiting the ranch used to mean a lot of extra wear and tear on the vehicle. Several times I’ve had not one but two flat tires driving from the ranch. Once, when I was approaching Narrow Cape, we heard a loud crash followed by a nasty crunching noise under the car. Jumping out to inspect the damage, I saw that the exhaust system had caught on a huge rock. Carefully, I put the car in reverse and backed up slowly, but the exhaust pipe was torn loose. After that, the car sounded like a Formula 1 race car.

The first time I visited Burton’s ranch, I felt like I’d entered a time warp. Animals wandered freely between the rugged buildings. Horses stood, saddled and ready for use. Until the late 1990s, the horse was the primary mode of transportation on the ranch. Ranch owners Bill and Kathy Burton and their son, Buck, were living the life I’d dreamed of as a boy. The first time I met Bill, it was like reuniting with a long-lost friend. For Bill, no one was a stranger.

Bill Burton came to Kodiak from Florida in 1966, to work at Joe Beaty’s ranch by Narrow Cape, which at that time was a traditional cattle ranch. The following year, Bill and his wife, Kathy, decided to buy the ranch from Joe and stay on Kodiak.

“It was a constant struggle against the bears,” Bill explained. “Raising cattle on Kodiak is hard, they are easy prey. When I bought the ranch, bear hunting was not very regulated, and poaching was fairly common. But there are fewer cattle owners today, and shooting bears to protect livestock is no longer accepted.”

“In 1979, bears killed 127 of our cattle,” he continued. “We had to make a difficult decision – quit or try something else. We decided to stay, and the following spring, we bought 40 head of buffalo.”

Unlike cattle, buffalo retain their natural instincts and are better equipped to defend themselves against bear attacks. A bear that has once approached an angry buffalo will seldom make the same mistake again.

Exchanging cattle for buffalo proved to be a profitable venture. Not only can the animals protect themselves, but the meat is also more valuable, and the bulls are attractive trophy animals for hunters. Today the herd has grown to over 500 head and is the largest buffalo herd in the state.

The ranch is enclosed by a high mountain range that meets the ocean. There is no need for fencing and the buffalo roam freely. The road out to Pasagshak Bay is the only breach in the natural enclosure. When too many buffalo have wandered off, the Burtons gather a posse on horseback to drive the animals back over the Pasagshak River and up through the passage where the road winds along the bay. I’ve participated in a few of those drives. Sitting on horseback, driving a herd of buffalo through one of the most scenic areas on earth has been the fulfillment of all my boyhood dreams.

Excerpt from the book “Kodiak, Alaska – The Island of the Great Bear” purchase it here.

At the Kodiak Scandinavian Culture and Film Fest I will be showing films from my 35+ years on the island. Meet Bill Burton and many other “old timers” in the film Voices of Kodiak. See festival site for more information.

Kodiak’s Scandinavian Heritage – Emil Norton

Emil Norton’s father, Johan Norgård, was born in 1870 to Swedish parents in Vasa, Finland. Their family was poor, so Johan left home when he was 16 and went to sea. He arrived in the USA later the same year, 1886, and tried to join the navy. The recruiter asked him how old he was.

“I’m 18,” replied Johan.

“Good,” said the recruiter, “what year were you born?”

“1870.”

“Then you’re only 16! Go home son.”

But Johan didn’t go home, he signed on to another ship for a couple of years and eventually ended up in Alaska. He was working on one of the mail boats when the captain told him that his last name, Norgård, was too hard to spell. Johan changed his name to John Norton.

In 1893, John came to Woody Island, a small island not far from the city of Kodiak, where he was offered a job as store manager/fur trapper with a salary of $15 a month. He married a Russian-Sugpiaq woman and, since he dealt primarily with native people, learned to speak fluent Alutiiq.

John and his wife had six children. When Emil, the youngest, was one year old, his mother died. The oldest girls helped raise their younger siblings.

Emil described his father as a big, strong man. One day an unusual cargo arrived at Kodiak’s harbor, large crates of gold that weighed 250-300 pounds each. John lifted a crate to his shoulder and carried it to land. Everyone watching was astounded by his strength. “The Scandinavian men came from good, hardy stock,” Emil declared.

Most of the Scandinavians that came to Kodiak were successful. They married native women and had large families, but they rarely spoke of their homeland or taught their children their own language. “The few words we did learn were swear words we picked up by eavesdropping,” says Frieda, shaking her head.

John Norton lived to be 88 years old. Emil remembers how, in his old age, his father talked in his sleep, in a language they couldn’t understand.

Emil began working when he was 14 years old. His first job was stamping fish crates for 15¢ an hour. He worked in the fishing industry for 61 years before he retired.

“Of course, you have to deduct a few years for the war,” interjects Emil. After boot camp he was sent to Italy. “We chased Germans and Italians in Northern Italy. We saw some hard battles and lost a lot of men in our battalion.”

“One day,” he continued, “I turned a corner and came eye to eye with three German soldiers. I lifted my gun and was just about to shoot, when the Germans suddenly threw down their weapons and raised their hands in surrender. I was shaking from fear and adrenalin but was so grateful that I didn’t have to shoot. I was the first in my company to take prisoners, but I didn’t get a medal.”

Excerpt from the book “Kodiak, Alaska – The Island of the Great Bear” which can be ordered from Camera Q.

At the Kodiak Scandinavian Culture and Film Fest I will be premiering a new films about the Scandinavian-Sugpiaqs of Kodiak.  See festival site for more information.

Kodiak’s Scandinavian Heritage – Old Harbor

Old Harbor (1988)

Old Harbor is certainly worthy of its nickname – Little Scandinavia. Most of the village’s 220 inhabitants are descendants of young Swedish and Norwegian men who arrived on Kodiak in the early 1900s. The village is nestled between a narrow beach and the steep slopes of the grassy mountains. Nearby islands protect the harbor from the Pacific storms.

Rolf Christiansen, was born in 1890 in Kristiania (now Oslo) during the time when Sweden and Norway were a union. Arthur Haakanson, was born in 1886 and came from southern Sweden via Langeland in Denmark. Both of them ended up, through remarkable circumstance and after many years at sea, in Old Harbor on Kodiak.

As a boy, Arthur Haakanson dreamed of going to sea, but his father thought that, at 14, he was too young, so he arranged for him to work at the docks instead. It wasn’t long, however, before he was offered a job on a ship heading for Greenland. Returning home a year later, Arthur found that a life at sea suited him better, and he soon signed on to a new ship.

In New York, he met a young Norwegian sailor, Rolf Christiansen. They became good friends but soon went their separate ways. Many years later, their paths crossed again when they ran into each other in a bar in San Francisco. The conversation drifted to Alaska and the possibility of making good money. The two friends separated again, but the thought of Alaska lingered in their minds.

Arthur got a job on the herring boat Hunter, en route to Alaska. On August 30, 1917, with its hold full of cod, the ship hit a rock outside of Chignik on the Alaska Peninsula. The ship sank in just four minutes, but everyone on board escaped in the lifeboats. The rock that sank the ship is still known as Hunter’s Rock.

In Chignik, the last ship going south had already sailed, so the crew boarded a ship headed for Kodiak where they had to spend the winter. At the time, the population was only 300, and the town had very little to offer the shipwrecked survivors. In the spring, a passenger ship arrived with cannery workers, and most of the crew from the Hunter booked passage south. Thirteen decided to stay – Arthur was one of them. He spent the next ten years working at different jobs around the island, until he was offered a position as foreman at a cannery in Three Saints Bay.

One day, he heard that a Norwegian whaling ship was docked at Port Hobron, near Old Harbor. A dance was held every weekend in Old Harbor, and the Norwegian crew was expected to attend. Arthur and several friends hopped in a boat and rowed to Old Harbor, a four-hour trip, to attend the dance and to meet the men from Scandinavia. As Arthur’s boat pulled into Old Harbor, he was surprised to see his old friend, Rolf Christensen, arriving in another boat. “What have you been doing for the last 15 years?” he shouted in greeting. The two friends had a lot of catching up to do.

At the dance in Old Harbor, Rolf and Arthur met young girls from the village. The following spring, a big double wedding was arranged for the two friends and their brides. Both families were blessed with many children, and in time, Rolf’s daughter, Mary, married Arthur’s son, Sven.

The most common name in Old Harbor today is Christensen. These are descendants of Arthur Haakanson’s best friend, Rolf Christensen, who arrived in Old Harbor in 1931. I met with Rolf’s son, Carl Christensen, at his beautiful fishing resort on the edge of the village.

“Dad said that he ran away from home when he was 15,” Carl told me, “and he sailed around the world three times before ending up here on Kodiak.”

Shortly after arriving, Rolf was offered a job as a cook at the Port Hobron Whale Station on Sitkalidak Island, just across the bay from Old Harbor. After meeting Sasha Kelly, a young Sugpiaq woman, he would row across the bay to Old Harbor every weekend to court her. When they married, Rolf was 41 and Sasha was 17. Sasha loved Rolf’s blue eyes and often said that she would like to pluck them out and eat them. Considering that seal eyes are a delicacy among the natives of Kodiak, it may not have been just an idle threat. Happily, Rolf held on to his eyes throughout his life.

Excerpt from the book “Kodiak, Alaska – The Island of the Great Bear” which can be ordered from Camera Q.

At the Kodiak Scandinavian Culture and Film Fest I will be premiering a new films about the Scandinavian-Sugpiaqs of Kodiak.  See festival site for more information.

Sir, Sir!…Don’t be afraid!

Stefan Quinth holding cobra, 1982
It took awhile before I was comfortable holding a cobra in my hands, but I learned a great lesson; fear is our greatest enemy in any situation.

My first visit to Sri Lanka or Ceylon, as it is also called, was in 1980 when I was 23 years old. It was, and is, a fabulous island with amazing wildlife, scenery and history. One day, when I was sitting in my hotel room, I saw two young boys squatting by the side of the road. They didn’t seem to be local boys. They carried cloth bags and a box that they had placed on the road in front of them. Curious, I watched them for a while and discovered that they had snakes crawling out of their pockets and around their feet. Not just your garden-variety snakes, these were cobras, the snake they say kills more people than all other snakes combined!

When I was four years old my father told me, “Son, be careful in the forest and never go near the stone walls because there are snakes there.” That admonition served only to spike my interest in the animals that I was supposed to avoid. Now, when I had a chance to study the king of all snakes, I just had to go out and get a closer look and talk to the boys. They told me, in broken English, who they were and where they came from. I was impressed by the way they handled their animals. As a filmmaker, who had produced and sold a few of my first wildlife documentaries to television, the temptation was just too great. I would have to go home, get my camera and then return, as soon as possible, to Sri Lanka.

One year later I was back again and produced the first documentary about the snake people for Swedish Television. They are actually called Ahikuntake, which, in Sanskrit, means, “people who catch spear bodies,” or rather, “snake catchers.” They are nomads, traveling around the island collecting poisonous snakes from rice paddies, plantations, homes and gardens.

As the rice ripens it attracts rats and mice, and the snakes follow in their wake to feast on rodents. When it is time to harvest there are plenty of poisonous reptiles lurking in the knee-high rice. Before the reapers can step out into the paddy they call on the Ahikuntake to come and gather the snakes. When their bags are full, they’ll walk around to another field and release the snakes. That might sound strange, but if they killed the snakes, the rats and mice would destroy every harvest for years to come. The snakes, especially the cobra, are essential for the economic survival of the rice farmers.

When I returned to Sri Lanka to produce my first film about the Ahikuntake, I followed the children out to the fields to gather poisonous snakes. The children, only 8-10 years old, picked up those dangerous animals as if they were toys. It looked kind of fun and I, who had been interested in snakes since I was a small boy, also wanted to try. Understandably a bit nervous, I tried approaching the serpents from behind, but every time I got close enough to grab the least dangerous end, the snake turned around, hissed and lunged at me. After umpteen attempts that all failed, one of the children tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Sir, sir! Don’t be afraid! DON’T BE AFRAID!” These children who had been playing with snakes since before they could walk, saw nothing dangerous in their task.

You could compare those children in the field with our own children who have learned to walk on the sidewalk along a heavily trafficked street in the city. We’ve also taught them how to safely cross that same street. As long as we follow the rules, we are not particularly concerned about the cars, but one false move, a thoughtless mistake, could be catastrophic. The same applies in the field and since snakes can also sense or smell fear, it is important to remain calm when working with poisonous snakes.

The children in the rice field taught me an important lesson that day. “Sir, don’t be afraid!” Fear is, in itself, the most dangerous thing we carry with us wherever we go. Fear causes us to make foolish decisions, whether it is when we confront a bear in the forest or our boss when we are asking for a raise. It took awhile before I was comfortable holding a cobra in my hands, but I learned a great lesson; fear is our greatest enemy in any situation.

Sri Lanka – My first visit

Two Ahikuntaka boys
Two young boys squatting by the little gravel road. (Photo: Per Wester)

My teacher in elementary school had a sister living on the island of Ceylon in the Indian Ocean, off the southern tip of India. Sometimes her sister sent letters. It was a special treat when our teacher read the letters out loud for the class. While she was reading, the envelope was passed around the class so that we could see the beautiful stamps with exotic animals and flowers that were glued in the corner. From the letters came exciting stories about elephants, jungles, endless beaches and about tea that grew on bushes. For me, Ceylon was a country sprung from the pages of storybooks.

In November-December, 1980, when I was 23 years old, I was offered the opportunity to travel to Ceylon. By that time the country had officially reverted to its original name, Sri Lanka, which means “the shining or glimmering island.” When I arrived on Sri Lanka the first time, the International airport, located just north of the capital, Colombo, was only a small, inconspicuous building surrounded by palm trees that seemed to bow down as the plane came in for a landing. When the doors of the plane opened and I took my first steps down the stairs out into a tropical world it felt like walking into a soft wall of warm, moist air – a totally new experience for me.

All the stories my teacher had read from her sister’s letter came to life, but the sound of the waves, the intense song of the tropical birds and the smell of the flowers and burning grass in the warm, humid air was something that could not be portrayed on paper. Sri Lanka was so much more. Still, the colorful stories springing from those letters telling about a tropical island, far off in the great big world, had left an indelible impression on me as a child.

My first encounter with the people and sights of Sri Lanka had been so intense. Every day was full of new experiences. I had walked on warm, empty beaches, seen elephants and met people who welcomed me as a friend. It was impossible not to fall in love with this tropical paradise. There was only one thing missing on my list of things to experience, and that was to see a cobra. But one morning, just before Christmas, 1980, looking out of the window of my bungalow, I saw two young boys squatting by the little gravel road. At first I paid them little heed, but when I discovered that the boy’s cloth bags were full of snakes I was intrigued. I went right out to talk to the boys and was able to become acquainted with their extraordinary pets. Finally, I was able to hold a real-live cobra! Little did I know, meeting those young boys would lead to a deep, life-long friendship with an exciting culture.

That first visit to Sri Lanka was followed by many more and over the years my teacher’s sister, Inga-Lisa Fairweather, who has lived on Sri Lanka for many decades, became a very close friend. I have returned to the island almost once a year since 1980. It’s fascinating how the stories we’ve heard as a child can have a lasting influence on our lives. I never dreamt that Sri Lanka, my childhood paradise, would one day be like a second home to me. Throughout the years I have made some extended visits and produced many films about the people, nature and animals on the island.

Sri Lanka – A Paradise to Return To

LaVonne and a Blue Whale
Swimming with a Blue Whale – We were only yards away!

There are some countries in the world that have that little extra something, that appeal that draws you back like a super magnet. Sri Lanka is one of the countries I find difficult to be away from for very long. They have everything – jungles, wild animals, history, fascinating people, long beaches and exciting underwater scenery. It’s never hard for me, as a filmmaker, to find a story on this paradise island.

My latest trip, in March-April, was my 30th visit to Sri Lanka. I have often been there over extended periods, maybe 2-4 months at a time, working on various film projects. My first visit to this paradise island was in 1980. Sri Lanka was, at that time, a somewhat primitive country with rough, narrow roads and people doing hard labor with simple tools. A country not yet industrialized but still maintaining the unique culture of a fading colonial era.

Now, in 2017, Sri Lanka is a modern country with well-developed roads and transportation. People live much like we do in Europe, for better or for worse. For me, one of the more disturbing “modernizations” is the ever-present television that can now be found even in the simplest homes in rural Sri Lanka. People have succumbed to the same social paralysis that affected us in the 1960’s, staring at a moving picture on the screen rather than visiting and talking with each other. Even if they don’t have time to sit down and watch, the television is left on as some sort of artificial companion or status symbol. Of course, television, correctly used, can be a great source of entertainment and information.

This spring I and my wife and colleague, LaVonne, were in Sri Lanka to film the final scenes for our new film, a story about the Ahikuntaka people, and to gather more material for our new book about Sri Lanka. First we visited Kudagama, a small village about 30 minutes drive south of Anuradhapura. When I came to Kudagama the first time to film in 1982, the village was little more than a cluster of huts made from mud, sticks and leaves. Most alarming, however, was the obvious alcohol problems in the village. Virtually 100% of the people from the age of 10 years old were alcoholics, drinking large quantities of the cheapest alcohol called Kasippu. Terrible violence and riots broke out daily. I think it could best be described as “Hell on Earth.” In our coming book and the film “Ahikuntaka – The Children of Paradise” I’ll describe more about working in the village at that time.

Since that first visit in 1982, I have followed the Ahikuntaka people throughout the years and seen the village develop and change. This spring we spent several days in the village, interviewing the elders and visiting with friends. No longer a hell on earth, it is now closer to paradise. What brought this change? I’ll tell you more about that later.

After our visit in Kudagama we traveled to Sri Lanka’s east coast to film and photograph the marine national park, Pigeon Island. The national park is a popular destination and the coral reefs surrounding the island have been damaged and destroyed by the many tourists walking in the bay, breaking off the delicate corals. Although Pigeon Island is worth a visit, the real excitement is to be found just outside the national park in the deeper water where the Sperm whales and Blue whales feed. We dove at several beautiful sites that week, but one day we were snorkeling in deep water when a Blue whale swam straight towards me. (The Blue whale is the largest creature to ever live on earth.) His enormous body was just a few yards in front of me when he slowly dove into the bottomless depths. The intensely blue water, laced with rays of sunlight, engulfed the whale as it was slowly sunk into the depths. It was magical. Swimming with that gentle giant in his own environment is an experience I’ll never forget.

Coming this fall, 2017, the film “Ahikuntaka – The Children of Paradise” and a book about my favorite places on the paradise island, Sri Lanka.

Premiere in Cambridge MN for the film “The Tom Coleman Story”

Premiere "The Tom Coleman Story"
Full house at the premiere of “The Tom Coleman Story” in Cambridge, MN. (Photo: Shawn Coleman)

The premiere of our film, “The Tom Coleman Story” was held in Cambridge, MN, on April 22, 2017. The Richard G. Hardy Performing Arts Center has 710 seats and every chair was filled. We even had to turn away a few people, unfortunately. During the first hour of the event I showed pictures and film clips from various projects, interspersed with music from the American Swedish Institute’s Spelmanslag and the musician, Frezgi Hiskias, and his choir from Ethiopia. Tom and his children, Judy and Bill, were also on the stage and spoke about their time in Ethiopia. The show was a tribute to Tom Coleman who also turned 95 years old that weekend. The premiere event was a great success; I don’t think that I have ever experienced such joy and appreciation at a film premiere before.

I first med Tom Coleman in the small town of Mora, one hour north of Minneapolis, MN. I think it was in 2007. Our friend, Gordon Hallstrom, had asked several Swedish-Americans to meet at the home of Elwood Ostrom to share their stories about their Scandinavian heritage. That was the first time I heard Tom Coleman tell a story told in the Orsa dialect, which is quite different from proper Swedish. We became good friends and over the years I filmed Tom as he told me many stories about his background and his Swedish heritage from Orsa in Dalarna, Sweden. I used those stories in the series, “Pretty Much 100% Scandinavian.”

Whenever I met Tom he would ask if I didn’t want to film his stories from his time working as a surgeon in Ethiopia for the film series I was making about Scandinavian emigrants to the USA. He even showed me pictures of horrible injuries and diseases he had treated in Africa. I answered each time that I didn’t think those stories would fit in the film. When I finished the series in 2013, however, I felt like I needed to learn more about Tom Coleman and his stories from Africa.

I was working on a film about the oldest man to ever ski the Swedish Mora race (Vasaloppet), Allan from Flaskhall. We brought Allan to the USA to visit his relatives in Seattle, stopping over in Minnesota on our way home to Sweden. I also brought Allan to meet Tom in Cambridge. Allan, who was born in 1918, became very good friends with Tom who is only four years younger. Allan was fascinated with Tom’s ability to speak perfect Swedish even though he was not born in Sweden. They were like two teenagers laughing at each other’s jokes and comparing scars from various injuries incurred during life. Allan won, of course, since he lost his left arm in a battle with a threshing machine. It was during that visit that I decided that Tom’s story needed to be documented on film.

In the three years that followed I made several visits to Minnesota and to Cambridge. I learned to know Tom’s wife, Elaine, and their children, Judy and Bill, who also have amazing stories from growing up in Ethiopia. At that time both Judy and Bill were living and working in California but flew to Minnesota to be interviewed. Judy has recently retired and moved to Cambridge to live with and help her parents. I admire the courage of the Coleman family to open up and share their lives for me and my film camera. Even if they had seen several of my films, I was still a relative stranger.

Ten years after I first met Tom Coleman we premiered “The Tom Coleman Story,” a tribute to a great man. I realized as we prepared for the premiere that Tom and his wife, Elaine, are greatly loved. People from all over the USA, Sweden and Ethiopia wanted to be a part of this tribute or send their greetings. It was a premiere with much laughter and tears of joy.

Here are a few of the comments we’ve received after the film:

“On a scale of 1 to 10, it was a 15 or 20.”

 What a blessing it was to be at the “Tom Coleman Story” on Saturday.  The music, testimonials, discussions and film were all superb.  It was truly a day we will never forget…”

 The film flows beautifully.  It is an incredible film.

 Many thanks to Tom, Elaine, Judy and Bill for sharing your lives and your amazing stories with us. You will always be in our thoughts.

The Path to Ginde Beret

3 men in Ginde Beret
Three men welcomed us on the path to Ginde Beret.

I wanted to see the places in Africa that Dr. Tom Coleman spoke about so often, and in the spring of 2016 I booked a trip to Ethiopia. In Addis Ababa I met my translator and chauffer. We had a lot of places to see so we left the city early the next morning. Leaving Addis Ababa, we drove west for about an hour and then turned north, up through the mountains and a beautiful forest. The air was crisp and sweet and the forest was brimming with wildlife. At first the gravel road was wide and even, but it gradually became worse. It was about 120 km across the mountain but, with big rocks and large holes in the road, it took us several hours before we came to the small village of Kachise.

Our goal was to get to Ginde Beret, where Dr. Coleman had worked most of his time in Ethiopia. From Kachise the best route was to walk down a steep footpath to the valley below. There was, my chauffer told me, a road, but it went way out of the way and wasn’t at all in as “good” condition as the road we had just come by, so the decision was easy. I wondered if anyone in the village remembered Dr. Tom Coleman and his family who had lived there during the 1960’s and 70’s.

We arrived in Kachise before dark and checked into the hotel. Well, they called it a hotel; it was really not more than a shed. The toilet was a hole in the ground and there was no running water. The room we were givien was small and dirty and the mattress was lumpy and hard. I pulled out my travel sheets and crawled into bed. We needed to get an early start in the morning.

We were up at sunrise, ate a quick breakfast, a couple of eggs and tea, before beginning our trek through back allies and out to the edge of the cliff where the serpentine path wriggled down the ravine. We stood for a moment on the edge and looked down at the little village of Ginde Beret far below. A great surprise was waiting for us down there. No one has yet forgotten the miracle doctor, Tom Coleman, who saved the lives of thousands of suffering people.

We were four people in our group when we began walking down the trail, myself, my friend, Stefan Jansson from Sweden, our translator and a guide. But within minutes we were joined by more and more people who offered to carry our equipment and camera bags. I don’t know where they all came from; they seemed to appear out of nowhere. Our little troop was transformed into a caravan with people all eager to help. The path was steep with large rocks strewn here and there. Some portions had been repaired with large stone steps that made it easier to step safely. Tall trees lined the path giving us shelter from the sun. Baboons and other wildlife wandered nearby, watching us curiously.

Coming down into the valley we met people on their way up the path to Kachise. Many people from Ginde Beret climb the steep path daily to go to school, work or shopping. Suddenly there were three men standing on the path in front of us. As we came nearer I noticed that they were missing fingers and their faces had been badly marred by leprosy. Without hesitating they reached out, one after the other, to shake our hands in welcome. Their fingerless hands felt soft in mine, but it was a peculiar sensation. It was the first real encounter with a leper.

When asked if they had ever heard of Dr. Tom Coleman, they all began talking at once. Dr. Coleman! It had been 50 years since they last met him, but Dr. Coleman had saved their lives. I realized that many people in Ginde Beret indeed remembered the Colemans. They asked, “Is he coming back soon? Are you one of his children?” I explained that I was a good friend of Dr. Coleman and that I wanted to film in the village and show it to Dr. Coleman. We spent a whole day in the village and they showed us all the places where the Coleman family had lived and worked, and where the children, Judy and Bill, had played. A visit from a friend of the Coleman’s was cause for a celebration. I felt humbled by the reception we received in Ginde Beret and it gave me a greater understanding of the impact Dr. Tom and Elaine Coleman had made in Africa between 1956 and 2004. The name Coleman is spoken with great respect in Ginde Beret. It represents people who sacrificed their own comfort and prosperity to save the lives of thousands of suffering people.

Don’t miss the premiere of the film and the chance to meet the Coleman family. April 22 in Cambridge, MN. Tickets available online or at the door. More information at cameraQ.com