The photo at the left shows a basketball team of five young Tenney boys—four of whom would experience an event a few years later that would change their lives forever. These guys are, from left to right, Orval Wittman, Ralph Larson, Andrew Larson, Paul Roser, and one of the Kapitan boys (Warren, I think?).
My uncles, Andrew and Ralph Larson, like their father, A.N. Larson (who ran the Larson Store in Tenney), were avid hunters and fishermen from a young age, as were many young men in Tenney, and eagerly looked forward to the fall pheasant hunting season each year. In October of 1931, pheasant hunting was on the minds of the first four young men you see lined up in this photo—Orval, Ralph, Andrew, and Paul. The boys were all 16 or 17 years old. One can imagine the male adolescent chatter flying throughout the vehicle as this foursome was embarking on a late afternoon/evening of hunting with their buddies. Ralph and Andrew were in the front seat, with Ralph, age 16, driving. Orval and Paul were in the backseat; Orval behind Ralph, and Paul behind Andrew.
At 3:00 in the afternoon, in their travel toward a hunting destination just south of Wheaton, the boys spotted some pheasants by the side of the road. Ralph pulled over and, in the excitement and commotion of the moment as they were preparing to hop out of the car, Paul’s loaded gun accidentally discharged from the back seat, firing through the passenger-side car seat and hitting Andrew in the back, just above the hip.
17-year-old Andrew died that night at 11:00.
During the time between the accident and his death, Andrew was awake and was talking about his disappointment that, due to this injury, he would be unable to play basketball that winter for the North Dakota State School of Science (Wahpeton) basketball team. You can see from the above photo that Andrew was long and lean and even at a young age had a basketball in his hand. He was apparently a gifted athlete and was a starter on his Elbow Lake High School basketball team.
Andrew’s death at age 17 is tragic, and the effect on his family and community magnified by the death of his young mother only two years prior. My grandfather A.N., Andrew’s father, had to feel like a beaten man. As I mention in my book, A.N. was a compassionate man and a man of principle. Shortly after Andrew’s death, A.N. went to Paul Roser, the young man whose gun had accidentally discharged, put his arm around Paul’s shoulder, and assured him that this was an accident, that he was forgiven, and there was no malice toward him. A.N. and Paul remained friends for the remainder of their lives, and Paul Roser served as a pall bearer at Grandpa A.N.’s funeral 36 years later.
I am struck by the innocence of this photo—five young boys just being small town boys, yet full of promise and hope, as are all young children. Andrew’s face reflects a confident but gentle boy who could probably have had the world by the tail had he been given the opportunity. His striking resemblance to my mother [his half-sister] is compelling to me. Who could anticipate, in looking at this photo, the events in Andrew's life that would take away the innocence and promise of his young life? In a few short years, Andrew at age 15 would experience the extended illness and loss of his mother, and then lose his own life a mere two years later.
I am tempted to focus on what could have been and an unfinished life when I look into Andrew’s face. Instead, I wrestle myself into focusing on a 17-year life full of friends and school and family and hunting and the simple joys of living in the only town he ever really knew—the little town of Tenney, Minnesota.
My uncles, Andrew and Ralph Larson, like their father, A.N. Larson (who ran the Larson Store in Tenney), were avid hunters and fishermen from a young age, as were many young men in Tenney, and eagerly looked forward to the fall pheasant hunting season each year. In October of 1931, pheasant hunting was on the minds of the first four young men you see lined up in this photo—Orval, Ralph, Andrew, and Paul. The boys were all 16 or 17 years old. One can imagine the male adolescent chatter flying throughout the vehicle as this foursome was embarking on a late afternoon/evening of hunting with their buddies. Ralph and Andrew were in the front seat, with Ralph, age 16, driving. Orval and Paul were in the backseat; Orval behind Ralph, and Paul behind Andrew.
At 3:00 in the afternoon, in their travel toward a hunting destination just south of Wheaton, the boys spotted some pheasants by the side of the road. Ralph pulled over and, in the excitement and commotion of the moment as they were preparing to hop out of the car, Paul’s loaded gun accidentally discharged from the back seat, firing through the passenger-side car seat and hitting Andrew in the back, just above the hip.
17-year-old Andrew died that night at 11:00.
During the time between the accident and his death, Andrew was awake and was talking about his disappointment that, due to this injury, he would be unable to play basketball that winter for the North Dakota State School of Science (Wahpeton) basketball team. You can see from the above photo that Andrew was long and lean and even at a young age had a basketball in his hand. He was apparently a gifted athlete and was a starter on his Elbow Lake High School basketball team.
Andrew’s death at age 17 is tragic, and the effect on his family and community magnified by the death of his young mother only two years prior. My grandfather A.N., Andrew’s father, had to feel like a beaten man. As I mention in my book, A.N. was a compassionate man and a man of principle. Shortly after Andrew’s death, A.N. went to Paul Roser, the young man whose gun had accidentally discharged, put his arm around Paul’s shoulder, and assured him that this was an accident, that he was forgiven, and there was no malice toward him. A.N. and Paul remained friends for the remainder of their lives, and Paul Roser served as a pall bearer at Grandpa A.N.’s funeral 36 years later.
I am struck by the innocence of this photo—five young boys just being small town boys, yet full of promise and hope, as are all young children. Andrew’s face reflects a confident but gentle boy who could probably have had the world by the tail had he been given the opportunity. His striking resemblance to my mother [his half-sister] is compelling to me. Who could anticipate, in looking at this photo, the events in Andrew's life that would take away the innocence and promise of his young life? In a few short years, Andrew at age 15 would experience the extended illness and loss of his mother, and then lose his own life a mere two years later.
I am tempted to focus on what could have been and an unfinished life when I look into Andrew’s face. Instead, I wrestle myself into focusing on a 17-year life full of friends and school and family and hunting and the simple joys of living in the only town he ever really knew—the little town of Tenney, Minnesota.
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