Another classic G. George Ostrom column. This one George picked out from 1969...
It is a personal opinion of mine that the Flathead Community College is the best thing that has happened around these parts in many moons.
It would take several pages of this paper to enumerate the cultural, aesthetic, economic and moral values we’ve gained by the school’s establishment. I am proud of the small part my wife and I played in acquiring the college and it is out hope the valley will continue to support what we have all started. Support it with money as well as good thoughts and words.
There is ONE man who stands head, shoulders and chest above all others when it comes to credit for our college’s existence. He did the research, spent hundreds of hours, many of his own dollars, and literally drove the rest of us into awareness of how, why and when we should start FVCC. That man is Owen Sowerwine, who is now in the Kalispell hospital.
Let us all give our thanks, our prayers and our good hopes to him. No man gives more for his chosen community with so much modesty as does Owen Sowerwine. All who know him wish Owen a speedy recovery.
Last week’s paper had a superb story on John Tatsey and his fellow Indians over at Heart Butte on the Blackfeet Reservation. Even when things were good there, they could be a lot better. The stoic strength and the extreme tolerance of the Blackfeet to deprivation has caused me to write the following:
Chinook…blow from the western slopes. Warm wind…come now…down the late shadow’s side.
This moon born calves on Little Badger hills, Find no hope in deep rotting snow you could melt.
Chinook…blow from the high setting sun. The winter’s too long…laughing at you.
And the wild ones…even mustangs…are past caring, Where green grass first grows, when you come.
Chinook…drive these grey drifts to Hudson Bay, Dry wind…why wait for summer to do your work?
Spring is your rider…bring us the spring. Our children must find…things lost in autumn.
Chinook…your are truly the finder of promises we know are now buried.
Beneath those crusted graves…where North winds have howled for many months.
Chinook…we wait now…in lengthening days, And those days grow short…that we can wait…for you.