The average person who watches the weather on the evening news is paying attention to see if they have to wake up a half hour early to warm up their car and shovel the driveway.

Some have another goal in their head as they watch the blue and green radar blob surge through the Midwest. They watch the weather for the prize of finding the perfect wave to surf on our humble lake front shores.

This intense winter storm weather makes excellent waves for Midwest surfers. Although these waves are nothing like the swells that slosh onto the shores of Hawaii or California, Duluth surfers are proud of the niche they have created in surfing our fresh water.

What started as a strange novelty for people on the shores watching in awe is now becoming a well known sport among the hardcore outdoorsmen and water sports junkies in the area.

When the conditions are right, you can find surfers in three main areas of Duluth: Park Point, the mouth of the Lester River, and Stoney Point, which holds the title for the best waves in Duluth from the locals. Unfortunately this year it is hard to find surfers in these locations due to the lack of useful weather patterns. Many surfing are calling this season one of the worst in recent memory.

Without the wind blowing in the right direction at the right speed there cannot be surfing on the lake. Because unlike ocean surfing where a constant current is involved, freshwater surfing requires ideal weather conditions and wind patterns.

According to Randy Carlson, the coordinator of the UMD Surf Club and ten-year Duluth surf veteran, says the good surfing weather occurs when “We’ve had a lot of high pressure just parked above us cold northwest wind.�

Carlson teaches UMD students how to kite board, paddleboard, and surf. With the stubborn weather hitting the Midwest, Carlson is finding it difficult to find time and conditions suitable to help teach students.

Carlson said, “Without the waves we can’t use the surfboards.�

Wayne Gatlin a UMD junior has been surfing with Carlson and the UMD Surf Club for three years. Wayne bought equipment this year in hopes of riding waves on his own time without the surf club. He bought his board from a local whose wife was making him sell it on Craig’s List. Gatlin also purchased a wetsuit in hopes of tearing waves.

“I haven’t been out for a month and a half,� said Gatlin. “I haven’t had many seasons, but this is the ones where I have been out the least so far.�

The weather is not just cutting into teaching and fun time. For some, the weather is hurting some who need the weather for sales.

John Abrahms is the owner of Superior Surf Systems, which is a specialty store related to water sports. Abrahms stocks kayaks, canoes, paddles, life jackets, wetsuits and – for a little over a year now – surfboards and surf accessories.

“It’s terrible this fall,� said Abrahms. “If there aren’t waves, no one is standing on the shores looking to buy surfboards.�

“This is supposed to be the peak of the surf season sales,� he added.

With a crumby season underway surfers aren’t hopeless. They still have Minnesota’s unpredictable weather and several more months of winter months ahead, which could yield some serious surfing conditions for locals.

“Who knows maybe will have a killer December or January,� said Wayne Gatlin.

Brian Hadfield is spending his Friday night a little differently than he normally does. Instead of spending time with his usual crowd – his rugby teammates – he is surrounded by 60 some rambunctious kids in the YMCA gym. The Mentor Duluth program is hosting its annual holiday party here, and Brian is careful to keep his eye on his mentee, Matt.

Thirteen-year-old Matt rushes over to a snowman made of Paper mâché decorated with a red wool scarf, black eyes, and a top hat hanging from a lowered basketball hoop.

“I bet Matt will break it,� said Brian, with a smile.

Brian was right. Standing at around five-foot-four, gripping a hockey stick, Matt pierced the snowman with the florescent orange blade of the stick. With one more whack, candy covered the floor. Grinning ear to ear, he looked to Brian for approval.

“Good job buddy,� said Brian, but before he could say anymore, Matt was already running around with his friends.
Mentor Duluth is a program that connects community members with the youth.

“Children from all different walks of life are in need of a mentor. These children generally need some extra support and attention,� said Callie Ronstrom, an advocate for Mentor Duluth.

However, despite Mentor Duluth’s best efforts, there is still a lack of help among the community, especially males.

“There are just not enough volunteers, some kids wait three to four years before they get a mentor. Boys tend to wait longer because we have a lack of male volunteers, and many single moms want their kid to have a male example in their lives,� she said.

Mentors are evaluated and interviewed before they are eligible to become a mentor. For at least a year, mentors are required to spend 10-12 hours a month with their mentee.

This summer, Brian’s rugby coach, an advocate for Mentor Duluth, encouraged his players to take part in the Mentor Duluth Program. Taking their coach’s advice, Brian and his teammate decided to give it a shot.

Besides keeping up on his studies, practicing for rugby, working, playing for his intramural hockey team, he still finds time to mentor. To him, it is worth the time, especially when he saw Matt’s improvement in school right before his eyes.

“Last year Matt’s grades really couldn’t get any worse,� said Brian. “Now he has a B average in all his classes except math, which we spend a lot of time working on.�

For college students, the wallet is often empty, and there’s not a lot of cash to spare, which is why Mentor Duluth took account for that.

“We really plan a lot of free activities for our mentors and mentees, we don’t want it to be a financial burden,� said Ronstrom.

Some of the free events that Mentor Duluth has set up, besides the holiday parties, are free tours at the Gleensheen, free admission to plays at the playhouse, and discounted tickets to sporting events.

Despite all the planned activities they do, sometimes just spending time together is good enough.

“My favorite thing to do with Brian is just hanging out,� said Matt.

The next stop is the origami station. As Matt talks about his adventures in school, he strategically folds purple paper into a swan.

“If you can do that [origami] from memory, how come you can’t remember your math?� said Brian.

Matt shakes off Brian’s comment with a shrug and a half smile as he continues to talk about school. Appearing to be a bit mischievous, Matt talks about one his least favorite teachers.

“The other day I threw a pencil across the room and it hit her in the head. She never found out it was me,� he says.
Brian shakes his head.

“He really is a troublemaker,� he said.

Brian has plans to redirect the energy that Matt shows in the classroom to the hockey rink.

“I am going to teach Matt how to skate,� said Brian, smiling.

Matt, for the first time tonight was looking a little bored. “Matt what do you want to do next? Did you want to go upstairs?� Brian asked.

“Yeah, sure,� said Matt with a grin.

“Let’s go swimming,� said Brian.

“No I hate swimming,� said Matt. “It makes my skin itch!�

Brian smiles and shakes his head in response, and just like that, the two are off.

Walking up the creaky, wooden stairs and into a room with only a sunken futon and a television resting on an upside down garbage can, this house seems to resemble that of any other male college student. However, venturing into the house just a few steps further, one enters a whole new world.

It's the world of online gambling. Rob, an incoming sophomore at UMD, sits in a small room, a palace of technology. Four flat-screen computers accompanied only by other technology equipment rest on a sturdy, oversized desk. In the kitchen are a sink of last week's dirty dishes and a stack of mail lying next to empty pizza boxes. But in this room, there are no distractions, except maybe intertwining cords turning this way and that.

"My heart was racing waiting for the river to fall," says Rob, a phrase in poker meaning the last card on the board.

Rob, an avid Texas Hold 'Em No Limit player, is one of few college students who choose to spend their time gambling online. His opponent could only catch two of the remaining aces in the deck, which gives him only a five percent chance to win.

"Luckily, he didn't win," says Rob letting out a long overdue sigh of relief after the final card was turned.

Sometimes, but not always an addiction

In a 2006 study of 9,931 students from 14 different Minnesota Colleges by Boynton Health Services, fewer than one in ten students admitted gambling once a month or more. Half of the students reported participating in some form of gambling at least once. While this frequency may not be dangerously high, the possibility of becoming a compulsive gambler is still there.

Kathy Morris, Director of Health Services at UMD, explains this through the concept of intermittent reinforcement. This means that the gambler can't predict when he or she is going to win. For example, with drinking, the consequences are much more predictable.

"Students know if this party gets too loud, the cops will come. Or, ‘If I have any more drinks, I'll get sick,’ " says Morris. "With gambling, it's not a consistent thing you can count on. People think 'Oh, I'm due any time to win,' but this isn't the case."

Morris says there are a few students who come in voluntarily to get help with their addiction, but not many. It is difficult to measure the prevalence of gambling among college students because it doesn't make as much of a ripple in the community as drinking. Students know that come Monday morning, the stories about who got drinking tickets, which parties got busted, and what dorms got written up will make their way around campus.

"These kinds of measurable consequences are not present with gambling," says Morris. "The amount of people that come in for help with an alcohol addiction is no higher than those that come in for help with a gambling addiction."

For most college students, however, gambling does not cause problems. It is a social or recreational activity.

Keith Whyte, Executive Director of the National Council on Problem Gambling, says fortunately, the majority of those who gamble don’t develop an addiction.

"However, any recreational usage has a chance of being problematic," Whyte says. "All of a sudden twice a year turns into twice a day."

Poker as income

Rob says he does not have a problem, and can't picture himself developing one.

"I have never gone in debt from gambling, never regretted my decisions the next day, and it hasn't negatively affected any of my relationships," says Rob.

Rob started gambling online at the age of 16 after seeing his two older cousins making money. He got his first job working at a grocery store when he was 15, but has taken up poker as means of paying rent on his condo in Duluth and paying off his school loans from Mankato State University where he attended his freshman year of college.

"I look at poker as a job," he says. "Some days it sucks, other days it doesn't. I don't play for the rush that many problem gamblers chase. I mainly play it for economic reasons."

Luck, a word many people believe is essential for any card player to have, is not central to the game Rob says. For a skillful player, it takes no luck to win over a long period of time.

"The difference is that luck is pretty much a one time thing," says Rob. "In the long run, the lucky player will go broke because the math behind the game will never fail."

He explains it like this. If two players meet and Player One is supposed to win, Player Two (the underdog) can get lucky and win any given day, but if they played 100 games, Player One (the favorite) will surely win more often.

"I don't just put money in and hope I win," says Rob, "It's skill-based, like any other job."

Now 20 years old, Rob says gambling will remain a lifelong hobby, but he plans on getting a job in the future with his business major. For now, on a good night, Rob can make multiple thousands. He averaged $70 an hour this past month and depending on his schedule, plays anywhere from two to three hours a night. Some players make up to $1,000 an hour.

"It's best at night because that's when the drunks come out," says Rob, "and usually their judgment is impaired."

The internet versus casinos

According to Whyte, online gambling poses more dangerous consequences than gambling in casinos.

"It has additional risk factors for addiction such as a high speed of play, 24 hour access, social isolation, and use of non cash payment," says Whyte.

However, gambling online seems to be less popular among college students.

Zach Olson, a sophomore at the University of Wisconsin Superior, says he and his friends have never gambled online but do like to go to the casino every now and then.

"It's somewhere to go, something to do when there's nothing else going on," he says. "Of course it's nice if we leave with more cash than we came with, but it's not a necessity for us."

Olson has kept a running total of his wins and losses out at Black Bear Casino this year and says he's up $85.

"It's not much, but it pays for my groceries," he says. "My friends and I get pretty competitive though. We usually make bets about who will come out with the most money."

Back in Duluth, Rob takes a seat at his computer desk, preparing for a different kind of competition than that at a blackjack table in the casino. He readies himself for another night at work, enrolling in an online poker tournament with hundreds of hopeful winners.

"I always like a challenge," Rob says as he wipes off the already spotless desk with a sweep of his arm. "Of course there is the money factor, but it's something I never get tired of because you can’t ever master it."

In the kitchen will remain that half eaten pizza crust, but right now it's time to concentrate, to calculate odds, to pay off that student loan, to spend another night at the office.

By now it’s almost 4 o’clock. Earl Sullivan’s workday is coming to an end. In just minutes his replacement will walk in. Sullivan has had the store open since 9 a.m. He’s seen about a dozen customers so far today — his regulars.

The store walls feature rows of DVD’s. In one corner, 8th Street Video serves sweet treats, coney’s, and beverages. Right now Sullivan is in the front of the store pouring brewed coffee from a pot into a carafe.

After pouring the coffee Sullivan returns to his place behind the store’s counter. This is where Sullivan leans, with his face hung low and his fingertips touching as he stares out the store’s front windows at cars passing.

A customer opens the white screen door and turns the handle to the store’s front door. He stands between the two doors with his hands still resting on each.

“You got it?�

“None yet, Jeffery.�

“Can you reserve it for tomorrow for me?�

“You got it.�

The man leaves the store as quickly as he opened the doors and Sullivan takes out a clipboard. He writes a note for himself. Jeffery, a store regular, wants a copy of “The Dark Night,� a new release that is checked out but Sullivan should have copy back by tonight or tomorrow.

Sullivan’s next customer is a teenage girl who has been a customer at 8th Street Video since before she was born. She enters the store carrying five DVD cases. After Sullivan asks her how school is she replies “good� and leaves the store. “Bye Dayna,� Sullivan calls out as she exits the store to walk back to her mother’s car.

Sullivan shifts the stack of DVDs that Dayna left and begins to record their return into the computer.

As he routinely punches in the data, he lifts his glasses just above his eyes and they somehow sit in place on his eyebrows.

Once the movies are recorded Sullivan enters a small room with a pink wooden doorframe to the left of the counter. Sullivan’s shuffles can be heard from the front of the store. He shelves the returned DVD cases numerically and returns with the shells to display on the shelves that line the store.

A steady stream of customers visit the store between 3:40 and 4:00, including two college-aged girls returning movies, a man in his 20s who returns a movie and pays a $3 late fee, and Sullivan’s brother Mark who is hassled about paying with a $20 bill and using up all the change in Sullivan’s cash register.

Mark rents a DVD and returns two. But before his brother even sets his returns on the counter, Sullivan has the phone to his ear. Mark is returning “The Dark Knight.� Less than 10 minutes later, Jeffery will reappear to claim his prize.

Just before 4, Sullivan’s replacement enters the store carrying a plastic SuperOne bag. Tonight it’s Nate Hergert.

“Hello Nathaniel,� Sullivan said, although Hergert likes to be called Nate. “I’m the only one that calls him that and it’s just to aggravate him.�

Sullivan and Hergert work together for just a couple of minutes before Sullivan heads up the stairs to his office.

“I don’t really know what he does up there for 15 minutes,� Hergert said.

It’s part of Sullivan’s closing routine. He finishes up in his office and walks back down the stairs wearing his jacket and jingling his car keys. He’s off to pick up his wife from work, just as he does every day when he leaves the store.

“I better go; she does not like it when I’m late.�

Sullivan won’t return to the store again until the morning. On his way in he’ll drop his wife off at work.

When you walk into the basement of The Ski Hut on Fourth Street, you might get the image of Santa’s workshop in your head. Then you start to think. These guys down here are way cooler than elves and these toys are a little bit better than the ones Santa left for you.

Spohn was working on a customer’s winter mountain bike. The bike is on a hanging bike mount and the back wheel is off. Indie rock tunes are playing in the background making it feel like you’re in a snowboard video.

“This bike needs some love,� says Spohn. “This thing’s been ridden hard.�

As Spohn mounts the wheel in a vice, he talks about how the business has been this year compared to last.

“It’s been pretty normal so far this year. Last year it was crazy around here at this time,� says Spohn as he spun the wheel in the vice. The wheel wobbles. “That could be the problem, there’s two broken spokes.�

Spohn continues to say that it should get busier closer to Christmas time or when Spirit Mountain opens up for their full time hours. The Spirit Mountain Web site says that they will be fully open on December 15.

In the background, Spohn’s coworker runs a snowboard through their new edge grinder machine. The buzz of the machine may be louder than the hand tools, but it is more effective.

“That new edge grinder is awesome,� says Spohn admiring the machine. “It’s like a robot. We really don’t have to do anything for that anymore.�

Spohn’s greasy fingers get back to work on the bike. He removes the two broken spokes and places the new ones in. This time when he spins the wheel it doesn’t wobble. Spohn shows his satisfaction with a grin.

As he takes the wheel off the vice he talks a little about his background. He grew up in Duluth just up the hill from The Ski Hut. He says that he’s a snowboarder, but he started off on skis.

“I could probably ski before I could walk,� says Spohn fiddling with the wheel. “But once I tried snowboarding, skiing just got too boring.�

The winter months give Spohn an advantage to living up the hill from work. He says that when there is snow on the sidewalks he can ride his snow skate down the hill. A snow skate is like a skate board without the wheels and has a bottom like a snowboard.
“It makes going to work fun,� says Spohn.

At this point, Spohn is just about done with his work. He cleans the crud off the gears and the chain and lubes up the axle. His fingers work the bead of the tire back onto the wheel and then he fills it back up with air. He mounts everything back on the bike and it’s ready to be ridden hard again.

As you leave the basement you might notice a sticker on the ceiling that says, “If Hell freezes over, I’ll snowboard there too.�

Megan Swanson sits on her bed in a robe, leaning back against a Disney princess pillow. She just showered after rugby practice and is now examining her arms and legs carefully.

“Wow I can’t believe they are so big,� she says, poking and prodding the bruises that are scattered across her body. “It looks like I got beat up,� she adds, a proud smile spreading across her face.

“Last year I was pretty unhappy here,� Megan says.

She applied and nearly transferred to Columbia College in Chicago, but ended up staying in Duluth because of finances.

The memory of last year fades away as Megan excitedly chats about the rugby team, their victories and losses, and the future.

“We are like a family,� she says. “We take care of each other.�

Listening to her discuss her teammates easily becomes confusing. The girls all call each other by creative (some borderline inappropriate) nicknames. Her original nickname was “Megs Over Easy� but has since been shortened to just “Easy.�

Rugby is often compared with American football, and the fans and players would like to make it just as popular. According to USA Rugby, the sport has grown 15 percent each year for the past four years.

UMD Women’s Rugby team, the Fighting Penguins, have been an enthusiastic part of that growth.

“It’s phenomenal,� Coach Steve Knauss says. “In 2001 there wasn’t even a program. Now we’ve gone to nationals two years in a row. I don’t think a lot of other teams have done that.�

For a second year the Fighting Penguins have taken home the title of D2 Minnesota Collegiate Champions. This spring they are headed to Sanford, Florida to compete in the national tournament.

“I have the girls work hard at fitness because they aren’t as experienced as some of the competition,� Coach Knauss says.

Before practice Megan describes the “super intense� two-hour workouts that helped the rugby team make it to nationals.

“We start out by doing passing work, because our team tends to drop the ball a lot.� She says, “We do a bunch of that, and if we end up talking too much (which girls do) then he has us do star jumps—so painful.�

Star jumps are a variation on the traditional jumping jack, with the addition of toe touching.

On many December evenings the warm open space of the indoor field house is filled with screams and laughter of the women’s rugby team. They are now preparing for nationals by meeting bi-weekly for a captain’s practice, or a practice led by the captains rather than the coach.

The season is over, but nationals are not until April.

“Because of the weather our region actually plays league matches from September to November,� Coach Knauss says. “The rest of the country starts in February. So we get a chance to heal. It gives us a little bit of an advantage.�

A more rigorous training schedule will pick up when classes resume at the end of January.

“Last year the team placed second at nationals,� Megan says. “I wasn’t there to help, but this year I’m a Fighting Penguin.�

RELATED CONTENT: Community center faces challenges in Lincoln Park

By MICHAEL NOVITZKI
DCN Correspondent

On the corner of First Avenue West and First Street sits a beacon of hope that seeks to make a difference by reaching out to the youth.

Most of the kids that come through the doors of Life House at 3 p.m. every day seem blissfully unaware of the fact that their favorite hangout is about to be the next victim of the financial collapse. A $30,000 debt has been threatening to force the organization’s doors shut by the end of the year.

“We don’t do anything for the kids. We help them do it themselves,� says Life House volunteer Skye Harrison. “The point is to get them standing on their own two feet.�

The country’s recession which is creating hard times for everyone, is hitting non-profit organizations like Life House extra hard.

Noisy children are drowned out as disheveled Life House director Kim Crawford shuts her office door, sits down at a desk completely hidden by clutter, and with the look of an overburdened mother begins to describe her rather large predicament.

"I have to reduce costs,� she says, “but I can't watch two kids come through the door and say I can help one and not the other... So its like, where can I cut corners?"

In light of the financial trouble, Crawford was hired to replace 17-year director Rachel Kincade as Life House’s executive director in September for her experience in the for profit sector. It was an act of desperation to increase income and cut spending from the typical $900,000 a year budget. On top of the fact that their federal and state funding is being cut, investors who are losing money are starting to cut back their contributions.

However, Crawford’s work so far has greatly helped reduce the probability of closing down.

“I don’t see us just shutting down completely, but we are going to have to make some drastic changes to make sure that does not happen, and it might mean not being able to help as many people as we used to,� says Crawford.

The first thing she did to cut spending was to combine Proctor House and Harbor House, two of Life House’s three transitional homes. The board of directors is also coming up with new ways to approach contributors being that the contributions they receive are often earmarked for programs that do not need it as much as others.

“I don't even want to think about where I would be right now if it weren't for Life House. I was completely lost. It was a nightmare," says 20-year-old Jelayne Sargent, reacting to the possibility of closing.

She was a teen parent who has been using nearly all of Life House’s services since she was 17, but will no longer be eligible after her twenty-first birthday.

"I'll be 21 soon so I'll be on my own soon anyway, but there are a lot of younger kids out there that still need a lot of help staying on track," she says.

The organization has been periodically holding fundraisers in the area to try to make up the $30,000 shortfall and plans to keep the doors open as long as cash flow permits.

In West Duluth, the Duluth Pack factory hums and grinds as workers sew together their patented luggage packs. After thick layers of canvas are custom cut to the type of pack being made, they are handed off to a seamstress – or seamster, in the some cases – to be sewn into more recognizable and usable shapes. Some workers wear headphones, listening to Harry Potter books-on-tape to drown out the noise.

Despite pressure to modernize the way the company operates, Duluth Pack is still using the same methods that they've been using since the company's founding in the late 1800’s.

Another, Renee Bergren, pushes a piece of khaki canvas through her industrial sewing machine. She's making a deluxe clip bag, a type of pack that can cost upwards to $210.

Around the corner, where the noise slowly drowns out, riveter Brian Santti is listening to a small stereo playing "Dani California" by Red Hot Chili Peppers. He grabs leather and brass buckles and sorts them by matching thickness and color, taking extra care if he's riveting several packs for the same customer.

Santti places brass rivets into small holes in the leather, by hand, and throws his hammer down three times for each rivet. "Just pound her right down into the wood," he says. He explains that he has only been riveting for six years, but that this is the way that Duluth Packs have been riveted for 126 years.

On the opposite end of his counter, he points out a mechanized riveting machine. Santti says that using the machine takes too long, and that his predecessors have riveted by hand longer than the machine has been used.

But if the company wants to keep up with their internet sales – which, according to manager Jim Haegerl have skyrocketed this year – they might have to start using that riveter soon. Haegerl says that Internet and catalog sales have been “holding their own� against the store, making just a little over half of the company’s total revenue.

With an increase in online sales, Duluth Pack has been trying to compete with larger online retailers like REI and Gander Mountain that provide similar products for lower costs.

The company's president, Tom Sega, says that they are currently trying to move more sales towards their website, and that their brand is now found on every continent on the planet. He points out a photograph on his wall of a man holding a Duluth Pack catalog in front of a research facility in Antarctica.

"We go through the history of what sells, what sorts of things actually move" says Sega. "We've added close to 30 new products that we manufacture in the last 18 months."

Sega says that Duluth Pack pays attention to what's new and in demand, like new kinds of bags. The new style, he says, is messenger bags, and so they have increased production of their sling bags.

Duluth Pack has even revamped their website – twice since the beginning of Autumn – and added 500 products once unavailable online. That means more products than can be ordered through their paper catalog or their store.

They are also bidding for keyword searches on Google, so when customers accidentally type in a misspelling of the company name, such as "Deluth Pack" or "Duluth Backpack," their website will be the first page Google recommends to web-surfers.

Despite a push to increase Internet sales, Duluth Pack as a physical location still draws customers in.

Their store in Canal Park, for example, still attracts local Duluthians and visitors alike, earning about half of the company's revenue. One such customer is Jeff Washburn, a visitor from St. Paul who grew up in Duluth who says that he always tries to think of a reason to go to the Duluth Pack store in Canal Park whenever he makes his annual migration to the Northland.

"I like the way the company is set up," says Washburn during a stop by the store on Black Friday. "We've been in the BWCA, hiking, backpacking, and it's always been a part of who we are. So the fact that it's still going after all these years is great."

In another section of the store, Steve Erickson was at the store looking for a hammock with his son, Dylan.

"I do very little shopping," says Erickson. He has rarely come to the store itself although he lives in Duluth. He says he used to regularly shop at Duluth Pack when their factory housed an open storefront as Duluth Tent and Awning.

"Duluth Pack has a great story," says Erickson. "The Duluth Pack itself lasts forever. And I know it's a little pricy, but I'm okay with that. It's priced correctly."

Store manager Jim Haegerl says they want to have at least 2/3 of the company's sales come through their website and catalog, and only 1/3 through the brick-and-mortar store. The concern is not so much with production, but with storage.

"We'd like to become a multi-million dollar corporation like Gander Mountain or REI," Haegerl says. "But at the same time, we need the capacity to stock and store as much stuff that can end up in demand for the catalog and web-orders."

With a different business model, which Haegerl called a distribution center model, a single building would contain the overstock of the company's packs that can be more easily shipped out for online or catalog orders, and taken to the store when shelves need refilling.

When larger retailers reduce prices on their products, Duluth Pack has to convince their customers that the quality of their products comes not from their price, but from the work that goes into them.

Back at the factory, next to the customer service desk where Internet and catalog orders are processed, is the shelf where orders for repairs on Duluth Packs are made.

One pack bears a stamp reading "Monarch," a brand that has not been put on a Duluth Pack in almost 30 years. It is at the factory because the leather buckles have crumbled into dust and the pack can no longer be sealed shut.

“The only time the leather ever needs to be replaced is when people don’t condition it,� says Solberg.

Molly Solberg holds the pack, which she says might have even been willed to its current owner by a now deceased grandparent, with pride. Over the pulsating noise of the sewing machines, she says that customers see the work that goes into the packs. Sue, Brian, and Renee put a part of themselves into each pack, whether buyers realize it or not.

"I've had a lot of customers ask, 'Why spend $100 on a Duluth Pack when you can go down to Wal-Mart and get one for $15?'" says Solberg.

Haegerl agrees. He says that there are two kinds of consumers in today's market.

"One is the type that goes to K-Mart and Shopko because it's cheaper," says Haegerl.
"But there are also a lot more people who are quality driven. We have a lot of products that we make that stand up to the test of time."

Behind the hoisting of Duluth's Aerial Lift Bridge is, oddly enough, a man in a La-Z-Boy pushing a big green button labeled "RAISE."

This morning, Ryan Beamer is that man.

The pilothouse in which Beamer and the other operators spend their eight-hour shifts is a single room with walls the dull navy blue color of Lake Superior in the rain, broken up by huge windows on all sides. In stark contrast from the windy 18 degrees just outside the door - it's 76 degrees in the pilothouse. The floor is gray and uncarpeted, and a small table holds a coffee pot, a tub of Folgers 100% Colombian, and a Ziploc bag of chocolate chip cookies.

"My mother-in-law made them," Beamer says. "They're pretty good."

The City of Duluth's Job Description Database declares the purpose of the bridge operator clearly: "Ensure safe passage of ships, pedestrians, and motorists by operating and maintaining lift bridges, foghorn, and related equipment."

Beamer says that the operators do whatever needs to be done, including the cleaning, maintenance, and electrical work. Two operators work at a time. The first operator runs the bridge, and the second operator answers phones, writes in the log, and visually checks the sidewalks.

The bridge's control board is straight out of a movie with its huge round buttons in bright blue, orange, and green. The emergency stop button is fire engine red and conveniently larger than the rest. The raise button is pushed when the ship is half a mile from the bridge. There are two identical control panels: an east control and a west control. Only one is used to raise the bridge, but if it fails, the operator can use the other.

"If both sides break, then we grab the radio and yell," Beamer says.

Beamer was an electronics technician on submarines in the Navy for nine years before his 10 years on the bridge.

"You can't just go to school to learn how to operate a bridge," Beamer says. "As far as bachelor's degrees, nobody down here has one. It's really a jack-of-all-trades draw."

One such "jack" is Dick Shaul.

According to Beamer, Shaul has operated every movable bridge in the twin ports, save one.

"How do you not hire a guy that's a bridge operator, you know?" Beamer says with respect.

Shaul accepts the praise silently, with an expression free of either embarrassment or smugness, from his black swivel chair in the corner. With his salt-and-pepper hair, kind eyes, Harley Davidson t-shirt, and well-used tennis shoes, he is at ease here. He has been working since 11 p.m. last night, but with one of the operators out sick, he will be here covering another shift until 3 p.m. today.

"It's a good job," Shaul says. "It's decent pay, decent benefits. Pretty much a dependable job; not apt to get laid off."

The bridge has been run manually since its construction in 1905, according to former Aerial Bridge supervisor Steve Douville.

"There's too many variables just to have a garage door opener," Douville says. "It doesn't work that way."

Like Beamer, Douville was in the Navy before finding a job on the bridge.

"A relative of mine said, 'Hey, here's a job you could do!'" Douville recalls. "I said, 'What do I want to do working for the city?' And he said, 'Give it a try.'"

Douville tried it, in fact, for 33 years.

Beamer says he suspects that all of the operators have dreamed about the bridge.

"I've had weird dreams where the bridge is stuck at a 60 degree angle, and I've got my hands in the grating, trying to climb up to the pilothouse to try to level it," Beamer recalls. "The bridge goes up and turns into a giant swing and I'm on it. Weird dreams."

For such crises, a phone labeled "emergency line" is attached to the wall across from the control board.

"Fortunately we've got the Bat Phone," Beamer says. "It's a secret number that only the police, fire, Gold Cross, and the Coast Guard have."

Most of the operators have worked together long enough that Beamer says the jokes get old after a while. After a moment's thought, though, he seems to reconsider.

"Well, Dave is pretty good," Beamer says. "He must have a book at home, like, 'What am I going to say today to crack them up?' He's always coming up with something."

Nevertheless, eight hours in the pilothouse can be boring. Beamer says that in February, with the Soo Locks closed, no shipping goes through. At this time only one person is needed in the pilothouse for the fire and security watch, and their nights may get long.

"Crossword puzzle, book, sudoku," he says, listing the possibilities. "You can watch TV if you need to."

A pile of books and magazines, including a collection of sudoku, is stacked on a bookshelf made by Shaul himself. Other evidences of the fight against boredom are scattered around the room. Beamer motions to a miniature stuffed monkey labeled "Otto." It's hanging by its neck above the control board.

"Otto-matic," Beamer says mischievously. "Because any monkey can operate the bridge!"

He and Shaul burst out laughing.

"We'll be here all week," Shaul says with a grin.

Snow sticking to their boot soles, a group of three middle-aged women passed through the front door of Sara’s Table, breathless and rosy cheeked from the strong afternoon wind. Anders Lundahls’ footsteps create dull squeaks across the wooden floor following their melting footprints.

“Can I grab all of you a cup of coffee, hot chocolate? I know how cold it is outside. I had to scrape off my windshield this morning,� Lundahl asks them, placing menus in front of them and opening the menu’s cover with pancake-flipping precision.

“Waiting on people is like any sport. You have to have strategy and you have to be in the right mindset, especially when it gets busy,� Lundahl says.

At the beginning of every shift, Lundahl wraps his uniform apron crisply around his waist, but is not satisfied until he runs the index and middle finger of both hands around the inside of the waistband from front to back. After that, he tightly rolls his shirtsleeves up to right above the elbow, revealing a small intertwining tattoo circling his left forearm.

“I get some good reactions sometime when they see it,� Lundahl said, referring to his tattoo. “I guess I don’t look like the tattoo type.�

Standing to the side of the kitchen’s entrance, Lundahl scans the dining area diligently, taking mental note of who needs refills, which tables want their checks, or anything else that means a customer is in need of their waiter. At the same time, he’s discussing the Vikings' upcoming football game with one of the cooks.

“I try to get a feel for the place before diving in,� Lundahl says. “If I see a lot of smiling and laughter, I‘m in for a good shift.�

That seems to be the feel today. Lundahl disappears stealthily into the kitchen and returns with a tray held at this shoulder, bearing steaming cups of coffee and bubbling glasses of soda pop in a variety of colors.

Without breaking stride, he makes the rounds to his designated tables, placing the correct drink before the appropriate customer.

“I remember who gets what drink by something they’re wearing,� Lundahl reveals. “Sometimes it's easy, like the Pepsi goes to the one in the pink sweater. I remember it by P and P. Or the guy is wearing a suit jacket, so I know he’s getting the Bell porter beer.�

The table seating the three women, uncertain about what to order, ask their waiter his opinion. Biting his lower lip, Lundahl tucks his tray under his arm and looks towards the ceiling, thinking hard.

“I’ll let you in on a secret, ladies,� he tells them in a low voice, leaning in close as if to reveal a secret. “There isn’t a dish I haven’t liked here, but my favorite dish here has got to be the Tempeh Sandwich.�

With a flash of his signature smile, the ladies are sold on his suggestion and Lundahl relays the order to the kitchen.

“It’s hard for me to say no when the waiter is good looking,� Debbie Hetland, one of the three women, said laughing with her friends after Lundahl had taken their menus.

“Customers like her make my day that much more interesting,� Lundahl laughed appreciatively as he runs a hand over the white bandana holding his curly hair out of his eyes. “If my looks will get them to come back, that’s okay by me.�

Coffee, check. Pie, check. Napkins and plates, check. Anything else?

“Hmm...They might want something to eat it with,� Joan Bushnell thinks aloud sarcastically, as she grabs forks out of the kitchen drawer and spread them out on the counter.

Within moments, Joan hears them approaching. The hurried pitter-patter of their feet mixes with the anxious chatter and makes them sound like children on their way to see Santa Claus at the mall. As soon as the door opens, the faces of those who enter light up as they greet Joan like they hadn't seen her in years.

They come in slowly, in singles or pairs, but eventually all 20 members had shuffled their way into the hall. Gathering in a sloppy crowd, they continue their chatter that fills the room with what sounds like 100 voices. Each week, Joan looks at all of the faces and never fails to notice that they are all getting older, and their children and grandchildren aren’t sticking around. Whether in California, Colorado, or just a few hours away, their descendants will not be there to keep this church alive. This could be the last generation of St. Josephat's. But just when this thought is about to leave Joan depressed, her fellow congregation members always remind her how much they are keeping it alive right now.

“Good morning!� exclaims Virginia Mahoney, who couldn't have been more excited to be there that Sunday morning. She jogs up to the counter for her coffee, sporting her permanent smile. Despite her age, she is always full of energy, and Joan is convinced that she will live forever.

Although there are several tables in the large reception hall, everybody sits together at the same long table each week.

“I haven't had whipped cream in a long time,� says Reney Kmieciak excitedly, as she picks up her slice of cherry pie. “Not since the kids were little.� She walks back to the table with a smile on her face, looking at the pie like a dog looks at steak.

Once everybody is seated with their coffee and pie, Joan begins placing the leftovers on one big tray. Then, she makes her rounds.

“Father, would you like any more coffee? Perhaps another slice of pie?� Joan asks the priest, hovering over his shoulder with the tray of goodies, making it impossible to resist.

“Sure, stick another one on my plate there� answers the enthusiastic priest in his thick Polish accent. “You can never have too much whipped cream—at least I can't!�

As Joan continues down the long table, she can't help but smile and shake her head. Each week, it never fails that the men will sit on the right side of the long table, the women on the left, and father right in the middle. Back in Poland over 100 years ago, the men and women sat on different sides of the sanctuary during mass, and that tradition seems to have lived on here almost by accident. Joan is always amused to hear how the conversations differ between the sexes.

“I haven't gone deer hunting in years,� says Ray Bushnell, with his mouth full of cherry pie. “I used to ask the guys I went with: 'Are you going four-legged dear hunting or two?�'

The men all laugh heartily as Joan puzzles over the meaning of this joke. There are two-legged deer? She stands behind the men, her face twists in confusion. She soon shrugs it off and moves down the table to offer leftovers to the women.

“That's all he talked about, was that cabbage!� says Nancy Skoczen.

“Tell him there will be some in the freezer for him when he comes,� says Reney. “I'm sure there already is!�

The women laugh as Robin Brazerol says “I've never heard of it on taco salad before.�

“Oh, he loves to put a little on his taco salad,� says Nancy, her expression beaming with pride.

“Well good for him,� says Robin. “He's a brave soul!�

The women shake with laughter as Nancy pretends to look offended.

Joan is so absorbed in the chatter that she doesn’t realize everybody is done eating. She offers the leftovers one more time before diligently picking up everybody's plates and throwing them away.

As she is preparing to wash the dishes, she hears the sound of a tiny bell ringing, barely audible over the clanking of the forks hitting the sink. Joan looks up to see Robin standing, holding the announcement bell, as the room goes silent.

“As all of you probably know, my mother-in-law is having hip surgery tomorrow,� says Robin. “I wanted to ask you all to keep her in your prayers, and I'll keep you all updated.�

As Joan looks around to see everyone genuinely making a mental note to pray for Robin's mother-in-law, she feels a warm tingle go down her spine that feels like God's embrace. She sees it every week, yet it never ceases to amaze her. This church is truly like no other. These people are truly like no other. Although their number is small, this congregation is as dedicated as their ancestors who built this church, and they are as much of a community as that first generation was. Whether or not this is the end of St. Josephat's, their ancestors' struggle has already been worth it as far as Joan is concerned.

“Thank you for serving the coffee and snacks today, Joan,� says Robin, as everyone is preparing to leave. “It was delicious.�

“It's my pleasure, Robin,� says Joan, caressing Robin's shoulder. “It's always been my job to take care of my family.�

He runs his hands over the burnt-orange colored leather, cutting away pieces to fit around the rough base of the defenders.

Scratching away the remaining plaster with sandpaper, the mold of the mount is ready to be covered.

Mounting deer antlers is something that comes naturally to Randy Bowe, owner of Bowe Taxidermy in Lakeside and member of the National Taxidermy Association. His large,callused hands meet the roughness of the deer’s antlers while he polishes the tips of the ten pointer.

Tools hang on every inch of the walls in his workshop. Coffee cans labeled “fish tails� line a wall, while racks of antlers are hung orderly on shelves. The staple gun he uses to tack the leather on the mount sounds through the quiet basement.

Randy Bowe opened his taxidermy business in the same house in 1980, after taking classes in Jamesville, Wis. He and his wife lived in the house for a while, until his wife wanted to move.

“She said she didn’t want to get knocks on the doors in the early mornings,� says Bowe, chuckling.

The cow bell he has dangling above his work bench sounds, which tells him that a customer came through the door. Walking up the sturdy stairs, his 6’7� husky stance barely makes it under the ceiling. His low, warming voice chimes from upstairs as he helps a customer.

Upstairs the showroom proudly displays shoulder mounts of deer, with their dark eyes greeting customers when they walk through. Fish in clear displays are silently floating on wood bases.

Competition ribbons, mostly blue, decorate the mounts.

“I used to do a lot of competitions in the '80s, but stopped competing because of travel time and I wanted to give most of my time to my customers,� says Bowe.

Walking back downstairs to the workshop, the painting room sits silently in the corner. Lacquered paints and airbrush tools sit scattered on the single workbench. Fish hang next to the window, waiting to be decorated with their true colors.

“I study many pictures and I’ve seen enough fish in my life to be able to represent their natural colors,� says Bowe.

Bowe grabs the almost finished mount and cuts away unneeded pieces. The white dust from the sanding collects on the yellow-colored Far Side comics that are tacked on wood beams on the ceiling. The phone rings and he answers it with a smile that was hiding under his woodsman beard.

“Bowe’s Taxidermy,� Bowe says proudly.

In the 1980s, Bowe was only one of three taxidermists in the Duluth area. Nowadays, there are over a dozen, but he still remains busy.

“Deer season is coming to a close and that is where I get 90 percent of my business from,� says Bowe.
With the low economy this year, taxidermists are on the lower end of the totem pole because people want to save money.

“The harvest has been down this year and with the economy being low, there are more hunters that are trying to learn themselves,� says Bowe, who said that he went from 80 to 90 mounts in previous years to 40 to 45 this season.

He holds the mount in his arms like a child while he staples on the last part of the leather. With a look of approval, he proudly sets the finished product on a table that has a colorful tail of a turkey. He brags about the upcoming weekend when he will be hunting on his land he owns up the shore.

“I go hunting, while my wife goes sale shop hunting,� he says while giving a giant grin.

With his hands and forearms covered in white, powdery flower, Jamie Solem waits patiently. Standing behind the counter, his body language speaks volumes about the way business at Sammy’s Pizza has been going for the night.

He begins to transform the dough into its large circular form and confidently tosses it above his head and into the air. With his eyes carefully locked in on his target, Jamie waits for the dough to retreat back to his steady, sure hands.

Once the dough is secured, he swivels his hands underneath it, stretching it out to finalize its shape.

After applying the appropriate toppings, Jamie cautiously places his finished product onto a large, wooden pan. Taking hold of the steel oven handle he snaps it down while placing the pizza inside. Stepping away from the oven, Jamie leans back against the counter, crosses his arms and reverts back to his original posture. He waits for the next order.

As the minutes pass, Jamie chats with one of his co-workers, a pizza delivery man, seated comfortably on the padded bench awaiting his next delivery destination.

This may be downtime for Jamie, but Amanda is on the move preparing her table before the arrival of their pizza.

She comes fully equipped to the table — individual side plates and silverware on top of the orderly stack in one hand, accompanied by a pitcher of pop and drinking glasses in the other.

“I enjoy serving here,� says Amanda. “Right now I go to East High School and only work about two shifts a week, but the experience has been good so far. It’s nice to have a part-time job and have a little spending money on the side.�

Peering into the oven, Jamie assesses the quality of the pizza. Reaching to the left of the oven, he retrieves the wooden pan, grasps onto its handle and shovels the pizza up onto the pan’s surface.

“Amanda. Order up,� says Jamie.

Hearing this, Amanda adjusts her apron and makes her way toward the pick-up counter.

She reaches over toward a stack of neatly folded napkins, and comes away with a large handful along with the pizza. She maneuvers her way through obstacles that come in the form of multiple tables and chairs on her way to her table. Remarkably, she manages to accomplish all of this with a pleasant smile on her face.

At the table, Amanda raises the pizza tray above her head, making sure it doesn’t knock into the customer and carefully places the warm pan in the center of the table. As she pulls her arm out of the way, she politely asks the guests if they need anything else.

Amanda, standing over the table, looks on as the guests survey their meal; she waits quietly for a response. An awkward moment of silence follows until they assure her that everything is fine and proceeds to walk back to the server station area.

Behind the diminutive wall that acts as a barrier between her sever area and the dining room, she takes the opportunity to squeeze in a brief break.

She reaches down and grabs a dark brown drinking mug. Clutching it with both hands, she sips slowly suggesting that its contents are quite warm like coffee, hot tea or hot chocolate. She enjoys it, but only for a moment.

Her head swings over to the front door, along with Jamie and the other employees. A group of customers walk through are greeted with a welcoming nod from Jamie and a “Please Seat Yourself� sign.

The guests meander through the dining room, analyzing the best location to sit. Once they decide on their table, Amanda takes the time to make a few final checks. She adds a few straws to her apron, turns over the fresh page in her server tablet with a smile and makes her way toward her new table.

Black and white adhesive stickers spell “barbershop� on the window next to the door. I open the door that has a hand-written sign displaying the hours hanging on it and see that Don Hanson is midway through a trim of one of his regular’s hair.

The two chat about the weather, hunting and mutual friends as Hanson continues to slowly clip off pieces of hair, each white hair falling on the checker-board floor.

“He’s one of the best barbers in town,� the customer says while sitting in the single chair in the shop.

“There aren’t a lot of barbers left,� Hanson adds. “I’m sure it’s less than 20.�

A week-old newspaper sits on one of the 10 waiting room chairs. Each section of the paper is separated as though it has already been read through several times. On a table next to the chair is an old press release from when the shop opened last February reading, “Barber Shop coming to Woodland.�

“Do you want it shorter or longer?� Hanson asks the closed-eyed customer.

“I’m sorry I woke you up,� Hanson laughs as he makes the finishing touches using his electronic razor.

The buzz is quiet enough that the two can continue to talk on top of the noise. Hanson finishes the cut by combing the customer’s now shorter hair.

“Two haircuts left,� Hanson tells him after he pays. “You get a free haircut after your ninth appointment,� Hanson tells me.

Hanson now takes rest in his barbershop chair and waits for the next customer to come inside. Looking outside through the snowfall we see a young man working underneath the hood of his car.

“He’s one of my customers from yesterday,� Hanson says. “He lives right down the street. He works at the Piggly Wiggly.�

Hanson speculates what might be wrong with the car: A hose? Battery? Engine?

“I hope he gets it to work,� Hanson say genuinely concerned as the Piggly Wiggly employee gets back in his car. The car starts, and he drives away.

Hanson continues to look out the front window where across the seat you can see Denny’s Ace Hardware and Falk’s Drug.

“It can get long,� Hanson says of the waiting in between customers. “I usually read or listen to the radio.�