Working for the Weekend

The Relationship Between Work and Leisure in the Late Nineteenth Century

The following essay was submitted to the Department of History at American Military University to fulfill partial requirements for my Bachelor’s degree in American History.

The industrial revolution coincided with, if not outright inspired, a leisure revolution.

There exists an interesting relationship between work and leisure. In his book, The Use of Leisure, Temple Scott writes, “Making a living is not living; making a living is only a means to living. We are so accustomed to spend the best years of our lives in efforts to keep alive that living is come to mean working in order to be able to go on working.”[1] Scott wrote these words in 1913 at the tail end of an industrial revolution that had reshaped American society during the last one hundred years. The burgeoning industrial society required an expanding American workforce made up of people who migrated from the rural towns and villages to the growing metropolises and centers of industry. This migration was further enhanced by the millions of foreign immigrants seeking a better life in America. Life for the urban worker was hard. They were, as Scott wrote, “slaves of the captains of industry,” with little time for any form of leisure, save a few hours after a long, laborious day in the factories, mills, mines, and shops.[2] Furthermore, limited housing options and meager wages meant that opportunities to relax were restricted mostly to local pubs, religious participation, and localized community activities. The industrial revolution coincided with, if not outright inspired, a leisure revolution. As the century progressed, technologies were invented that both raised the standard of living as well as democratized many forms of leisure for the masses. Labor movements successfully advocated for shorter working days, wages increased, and the “puritanical notions concerning the value of recreation declined.”[3] All these changes promoted a society that sought to relieve the boredom, frustration, and routine inherent of urban life.[4] The new patterns of leisure that emerged in the late nineteenth century reflected both the commercialization of, and society’s dependency upon, leisure as a response to the Industrial Revolution.

Leisure was simply viewed differently in early American society than in the industrial society.

To see this relationship between industry and leisure it is first helpful to understand the relationship between work and leisure in pre-industrialized society. Historians often argue that leisure in the early republic was reserved for the wealthy class who had both the time and the finances to partake in leisure activities. While this may be true of commercial forms of leisure like theater or concerts, leisure was simply viewed differently in early American society than in the industrial society. To be sure, leisure in its various forms, whether entertainment, recreation, or other, has always existed to provide relief from laborious tasks as well as add a little excitement to life. According to Norbert Elias, humans instinctively crave excitement.[5] The Civil War served as something of a watershed moment between two competing forms of American society—the rural agrarian and the urban industrial. In pre-industrial America, that is from the Colonial era through the Civil War, society was primarily agrarian and the relationship between work and leisure was much more intertwined. According to Ishwar Modi, farmers of pre-industrial societies might work long hours in the field without the need for leisure; or, they might enjoy long periods of leisure without the need to work; or, they might interspace their daily tasks with leisure breaks.[6] Merchants and artisans likewise intertwined their work and leisure depending on the day’s workload.

Intertwined as leisure was to labor, leisure itself was not perceived as an escape from labor.

Forms of leisure in agrarian society were much more family-oriented and limited to one’s immediate area.[7] Activities such as reading, visiting, sharing music, afternoon naps, smoking tobacco, playing table games, or taking walks were all forms of leisure enjoyed by the various classes of society. Leisure among the farming and servant classes was mostly a non-commercial affair, while the affluent and wealthy classes enjoyed the finer offerings. Intertwined as leisure was to labor, leisure itself was not perceived as an escape from labor. Farmers, merchants, and artisans did not rate leisure high among societal values largely because of the Puritan notion that leisure would lead to idleness which would lead to debauchery. Additionally, the labor of one’s own hand led to fulfillment in life. Whatever the reasons, leisure in pre-industrial society was much more free-form and not dependent upon the production value inherent in the wage system of industrial labor.

As the industrial revolution developed across America, so too did the desire for leisure. The demarcation between work and leisure became more defined.[8] According to Dale Somers, “Work remained important, of course, but people tended increasingly to value it in terms of the free time it provided.”[9] Consequently, the relationship between labor and leisure became such that not only did one depend upon the other, but one actually necessitated the other. Because workers needed the financial means to provide for both their daily needs as well as their leisure activities, they fought the industrial giants to secure both higher wages and free-time. In the post-Civil War decades, trade unions advocated fiercely for a shortened work day as well as a shorter work week. Their slogan “Eight Hours for Work, Eight Hours for Rest, Eight Hours for What We Will” became the cry of the working class that would see significant progress in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.[10]

Leisure became less isolated and spontaneous, and more mass-focused and commercialized.

New technology also enticed people to expand their leisure interests. Mass transit allowed people to leave the confines of their urban dwellings in pursuit of all manners of entertainment and recreation. Leisure became less isolated and spontaneous, and more mass-focused and commercialized. There appeared in America a “spectacular growth of commercial amusements and organized pastimes such as the theater, vaudeville, movies, and sports.”[11] This new industry provided affordable “amusements to all classes of people on a variety of intellectual levels.”[12] As people partook of this new entertainment industry, leisure became a consumable commodity, as essential to daily life as food, clothing, or housing; and entrepreneurs took advantage of the new taste for pleasure. Somers quotes P.T. Barnum as saying, “[people], who cannot live on gravity alone, need something to satisfy their gayer, lighter moods and hours, and he who ministers to this want is in a business established by the Author of our nature.”[13]

As the nineteenth century progressed, the relationship between leisure and labor became a class struggle as the industrial revolution replaced traditional authority with class conflict.[14] Not only did the wealthy control the means of production, but they controlled the “time and place for leisure” as well.[15] Counter to the Puritan idea that hard work alone would lead to economic prosperity, leisure advocates argued that leisure was the economic equalizer. Temple Scott wrote in 1913 that “leisure is a redistributor of power. When leisure shall be a common enjoyment and over-production ceases, wealth will be more evenly divided, and with the more even division of wealth will follow a redistribution of power.”[16] The fight for leisure between industry and the worker was a fight for “the leisured man…a chance to make good.”[17]

The value of work was judged by the free time it afforded.

The work ethic of the rural, agrarian society had given way to the pleasure-centered mind of the urban, industrial society. The value of work was judged by the free time it afforded.[18] Thus, not only had the value of leisure superseded the value of work, but society itself was torn between the two competing ideologies. “What Americans wanted,” writes Somers, “was an abundance of free time.”[19] Therein lay what President Garfield declared in 1880 “the whole struggle of the human race…the fight to get leisure; and then…what shall we do with our leisure when we get it.”[20]

In agrarian society, leisure was rewarding; while in the industrial, leisure was an escape.

The desire for leisure aligned closely with the most fundamental of American values—That people are endowed with God-given rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.[21] Was pre-industrial society, then, an unhappy society? Probably not, although Scott argued differently. He paints a bleak picture of the farmer: “The pageant of landscape and of sky passes by them unseen. They are bowed and bent earthward. The grind of their toil has worn their faces to unlovely lines. They suck sustenance out of the earth with life-spending gasps. Each day’s labor is a crucifixion of Love on the market cross.”[22] His critique of the merchant is just as grim. Scott failed to understand the rewards that hard work brings to the mind and soul. The industrial notion of leisure differed from the agrarian. In industrial society, leisure was an escape from the grueling reality of boredom, urbanization, and class conflict. In the agrarian, there existed a spontaneity and simplicity to leisure that neither industry nor commercialization could replicate. In the agrarian, leisure was rewarding; while in the industrial, leisure was an escape.

Commercialized leisure certainly added a level of excitement and entertainment that society had yet to experience; however, within that arena lay concerns that commercialized leisure led to a society disconnected from itself. The concern was not entirely accurate, for there arose in the late nineteenth century the advent of non-commercial organized pastimes such as sporting, athletic, and social clubs that offered communities of disparate people a way to participate in leisure and was much better suited for urban society. However, the concern was also based upon the Puritan notion that hard work is sufficient for an individual to improve one’s social and economic status and that leisure leads to debauchery.[23] This concern dissipated somewhat during the late nineteenth century as Protestant leaders began to assert that certain forms of leisure and activity could be sanctified. Many religious groups countered commercialized leisure with their own “amusements and recreation as alternatives to undesirable play.”[24] Examples included resort communities, “libraries, gymnasiums, and assembly rooms.”[25] Gymnasiums were especially popular with the advent of the Muscular Christian movement, from whence came such organizations as the Young Men’s Christian Association, as exercise and sport were seen as Christian virtues.

A leisured worker was a content worker, or at least an appeased worker.

The leisure revolution that coincided with the industrial revolution transformed the relationship between labor and leisure. The virtues of agrarian labor and leisure had all but faded. Industry now ruled the world. The era was marked by class conflict, where captains of industry, trusts, big business, and government held the American worker hostage to low wages, long hours, deplorable conditions, cramped housing, and a meager standard of living. American industry needed a workforce that could produce the high-volume output the industrialized world demanded, and laborers needed a way to relieve the stress and frustration of the daily grind. The answer for both entities was leisure. A leisured worker was a content worker, or at least an appeased worker. As the leisure revolution gave rise to a new entertainment industry and other forms of leisure and recreation, the American worker responded to industrial servitude with demands for higher wages and more free time. Leisure offered not only a way out but also a way up. “Give a man leisure,” writes Scott, “and you recreate him…Work will be no longer the hateful necessity it is now, it will be acceptable, and accomplished as the expression of the worker’s sincerity.”[26]

By the beginning of the twentieth century, the re-creation of the American laborer was in full affect as industry and government gave into demands for free time, and Americans fully engaged in the ever-growing industry of leisure. Making a living was becoming more than a means to living, it was becoming a means to escape the living. In other words: everybody started working for the weekend.

Bibliography

Butsch, Richard. “Introduction: Leisure and Hegemony in America.” In For fun and profit : the transformation of leisure into consumption. Edited by Richard Butsch, 3-27. Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1990.                       https://archive.org/details/forfunprofittran0000unse/page/n5/mode/2up?view=theater&q=sunday.

Hoover, Dwight W. “Roller-skating toward Industrialization.” In Hard at Play: Leisure in America, 1840-1940, edited by Kathryn Grover, 61-76. New York: Strong Museum, 1992. https://archive.org/details/hardatplayleisur0000unse/page/n5/mode/2up.

McLean, Daniel., Hurd, Amy. Kraus’ Recreation and Leisure in Modern Society. United States: Jones & Bartlett Learning, 2011.

Modi, Ishwar. “Leisure and Social Transformation.” Sociological Bulletin 61, no. 3 (2012): 386–403. http://www.jstor.org/stable/26290632.

Rybczynski, Witold. “A World of Weekends.” In Waiting for the Weekend, 132-161. New York:Viking, 1991.             https://archive.org/details/waitingforweeken00rybc/page/6/mode/2up?q=%22eight+hours%22.

Scott, Temple. The Use of Leisure. New York: B. W. Huebsch, 1923.         https://archive.org/details/useleisure00scotgoog/page/n6/mode/2up.

Somers, Dale A. “The Leisure Revolution in the American City, 1820-1920.” Journal of Popular Culture V, no. 1 (1971): 125-47. Accessed February 19, 2023. https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/abs/10.1111/j.0022-3840.1971.0501_125.x.

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[1] Temple Scott, The Use of Leisure, (New York: B. W. Huebsch, 1923), 1, https://archive.org/details/useleisure00scotgoog/page/n6/mode/2up.

[2] Ibid., 14.

[3] Dale A. Somers, “The Leisure Revolution in the American City, 1820-1920,” Journal of Popular Culture V, no. 1 (1971): 127, accessed February 19, 2023, https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/abs/10.1111/j.0022-3840.1971.0501_125.x.

[4] Dwight W. Hoover, “Roller-skating toward Industrialization,” in Hard at Play: Leisure in America, 1840-1940, ed. Kathryn Grover (New York: Strong Museum, 1992), 66, https://archive.org/details/hardatplayleisur0000unse/page/n5/mode/2up.

[5] Ibid.

[6] Ishwar Modi, “Leisure and Social Transformation,” Sociological Bulletin 61, no. 3 (2012): 390, http://www.jstor.org/stable/26290632.

[7] Ibid., 392.

[8] Ibid., 390.

[9] Somers, 128.

[10] Witold Rybczynski, Waiting for the Weekend, (New York: Viking, 1991), 133, https://archive.org/details/waitingforweeken00rybc/page/6/mode/2up?q=%22eight+hours%22.

[11] Somers, 127.

[12] Ibid., 128.

[13]  P.T. Barnum, Struggles and Triumphs; or Forty Years’ Recollections of P.T. Barnum (Hartford, 1871), 72, quoted in Dale A. Somers, 127, accessed February 19, 2023, https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/abs/10.1111/j.0022-3840.1971.0501_125.x.

[14] 1. Richard Butsch, For fun and profit : the transformation of leisure into consumption, ed. Richard Butsch, (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1990), 11, https://archive.org/details/forfunprofittran0000unse/page/n5/mode/2up?view=theater&q=sunday.

[15] Ibid.

[16] Scott, 23.

[17] Ibid.

[18] Somers, 128.

[19] Ibid.

[20] Daniel McLean and Amy Hurd, Kraus’ Recreation and Leisure in Modern Society, (United States: Jones & Bartlett Learning, 2011), 40 https://samples.jbpub.com/9781284034103/9781449689568_CH03_Secure.pdf_.

[21] Scott, 13.

[22] Ibid., 15.

[23] McLean and Hurd, 37.

[24] Ibid., 39.

[25] Ibid.

[26] Scott, 21.

Been a minute

I have to chuckle at the number of blogs posts I run across where the owner has a really good early cadence of posting, they’re gaining traction, really excited about their following, and always promise to keep posting content. And then two, three, four…years go by of radio silence. The best laid plans, eh?

I fit that mold perfectly. I do like to keep this blog alive as a place that I will come back to when life settles down a little bit. Well, life never seems to settle down, and most likely this place will be little more than a place that could have been. However, in the two years that I have been absent from my digital world, I have not been idle. Truthfully, the main reason why I have not bothered to post on this space is that I have been engaged in a pursuit of my Bachelor’s in American History. The coursework tempo is such that I have little energy for writing anything outside of the various research papers and forum posts that are due each week. The courses are fast-paced–cramming sixteen weeks of content into an eight-week track is exhausting, but I am diligently making my way through. I take the summers off, but my time is replaced by the outside projects that I’ve been chomping at the bit to complete. At the end of the day, when I’m dirty and exhausted, writing is the last thing I have energy for, and I’d rather just make a gin and tonic and call it a night.

However, I motivated by my friend and former commanding officer over at Kilted Adventures to pick up the quill once again and put pen to paper, or fingers to keys in this case, and re-engage with my digital world. Given that I do have content I’ve created for as part of my educational journey, I can add some more categories to the list of blog content: research papers and essays. So, while the cadence of writing and posting may not return to a robust (not that it ever was robust to begin with) rhythm. At the very least, I can create a digital archive of the writings samples I am most proud of.

So, while this note constitutes my re-entry into the world of blogs and online content, I hope you eagerly await my follow-up entries in the days to come for a look at some of my most favorite pieces written over the last three years.

~ S. C. Mattson

Photo: Zemeckis, Robert, director. Forrest Gump. Paramount. 1994.

Shadowed

“You’re sure he’s not contacted you?”

I glanced around the room at the faces gathered around the conference table. The stern glares from the men and women filling the seats told me a different reality than they would have me believe. They just had a few questions, they said. Wanted to hear my side of the story. 

I focused on the large, fat man sitting at the far side of the oval table who had asked the question. The Toad, I called him, but never out loud. Humor of such nature would certainly be grounds for punishment or dismissal. 

The moniker was accurate enough. The man weighed about 400 pounds and had a large double chin that gave him a very toad-like appearance. His large bifocals were thick and squarish, like the design that was popular in the late 80s or early 90s. He ran the place. I think everyone in the institution, including those in the room, had a fearful respect for the man’s power. His word was God.  

“No, Sir,” I said.

I tried to speak calmly, but my voice cracked. I hated my calmly voice. It always managed to sound fearful and worried. No confidence whatsoever. The cracking voice gives away every secret. Some in the room looked at each other with knowing glances, some scribbled notes, others continued to cut into me with their icy glares. A man in a cheap Walmart suit seated next to The Toad slid him a piece of paper with a note scrawled across, and leaned in to whisper something in his ear. 

The Toad nodded. “Mr. Wheeler, the thing is, we know you’re lying, and we want the truth,” he said. “Now, you are going to sit there and tell us what you know, or you will find your freedoms here at the institution revoked.”

Freedoms at the institution were already severely limited. Revocation meant shadowing and isolation. When you were isolated, you could only move about campus under the watchful eye of your shadow—an agent of the institution, often a resident themselves. Shadowing was a precursor to expulsion, and those expelled where never heard or seen from again. 

Chris wasn’t expelled. Otherwise I wouldn’t be sitting before this committee. He was just missing. 

“What’d you like to know?” I said, my voice a little more stable.

“How about where he is now,” said The Toad. 

“How did he…why? Why would he leave?” The question came from an older woman with cropped, curled hair, and round spectacles. She wore a high-neck flowered dress, with a charcoal petticoat. Her ensemble looked more appropriate for a 1930s mid-Western school teacher rather than a 21st century administrator of an institute for higher learning.

The Toad and Walmart shot the woman annoyed glances. 

“After you tell us where, Mr. Wheeler.” Walmart had an annoying accent, like a poor attempt at a Mid-Atlantic.

I considered my next words. “Well, to begin, I don’t where he is,” I said. “He hasn’t contacted me….”

“Would you tell us if he did?” said Walmart.

Pause. Take a breath. I shrugged. “I don’t know how he would contact me,” I said.

“You have no cell phone?” said Walmart.

I shook my head carefully. “Nope.”

The one form of communication they couldn’t censor. Course I had one, everyone had one. They were just illegal at the institution. 

“Continue,” said The Toad, as he scribbled notes on a yellow legal pad in front of him. This inquiry was a waste of time and he knew it. 

I turned to the opposite side of the table, looking for a friendlier face. I settled on a young couple seated across from The Toad. One was a brilliant Brunette with a full head of wavy hair; the other, a Straight Arrow with a sharp haircut and suit to match Walmart. The jury of my peers, no doubt. She at least looked concerned; he just looked calm.

“My brother—Chris— sometimes he gets really stressed and then he starts freakin’ out a little. Paranoia sets in. He starts seeing things.” 

“What things?” said Walmart

I looked back at him. “Thought he was being shadowed.”

“Shadowed around campus?” Brunette appeared genuinely confused. I looked back at her and nodded.

“For about the last month,” I said.  

The one thing about the institution- someone was always watching. An army of observers monitored the residents’s movements twenty-four seven, from hundreds of cameras mounted all over campus. Some things get missed. But then of course there were the local reporters—residents who would act as de-facto monitors, reporting every discrepancy or violation to the administration no matter how minor. That’s how the administration kept control- through fear, observation, and punishment.

One gets used to the feeling of constantly being watched. Sometimes you get slapped for an infraction. Extra duty here, report to committee there. But you learn to live within the flow. Only the most egregious infractions are met with shadowing and expulsion. But from the faces gathered around the room, the committee as a whole knew nothing about my brother being shadowed.

“Why did he think he was being followed?” said Walmart.

“Shadowed,” I said. “Not followed. Don’t know for sure. One night he came back to the room all flustered. I asked him what was wrong, and he just jumped up and ran out the door. Was gone until well after midnight. I don’t know where he went. Dorms are locked down after 10.”

“Did he say anything to you?” said Toad. 

“No, Sir, not until a couple of days later. Said he was being shadowed from a distance. Couldn’t be sure, just a feeling he got. I tried to convince him he was just stressed and needed to relax a little, but he couldn’t shake it. Said he needed to get out, he’s not gonna get expelled like the rest of them. I ask him what the hell he’s talking about. He doesn’t say. That was the last I heard about it. For the next few weeks, he went on like everything was normal. Went to class. Went to work. Saw his girl. Then last night, he doesn’t come back after work. I didn’t think anything of it until you called me up here this morning.”

Course all that was mostly true, but I left some things out.

Chris worked the late shift cleaning the administration offices. Not glamorous work, but it bought a few coffees and a nice dinner here and there. One night he comes back from work white as a ghost. Pulls me into the bathroom, runs the shower, grabs my arms, and then jumps in with me — both fully clothed— into the stall. Said he can’t talk anywhere else. 

He said he was cleaning Walmart’s office when he saw one of the cabinets opened. Normally this cabinet was locked tight, but it looks like the lock didn’t engage right. The door was ajar. Inside he saw a folder marked Expulsion. Curiosity got the best of him so he opens it up. Sees list after list of names, expulsion dates, and—get this— plot numbers. As in, burial plots. Residents don’t get expelled, they get killed. 

The whole thing actually makes. See the institution is innocuous enough from the outside. They provide a well grounded, private, affordable education, that promises to yield a competitive degree. Students sign up only to find out that this innocuous institution of high learning is in reality a hard-nosed, fundamental religious cult. Imagine the Hotel California for unsuspecting prospective students. They come in as students, they stay as residents, they never leave. You’re forever tied to the institution. Until death do you part. 

They say that anyone who comes to the institution is following “God’s Will.” So if that person does anything to merit expulsion, they have stepped outside of God’s Will, and are therefore banished from “Kingdom of God.” The only thing is, to the administration, the institution represents the Kingdom of God, so they are within their rights to execute judgment on those who have fallen away. It’s a death sentence. 

Chris saw it all there in black and white. Freaked him the hell out. Well he decides to make copies of everything he sees. Barely gets the copies hidden in his cart and the originals back in the cabinet when his buddy shows up for the end of shift. His buddy knows something’s off, but Chris doesn’t let on. The cabinet is there in plain view, and his buddy can see it’s opened. All it takes is a little seed of suspicion, and my brother goes on the watch list.

Chris is telling me this in the shower, and I can hardly believe it. But I do believe it. Specially when he shows me the papers. So we hatch a plan. I spend the next few days figuring out Chris’s shadow, he’s gonna figure out how to escape without getting caught, and then get his evidence to the proper authorities.

But now I’m sitting here in front of the committee and they can see right through me. Sure, I might not know where my brother is at the moment, but I sure know exactly what he saw that night, and what he intends to do with it. I’ve got the photos of the papers on my phone to prove it. And now I’m just minutes away from my own shadow and eventual expulsion. 

Most of the committee probably don’t know a thing about it, like Brunette or Petticoat. But I know for sure three people that know exactly what happened to Chris. Toad. Walmart. And Chris’s shadow—the Straight Arrow sitting right there next to Brunette.

~ By S.C. Mattson

Photo by Cameron Casey from Pexels

Back When My Life Was Easy

The other day my afternoon was spent walking down memory lane. I was rooting through my storage room looking for a couple of particular items when I decided I may as well do some spring cleaning. I spent the next several hours piling through every tote, cardboard box, and green army duffle; and rediscovering what my life consisted of circa 2001-2006.

The keepsakes were largely a collection of mementos from my Iraq deployment, Army uniforms, Ken Griffey Junior memorabilia, home videos that shall never be shown to anyone— ever, police memorabilia, Army surplus junk, old CDs, 1940s vintage items, and personal paperwork.

While I could tell a unique story for just about each item discovered in the treasure trove of junk, one piece stood out. It is a short story of its own and was written by my youngest sister during the years of her life when she marveled me. In fact, she saw me as a superhero, a humbling characterization since I was merely a superhuman. Unfortunately, now that she is grown, she Marvels at other so-called “superheroes”, and while I can no longer claim to be superhuman, I still achieve at times the status of “mostly human.”

I will leave you to decide, dear reader, whether or not the story is true. Regardless of truth, it does bring to life the reality and simplicity of my life as a young, single, white male adult. I am humbled by its accurate portrayal of my life and grateful for its rediscovery.

Without further ado, I give you the short story, “Steven and the Nasty Thifs”, by nine-year-old a much younger Cathy Mattson. Love you, sis. I edited the piece for readability.

Once upon a time there was a 23 year old boy named Steven. Steven was in the National Guard in Juneau, Alaska. He liked his job because he got to do drills, and go to different places. Steven lived in a cozy little apartment on Dawn Drive. Inside was a couch, arm chair, kitchen, and a small bedroom with a closet and dresser. Every day he drove his convertible Jeep to the National Guard armory and went inside to do drills and work in the office with the sergeants.

One day Steven got a new job at the police station in the middle of the town. He liked his job because he answered phone calls, and sometimes he got to ride in the police car with the chief.

Steven liked his new job and liked his old one, so he made a schedule and went to work at the police department and went to work at the National Guard armory. One day he would work at the armory and another day at the police station.

One day while answering phone calls the bell rang and Steven, just wanting one chance, ran out and jumped in the police car with the chief. They went to the house that was being robbed by nasty thieves. When they arrived, the thieves were just leaving. When they saw the police car, they sped off down the street. Steven and the police turned around and chased after the nasty thieves. The thieves drove so quickly that they lost the police and Steven.

Then the thieves stopped their car and ran into their old and musty shack. There they were splitting up their loot that they stole. When Steven and the police had surrounded the thieves shack, (they) yelled come out with your hands up and surrender, otherwise we will search your house.

So the nasty thieves came out and the police took the 8 thieves to jail. Then when the thieves were locked up and (the police) had everything sorted out, they had a big party in honor of Steven who saved the day and who caught the nasty thieves. The End.”

Yep, that pretty much sums of an average day for me back when I was a young, single, white male adult and my life was easy.

The Old Loft

 

I can still picture Dave Johnson playing his guitar for us in front of the open loft window that looked out upon the old church sanctuary. The congregation had years before built a newer, larger building to house their growing body, which left the original building to the care of the Junior and Senior high youth groups.

The old church building was full of mystery and adventure, like an abandoned sanctuary hiding memories deep within her soul. When empty, the light streaming through the windows danced off the wooden beams and planked walls, and one could almost picture the sights and sounds of the past replayed in the shadows. The air held a fragrance of must and wood, so distinct of older, well-worn buildings. But none of the memories or odors were noticeable on youth nights, and the building provided a perfect balance between club house functionality and play house activity.

The small foyer on the main floor served as the central distribution of all travel throughout the building. Stairs at one end led down to the basement, while another set at the opposite end led to the loft. In the corner, someone had installed a bar table with stools; and the old sanctuary was accessible through a large opening where a set of double doors had once been. The sanctuary had been converted into a gymnasium of sorts, with a basketball ball hoop hanging from the loft-overhang above the entrance, and the old stage still at the far end. During the open gym time before the formal program, one had to be careful when entering the gym lest he become the victim of an out-of-control ball attempting an escape the melee of activity.

Laminated wooden beams rose from the gymnasium floor and support the vaulted ceiling like ribs of an old sailing ship. The windows and overhead fluorescent lights were covered with wire mesh to protect the glass from the weekly assaults of basketballs, volleyballs, dodge balls, and whatever other sporting gear happened to be in use that week. Two doorways led off stage, one opened to the storage room. The other revealed a dark staircase descending like a secret passageway into the back recesses of the basement.

The concrete basement was a labyrinth of old classrooms, individually accessible thorough a main great hall, and interconnected to one another through side doors. Between the multiple stairways and the multiple room entries and exists, the whole building was well suited for games of Sardines, Laser Tag, Airsoft wars (not that we ever engaged in such dangerous activities), making out (not that we ever engaged in such lascivious activities), running wild, and having an all around fantastic time.

Of all the things I remember about that old youth building, I remember most fondly the loft. The loft was only accessible from the narrow staircase at the back of the foyer. I doubt the staircase and loft were ever intended to house youth meetings, but there we were. On any given week, dozens of sweaty, stinky, hormonal, rambunctious teens crammed into a space slightly larger than a bread truck. Sardines in a sardine tin have more room to stretch out. A platoon of soldiers riding in the back of a deuce-and-a-half are more comfortable. The air inside an Alaska Airlines flight filled with passengers returning from a two-week moose hunt smells better. But there we were, adults and youth alike, sitting on old, worn-out couches or crammed on the faded orange carpet with numb butts and cramped knees. The late arrivals and lucky adults spilled out down the staircase.

Despite the cramped and chaotic conditions, the old loft was a place of safety, comfort, and even quiet. The loft offered sanctuary from the turmoil of the week, the frustrations of the present, and the anxiety of the future. In the loft it did not matter your talents, your grades, your status, your looks, your sex, or any of the other silly categories we place ourselves in. We were all there. Together. Cramped. Smelly. Listening. Laughing. Singing.

We sang a blend of Maranatha classics, camp favorites, old hymns, and the new and exciting music of Hillsong, Matt Redman, Sonic Flood, and Vineyard Worship. Our voices filled the cramped confines of the room and spilled out into the gymnasium. We were loud and we were beautiful. I can still hear the harmonies from Sandy Baxter and the other girls singing the echos to “Eternally Yours” or “You Are My All in All.” I can still picture all the faces illuminated by the glow of the overhead projector. I can still see Dave Johnson leading us in song on his guitar.

We stayed in the old loft until my Senior year when we brought all the couches, pillows and bean bag chairs down, and for the first time settled comfortably on the gym floor. Though the gymnasium was much more conducive to the large gathering, it lost out on the intimacy and cramped coziness of the loft. The music was the same, the message was the same, but the meeting became more formal. The music team led from before us on stage, not from among us in the crowd. The youth pastor gave his message standing in front of us, not sitting among us. These were not bad things, but I just remember more fondly the intimacy of the loft. The quietness and comfort even in the midst of the loudness and discomfort. A peaceful, easy feeling.

 

A Sawbuck of Finns

As the wedding of Cousin Aaron neared its end, Caleb turned to Ken and mused, “Geese have their ganders and crows have their murders. What would a group of Finns be called? A collection perhaps?” Ken thought for a moment and said, “No, I don’t think collection is the correct term. We must come up with one that really stands out.” Everyone sat back in their seats pondering the question, in only the way that Finns can ponder, until Cousin Mark declared, “A sawbuck!” “Yes, of course!” Replied Ken. And everyone agreed that a sawbuck was indeed the correct term.

Catching Trains

It’s 6:30 in the morning and I am sitting in the Space Saver section of the plane, flying through the air at some 500 miles per hour and waiting, impatiently as it were, to arrive at my destination.

The space saver section is the most inconvenient section of the plane. It is the section at the very back near the lavatories. There is a constant flow of people walking back and forth which only adds to the stress of flying. This is why I like trains. I’ll take the long hours, gentle rocking, and clickity-clacks over cramped seating, antsy passengers, turbulence, and constant dull roar any day. Sure it might take a few more hours or even days to arrive at my destination by train, but isn’t that part of the joy of train travel? I want to arrive relaxed; I’m not in a hurry. And if I really get bored or antsy, I can just hop off for a few days and chill. We really should do a lot more travel by train. Stuff the inconvenience.

I can give at least one reason why train travel is far better than air travel. Ever shown up for your flight just as the plane is pulling away from the gate? Fuggedaboudit. Show up ten seconds late and it’s over. Rebook. Large fines fees. Frustration and, for some odd reason, embarrassment as you watch your plane fly off into the wild blue yonder.

You stand there helpless in front of the big bay window and watch your ticket to freedom pull away from the gate, completely filled with passengers, less one. The plane disappears from view and you shuffle over to the agent counter and confess, with embarrassment, that you missed the flight. The agent feigns compassion and taps randomly on the keyboard. You stand there at her mercy, hoping there is a seat on the next available flight and that it won’t cost too much. Maybe you should fabricate a story of how you were late because you chased down a man who stole a purse from a little old lady, thus proving you worthy of a rebook.

The agent has good news. There is a seat available on the next flight, but it does require a change fee, plus the difference in fare, plus airline inconvenience fee, plus taxes, plus several other random fees. You sigh, express gratitude, and say you’ll take it. For only an additional half-the-cost-of-the-your-original-ticket, you are now booked on the next flight. Space Saver of course.

Not so with train travel. Show up as the train is pulling away from the station and you can still make it, as long as you have the heart and endurance to do so. There is something about watching the metal behemoth slowly lumber away from the platform that transports you from reality into the center of a high-point action sequence, and you become the hero.

From somewhere overhead an epic soundtrack plays. The adrenaline is on full throttle. The danger and thrill overcome your senses and you launch yourself, suitcase in hand, after the accelerating beast. It takes mere seconds to cover the ground between you and the final car. A conductor leans out of the stairwell encouraging you on, yet you find your strength rapidly depleting while your foe increases. Women and children crane their necks to witness the outcome, men place bets on your success or your demise. The train begins to draw away. You manage, at the last second, to grab hold of the stairwell handrail and with a final burst of power leap onto the step. But your suitcase acts as a counter weight and threatens to pull you back out. It is only when the conductor grabs hold of your suit coat that you are able to overcome the force of gravity. You and your suitcase have done the impossible. The train car erupts in applause. Women swoon. Children gaze in awe at their newfound hero. Men beat their chests and declare, “What a brave charge it was.” The conductor asks for your ticket which has inconveniently blown out of your suit coat pocket during the ordeal. He sells you another on the spot.

~ S.C. Mattson

The Chronicles of Mattson

Chapter 2019

Dear friend,

Three years have now passed since my last Chronicle, which is a timespan un-agreeable in any epoch of modern correspondence. Therefore, please forgive the absence of news, and render grace at this attempt to condense the events of three years into a single letter.

In the spring of 2017 Linda and I adopted Archie, a black English Labrador Retriever. Life with a new puppy challenged us at first, but we soon got the hang of it and now, almost three years later, cannot imagine life without the beast, who has inspired many adventures in the Southeast Alaska wilderness. Linda has also enjoyed many excursions with several ladies from church whom also have fur-babies.

Speaking of church, that same year we helped launch a new church plant in the community. Having just celebrated its two-year anniversary, Awaken Church, continues to grow and develop. Although I have since stepped down from a leadership role,  Linda continues to serve on the music team, and we both enjoy attending a weekly fellowship group with other families from the church.

I deviated in my career, as well, when I left my role on the Governor’s Communications Team to join the Information Technology section, still within the Office of the Governor. The work has been quite challenging, but I benefit from a less busy work-life schedule and am able to develop my  programming skills. In my last hurrah with the Comms Team, I traveled with the governor’s wife to China as part of a cultural tour. The trip was the brightest highlight during my tenure on the team.

As the year progressed into 2018, we purchased a house found in foreclosure which needed much renovation. We rented the duplex out and moved into the small apartment attached to the house, while contractors completed the necessary work. The home lies in a wonderful neighborhood, with plenty of room for Archie to run around and plenty of projects for us to get our hands dirty with.

In August and September, we joined the Jeep Club for an adventure to Northern California where we traversed the Rubicon Trail. The three days on the trail were both exhilarating and terrifying, but with our trusty 15-year-old Jeep, Lucy, we navigated the rugged terrain unscathed.

As the year wrapped up, I enjoyed my theatrical debut as the Resistance Man in the cabaret performance of “Here’s Looking at You, Casablanca” and performed a couple of Christmas songs on live radio with a friend of mine.

In January of 2019, Linda left her position with the Department of Commerce to serve as the Education Commissioner’s Executive Assistant. The change afforded her the time to work towards a degree in Health Information Management, a distance program available from the university in Sitka.

Our Spring and Summer were filled with beautiful, warm weather, and we spent much of the time working and playing outside. We celebrated Independence Day in Haines with the Jeep Club, enjoyed late evenings on our front porch, and hand split three cords of wood provided from several trees that we felled last Fall.

As the year wraps up, we can be found sitting near the television fireplace listening to the Spotify, catching up on reading, Linda with her school work, and me with creative writing (which may also be read on the inter webs at arcticknight.wordpress.com).

Until my next edition, may you find peace and joy in all your happenings. Much love to you all.

– Stephen

A Glimpse Within

Can I tell you how I’m feeling?
I’d love to, if I knew how.
All those words I’d hoped to find,
All those thoughts I’ve spent my life trying to grasp.

Yes, what I’ve searched for has been there all along;
In the din and the glare,
No bells or whistles,
No complications,
Only quietness and confidence.
These are my strengths.
No need to make them anything more.

In trust, in truth- virtues long abandoned; no, forgotten.

Tell me what you see, deep inside.
Can you grasp within you that what you seek has been there all along.

You are enough.

The words echo in my mind as though spoken in a dream.

~S.C. Mattson

The Beginnings of Man, and the Work of a Creator

I love how the Hebrew Bible describes Genesis chapter 1 verses one and two. It says, “when God began to create the heaven and earth, and the earth then it was welter and waste and darkness over the deep and God’s breath hovering over the waters, God said, ‘Let there be light.'” In most of our modern translations we are familiar with this verse because it reads, “in the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.” And yet how the Hebrew Bible describes this scene, it takes it from the realm of a past tense activity that occurred at a static moment in time and it places it in beautiful active voice, “when God began to create the heaven and earth.” It is almost as if you can sit back and watch God as he is at work creating the heavens and the earth.

Friends if there was one thing that I would want us to be aware of today, it is that there is a Creator who created the heaven and earth and who created you. He created you so that you would know him. Jesus said in John chapter 17 that eternal life is that we would know God and Jesus Christ whom He sent. That is what the purpose of life is: to know God.

It is not popular today to describe the world around us in terms of a created existence. The majority of those in the world are taught that this world came about from accidentaly means, and only a small minority believes that the world and those who live in it were created. I don’t pretend to understand the science behind intelligent design or the science behind evolution, this is not intended to make an argument for or against either one of those theories. The simple fact of the matter, for me, is that I have only to look around at the world around me- the natural beauty and process of the world around me- and I am compelled to believe that this is the work of an intelligent Creator.

In what aspects of our lives do we not both celebrate the created work as well as the creator of that work? I have only to mention the name Steve Jobs, Bill Gates, the Wright brothers, Leonardo da Vinci, or Albert Einstein; and our minds are instantly connected to the works that they are known by. In every area of our lives we celebrate both the created object as well as the person responsible for its creation. Why is it not so when we observe the natural world around us? How sad that we can exalt a beautiful painting by a talented and renowned artist- even those who are not so talented or renowned-, but we cannot bring ourselves to lift up our eyes to the heavens and acknowledge the existence of a wonderful and talented Creator. How foolish we are to marvel at the complexity and intelligence that went into creating the smallest of micro chips, and yet we refuse to entertain the notion that the human eyeball – one of the most complex organs of the human body – could have been developed by an intelligent Creator.