November 28th, 2012 by Bill Keitel

The news in recent days centered on President Obama going on a rather surprising visit to Burma/Myanmar. This is of curious interest to me, and I suspect and many of our local immigrants who happen to be from this nation. A distant connection came to mind as I listened intently of what was to be made of this trip.

Ever so long ago in 1989, Worthington’s own Bob Artley made a trip to this far off land. Bob was all ready a nationally known Illustrator and cartoonist; his cartoons were syndicated in numerous newspapers and magazines throughout the U.S. His daughter Jeannie and son-in-law Chris Szymanski held positions in the State Department, and Chris was Charge’ de Faire back when the U.S. had a consulate in Burma. Bob and his daughter are no longer with us, and Chris lives out east. I called Chris and asked if we could visit. He told me that he was astonished that this occurred and was cautiously optimistic because Burmese generals are quite often backsliders. He said that this event encourages that thought of progression, and back when he was in Burma he and his staff had the distinct feeling that the unfolding of events would not end well.

Bob Artley returned home to Adrian/Worthington with amazing stories about this beautiful land, and it was at this time he mentioned the name Aung San Suu Kyi. The military had just taken power after an election that they chose not to honor. Aung San Suu Kyi was the candidate, and it was her father who had been a general in the Burmese Revolution many years prior. He was considered to be the father of modern-day Burma and yet was assassinated 6 months prior to independence.

It was her place in history to step forward to help the people of Burma determine their destiny. The military would not relent, and she was placed under house arrest for many decades. Aung San was bestowed the prestigious Nobel Peace Prize, and Chris and Jeannie had the privilege to enjoy her company on a number of occasions, including a memorable Thanksgiving dinner. The decades rolled past and her family had moved to Oxford,UK. and her husband died of cancer without her being able to leave the country. The price of moral conviction plays hard and steep.

During the time that Bob Artley was in Burma, he gave a presentation to Burma’s top cartoonists. His son-in-law told him that these Burmese cartoonist’s wanted to be more politicallly assertive. Chris advised Bob to please not allow them that opportunity because of the swift oppression that could easily come to bear. Bob was also told that there were military agents disguised in the crowd to observe any signs of dissent.

Bob gave a remarkable presentation that was graciously accepted by his Burmese counterparts. He allowed them to come up on stage and to display their own talents on his oversized cartooning easel. They enjoyed employing some of Bob’s cartooning techniques and even included them in their own freestyle drawings. One of the last cartoonists to come up and display his talents used Bob’s signature “farm lantern.” The lantern was something that appeared numerous times in Bobs cartoons — it was a symbol of warmth, and it shed light throughout the farmhouse and barn and all of Bob’s world. The cartoonist drew a picture of the Statue of Liberty and in her hand was the lantern instead of the Torch of Liberty. The lantern stood as a beacon of Liberty but it had an obvious flaw…..you could see the lantern had been extinguished. The flame had gone out and the beacon of light was missing, a puff of smoke was all that remained. Bob was startled because he realized the political implications of this drawing. The cartoonist was communicating with all those present that the liberty of the Burmese had been snuffed out by the military dictatorship. Bob felt it was an uneasy ending to a rather enjoyable presentation.

This story stuck in my mind over the years and was never forgotten. Aung San has always piqued my interes,t and I’ve tried to pay attention to her efforts and her plight. Bob Artley died in the fall of 2011 having lived far more than an average life, it was also a life of artistry and a life of service to others.

A year later I was visiting with Bob’s eldest son, Rob Artley, and as I relayed my story of long ago, he told me I didn’t have the entirety of the events of that day.

Rob went on to tell me that the cartoonist that drew the cartoon that depicted the flame or lantern of Liberty, was never seen again. It is with this visit amazing visit that President Obama and Aung San Suu Kyi (two of the world’s Nobel Peace Prize recipients) have the possibililty of rekindling this flame of liberty.

August 27th, 2012 by Bill Keitel

The phone rang and it was a fellow named S…. He explained that he worked for the Obama
Campaign…..can we talk? I thought….another contribution call..
You’ve been chosen, one of four people to be considered for the Biden campaign stop in
Rochester. Would you consider doing an intro for Vice President Biden? I paused and wondered
if this was legitimate? He tells me his contacts and how he received my name and I’m now
somewhat convinced that it could be real.

“I’d want to discuss it with my wife who tends to be adverse to seeking the spotlight.”
After a short visit with Lauri we return the call with positive answer. We felt it isn’t
what small retailers seek to do and our customer has always been to small to divide with political views. The issues and concerns overroad the possible negative impacts. Besides, I’ve held my opinions to myself for 35 of 40 years while trying to eek out a living in a small town of 10,000.
My customer base has treated us with unflagging patronage and this incredible support has
allowed us to stay in a community of this size. We are ever grateful for each and everybody
that darkens our doorway. Does our customer base have broad enough intellectual capacity &
understanding to allow the small shopkeeper an opinion of his own? Hmmm, I think so, I hope
so.

We gave this stranger on the phone all of our vital information including full names
including birthdates and social security numbers. With the understanding that they would be
doing a security check on us. He said that we were top on the list, but the final decision
does not come from them. The last instruction is that we tell no one….What a great hoax or
scheme to play off my ego and steal all my frog skins ($). The theme song for Jeopardy started
playing in my head.

Two days worth of waiting went by without any communication and I get more worried…..this
could be the coolest con game ever!
An email came on Sunday that said I’d been chosen and that I would need to start writing
the intro-narrative. The intro was to be brief statement on our business and why I support
the current administration.

The intro was written with some concerns I had about health care issues, fairness and equity
for all people. The first draft goes for review and critique’. It passes muster rather
quickly with some revisions. They like the sound and it gets bulked up with additional thoughts.
I’m not adverse to public oration but today I’m being edited and advised by real speech writers!!
Rochester MN. is a place that a few years ago caused me some trepidation. I had a music
gig at a fancy hotel in this town and didn’t realize how far it was from Worthington. I was
almost late for this gig so the “Rochester” name leaves me with a feeling of unease…….don’t be
late!

Lauri has a VIP back stage pass and Sigin (our God daughter) who is traveling with us has no
assurance prior to our departure because of security and capacity concerns.
As we pull into Rochester the vehicle lines are quequeing up at the fair grounds and we
steer the Sprinter van (StarShip Enterprise) toward the parking monitors. We explain to them
we aren’t spectators and reveal our contact name. They send us into the V.I.P. parking area
and we start to feel special! This might have been the coolest moment…….I’ve always been
average! so average in fact that I’m being feted by these event builders. I don’t want to
come off as “joe the plumber” from elections of years gone by.

We are allowed to go to the front of the line that is now about two or three blocks long and
we check in and are quickly whisked through police security and then on to Secret Service
security. Each station is possessive of their own space. We all past security and then go
onto a separate building that is perhaps 75 yards from the event arena. Between us and the
arena is a sound booth tent that also serves as a pre-staging area for the “On stage guests”.

We hear music and excitement building as the event goers are being entertained by
music,pledge of allegiance,and various crowd pleasing activities. The building is developing a
pulse of sound and rhythm. We stand alone in a separate building hearing the distant cheers,
music & revelry. Finally in comes friend Tim Waltz and shortly after that Al Franken shows
up. At this point we are 45 people strong, being sequestered without a Vice President anywhere to be
found. There is significant security everywhere….almost within arms reach.

We visit and queue up for the official WH photo sessions. Everybody getting their assigned
space in line. After everybody is in line (we are at the very end). The person that is
orchestrating the event looks up,points me in the eyes! and we get signal to proceed to the front…in front of
EVERYBODY! He puts us in a huddle and quickly states the objective “When Biden comes in, you
visit, you photograph and then you head directly for the white tent next to the event building and give
me your brief case.” (it has my notes) “you’ll find it in the tent with everybody else’s brief
cases…..but, but, but.” Please hand me the briefcase.

An event official then approaches the Mayor of Rochester and informs him that the fire marshal is
having a problem with building capacity, everybody dithers a bit and it gets resolved. Everything and everybody seems to
be dense packed into a building that is just a bit beyond capacity.
Special Buses have been parked intentionally & tightly in front of our walk ways so there is
no line of sight to the outside world. All the windows are covered with material that looks
carbon fiber gray.

We are secure 100′s of years in all directions. All entrances are secure and then we hear some distant doors slam, it comes from behind large
curtains and behind the U.S. flags and MN buntings. More security walks in and looks us all over, up and down
and sizes up the place, then giving the nod, thru the curtains briskly strides a warm,
friendly, smiling, familiar face VP Joe Biden.

Applause erupts and VP Biden acknowledges everybody and then comes immediately over to Lauri, Sigin and I and introduces himself.
Engaging, sincere and energetic and vibrant, we visit for a minute or two until the WH
photographer tells him to get photogenic! He’s got lots to do and only so much time for small
talk, they keep him on task. I’ve been previously advised that if the VP isn’t wearing a
tie….you might consider removing your own. (I discreetly removed my brand new tie, a tie that had
secret powers of poise,grace, eloquence and self confidence. )

Once our official photos were taken we are immediately separated from the rest of the people in this
staging area. Security & event people have taken my brief case 10 minutes earlier and assured
me that it will be where I can find it. (it has my notes for the intro)
I say bye to Sigin and Lauri and I am whisked off with Al Franken and Tim Waltz and the Mayor
of Rochester. We head to the white tent and search for our intro notes……damn, they got to be
here someplace?

The sound being generated from the crowd in the event site is building and it is pulsating
with energy. I have had very little trepidation up until this point. My original notes were
a page long and I almost could have gone it alone…but with the help of the WH they are now 2
pages long….and no where to be found. This is when I could finally, at long last… become
anxious. The crowd noise was continuing to build and we were being called upon to head in as
a team…to the main stage. I am ready to balk, almost annoyed.. but then I realize the Mayor
doesn’t have his and Al doesn’t have his either. NOBODY IS GOING ANY WHERE UNTIL….
Somebody peeks out of the exterior sound & audio tent and points to the distant chair by
the entrance and as we enter the building we all grab our notes!

The volume level goes up another notch or two or three as we enter as a foursome and I’m the
only unknown, which is fine. I’ve put on a pretend parka that makes in invisible.
My politician friends and I are waving hands, shaking hands, clapping hands and the event begins.
Its really, really loud and really,really fun, besides….I’m invisible nobody has a clue who I
am.

This joyful frenzy is a small payment for politicians that spend their days in meetings that I would
find frightfully boring….they appreciate this time with their constituency, rightfully so.
I’ve had a number of opportunities to do some public speaking on “event development” and as
the revelry continues.. my mind wanders to this subject because they have appointed this
building perfectly. Densely packed people on the main floor and a perimeter balcony that is
packed to capacity. The sound system must travel with the VP because its perfect E.Q. and the audio
tech’s are not even in the building! Lighting is perfect, camera positioning is perfect 10 to
15 big boy tripod camera’s in back and another dozen or more throughout the sides and balcony.

Signage is well placed,color and buntings everywhere, Steel guard barriers (10 ft. from the
stage) Tele prompters functioning and complete with with polite well dressed Secret Service
people stageside. There are even buntings on the stage all around the podium, They seem to be
hung on a 30″ high wall of 1/2″ plate steel? OH MY! I comprehend the design….. and I think I’m
in a pretty secure spot.

The Mayor of Rochester welcomes the crowd, then Tim Waltz gets and fires up the crowd like
no other. I believe Congressman Waltz was a history teacher and also a veteran, what better
qualifications, I’m honored to be on stage with him, I hold him in high regard, he talks meaningfully to this crowd.

Tim passes the stage to Sen.Al Franken, Al has become a favorite son of Minnesota.
Far from his SNL beginnings, Al is smart, charming, eloquent and on task! Al signs off and does the
intro for me, I’m grateful that I’m being introduced by someone that actually knows me! Over
the past few years I’ve worked a little bit with his wife Frannie and see him occasion in Wgtn.
or out on the trail. He of course can’t leave the introduction without mentioning
Worthington’s Turkey Day, the event that has continued to put Wgtn. on the map for the past 40
yrs. or so.

I step up to the podium and almost ponder why I don’t seem particularly nervous, but I
quickly realize it is because I’m surrounded by people of like minds and like aspirations.
I have spent so much of my natural born days holding my tongue and its refreshing to know I can
talk openly about a few subjects that are quite relevant to small business people.
Rest assured, I don’t mention all the God fearing people that can’t seem to leave other people alone and be nice.

***************** Please find below the approximate text of what I said.

——————————–ad lib the Mars Lander comment by Waltz

Good afternoon! I am so excited to be here today – as I suspect we all are!
My name is Bill Keitel. My wife Lauri and I have owned and operated a small
manufacturing business in Worthington for the last 40 years called the Buffalo Billfold
Company. We are a small business. We employ 1 or 2 people on an ordinary day and might have as
many as 6 or 7 employees on a busy day.

We hand craft all of our leather goods in a small town, and have always prided ourselves on
making those products here at home, so we can proudly stamp them with “Made in the USA.”
· For us, adaptability is the key. And over the past four years it’s been clear that
President Obama and Vice President Biden understand that, and are looking out for small
business owners and middle-class families like ours.

Whether it be through tax cuts for middle-class families and small business owners, or
fighting for middle-class tax relief, helping us manage health care costs for employees, or
working to support insourcing and support companies like ours that grow jobs right here at home –
the President and Vice President have had our backs. …. … Now, we have theirs!

Over the years we’ve seen incredible societal change both in the demographics of our
community and also in our wholesale and retail endeavors . And as we all follow government
policies and politics in this election year – it’s clear that there is a stark choice in vision for the
economy and the middle class.

· We are heartened by the current administration and their indefatigable efforts to
create a sense of fairness and equity to all people in this nation.
· President Obama and Vice President Biden are working to build an economy to last,
where hard work pays off, responsibility is rewarded and everyone plays by the same rules.

That not only helps small business owners like us, but also middle-class families like ours continue to move
forward.

It’s Exactly the kind of vision that our country needs to continue our economic recovery, And
Exactly the kind of leadership that all Americans need to continue to create a better, stronger
future for their families.

· It is my privilege to introduce to you a man who has worked hard for the middle-class
and small business owners all his life, because he has been where we are and understands what’s
at stake.

Please join me in welcoming the Honorable Vice President of the United States, Joe Biden!

——————————
If their idea was to present the face of a “ma and pa” business and American craftsmanship…. in
full support of the current administration…I think we got the job done.
As I was finishing up..and playing to the crowd….. I was hoping that VP Biden was somewhere to
be found! My last few words “VP of the United States, Joe Biden” were probably drown out by
the applause.

As I turned to see if he was in the wings or behind the stage…………..we was coming up the steps
just as planned.

His speech was compelling, his logic…sound, his desire to do good, beyond reproach. The
crowd could not contain themselves! Afterwards Joe Biden, Al Franken, Tim Waltz and Mayor
Rochester and myself rose thanking the crowd.

Politicians moved forward off stage, toward the crowd barriers, shaking hands and re
acquainting themselves with their constituency, while Bill smiled and timidly edged stage
right!

I actually did a bit of shaking because many were extending their hands! Whoa! ….thats
politicians territory!

I found Lauri and Sigin high in the balcony behind my left shoulder, they had a good view of
the back of my head. We did spend further time with Waltz and Franken afterward.

I’m trying to find away to get out of the “secure area” that has been so cordoned off with security & the
barriers. I head around behind the stage to see if I can get into the public side of things.

I see V.P. Biden leaving through the back door with Secret Service. My eyes meet the last Secret Service man to exit in the defensive “V”
position as they go backward thru the doors….guarding his back.

Bill Keitel 8-23-12

April 5th, 2012 by Bill Keitel

London 2011 PART TWO (of three parts)

We leave the Cotswolds and reflect on the craftsman we met doing dry stone masonry. Stone fence building has always been important in the region, in part because of the vast amounts of sedimentary stone found in the fields. The stone cleaves easily and is the building material of choice for both fences and buildings throughout the Cotswolds.
We catch the train back to London and clean up a bit before heading to Paris. I duck into a barber shop and relate our gypsy stories to the young gal who is cutting my hair. She looks at her boss and then back at me.. smiles, stating; “when I started working here I was afraid to tell my boss that I am a Romani Gypsy”, her boss smiles and says “you didn’t fool me, I knew that you were.”
The Duchess of Richmond adopted a mix-race child in the 1960′s & John Lennon married Yoko Ono shortly thereafter. This may well have allowed the public to appreciate diversity. Today Great Britain is the most ethnically diverse country in Europe.
*** Bouffer Des Kilometers a’ havers la France! EATING OUR WAY THRU FRANCE!
We have been hiking ten to 20 kilometers a day for the past week and decide to backpack to St. Pancras station to catch the EuroStar. Two hours later we are at Gare Du Nord station and are met warmly by our beautiful French family. We are whisked away on a non stop tour of Paris. Jean Pierre prepares a meal of Fois Gras and smoked duck. It is a culinary and sensory overload. Throughout the subways in Paris are beautiful poster boards and numerous ones advertise the performance of “Seven Fingers” . As providence or sheer dumb luck would have it…..my niece performs with this group as well as Cirque Du Soliel. They perform in the most beautiful tent in the world! I suspect it might bean antique tent called a velvet and mirrors tent. We are treated to front row seats with many of her friends from around the world. They end with a standing, standing long and loud ovation. A week later when we were back in Paris we re-connected for a special meal at Krin, Kris and Ole’s apartment along with many friends.
Louise’s’ sister Alice made numerous travel arrangements for us and within the day we were headed to Monte Saint Michele and San Malo & Hon Fluers. Louise drove her dads car and we stayed in B & B’s along the way. She negotiated with the local hoteliers on prices……she was very good at getting a better rate everywhere we went. She exclaimed “they think I am beautiful…..they want to such my toes!” Louise….to much information!
Returning to Paris we then headed to Louise and Alice’s mother home in Charleville-Mezieres. Emmanuel enjoys baking and Franck is a nationally recognized baker and pastry chef. The beautiful children, Sarah and Sonia spoke as much English as we spoke French. Our lack of language skills made no difference. They filled our days with castles and adventures.
After a surprise meal with their friends….I found myself playing some music for Bouton Radio 90.6 FM Une Parole Differente! It was a French station that played country and western music! I was then asked if I would consider playing a couple of songs at the local dance club. To my surprise it consisted of 185 country line dancers and the place was a sensory overload. They love cowboys and cowboy music. I hustled myself a retired interpreter from the French Embassy that happen to be a line dancer and brought her up on stage with me. In French, I thanked the 6 or 8 different people that put me up on stage and then said Jene Pahrl Pah Francais! ..gladly handing a mike to the interpreter to let her explain that both Lauri and I had just returned from a South Dakota festival in which 1,500 buffalo were rounded up, branded and inoculated. They were wide eyed with interest…..and we were the only ones without western clothes. Afterwards I was honored and a bit stunned to sign autographs and allow photos!
How could we not want to go back! Viva La France!!

November 30th, 2011 by Bill Keitel

Published November 19, 2011, 12:00 AM
Off the beaten path: Gypsies, mudders & international friendship
A decade ago, I approached a horseman and asked,“Why is it that I think of Conquistadors when I see you on your horse?” The horseman replied, “You are a student of history, and this horse is the type of horse with which Coronado and Pizarro conquered the Americas.” This conversation started my fascination with many breeds of horses and their relationship with our history.
By: Bill Keitel, Worthington,MN

Lauri and Bill Keitel are shown with hostess Emmanuelle Fillon in Charleville-Mezieres, France.
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Keitels travel to Europe
A decade ago, I approached a horseman and asked,“Why is it that I think of Conquistadors when I see you on your horse?” The horseman replied, “You are a student of history, and this horse is the type of horse with which Coronado and Pizarro conquered the Americas.”

This conversation started my fascination with many breeds of horses and their relationship with our history.

In the recent decade, our business has allowed my wife, Lauri, and me to travel at our discretion, and because of this we have chosen to exhibit at various horse expos and rodeos. At the Minnesota Horse Expo, I became acquainted with the fabled breed of horse called the Gypsy Vanner. This horse is bred by gypsies all over Europe, used as a draft horse to pull their ornately carved gypsy carts.

Twice each year, gypsies from all over Europe gather in Great Britain to swap and trade these horses. As providence, fate or sheer dumb luck would have it, we were planning a trip to France and realized that we could partake in the fall gathering of gypsies in the Cotswolds of Great Britain. The festival is located in a town called Stow-in-the-Wold and is known as Stow Faire.

The Cotswolds are comprised of a dozen or more villages that have been frozen in time. Pictures depicting thatched roof homes and quaint pastoral settings are often photographed in the Cotswolds. It is an area approximately 25 by 90 miles, and since the turn of the century (1900), it has been an area dedicated to day hikers and bed and breakfasts.

We left our comfort zone of London and headed by the tube (subway), train and buses and eventually freestyled our way to our desired destination. Chippen Campden is as quaint a village you can find in the Cotswolds of Gloucestershire. We set up our lodging above the pub at the Volunteer Inn in “Chippy.” We would use this as our base camp for five- to 10-mile hikes each day, leaving our heavy backpacks behind.

The citizens of Great Britain have always defended their right of passage through the countryside, so there are walking paths virtually everywhere, and trespassing is not an issue. The only requirement is that you shut the gate.

We visited with folks along the way and told them we would eventually end up in Stow-on-the-Wold for the Stow Faire. They looked at us, puzzled, and asked if we were going there intentionally or by accident? Considering we had just traveled 5,000 to 6,000 miles, we weren’t ready to cancel our plans. We realized that everybody along the way was avoiding the gypsy fair. Undaunted, we continued our journey.

The word gypsy is derogatory, and these people should be referred to as “travelers.” It is believed that originally gypsies migrated from India and then splintered into various parts of Europe, including Spain, Ireland, Romania. People take to the notion that they are unwanted newcomers, when in fact they have occupied Britain for more than 500 years.

In our business travels, we have found ourselves going through a wide variety of social biomes, from the tony neighborhood art festivals to the impoverished Indian reservations of Montana and South Dakota. We headed toward Stow-in-the-Wold understanding that gypsies are not romanticized in Europe. However, a gypsy festival fits right into our comfort zone.

Stow-on-the-Wold

When we arrived in Stow-on-the-Wold, most of the retail community had locked their doors until the festival was over. There seemed to be little love lost for these gypsy folks, and the only reason they were allowed in Stow was a gypsy owned the 40 acres on the edge of town. However, with a community completely closed, it left us no place to store our heavy and burdensome backpacks. The bed and breakfast where we were spending the night was even closed until 4 p.m. (the precise time that the festival was over). The festival was a mile away in an open tree-lined field, and we were not prepared to hike with 40-pound backpacks. We had traveled days to arrive at this town at this precise time, and we couldn’t just leave our backpacks on the street. We dithered for well over an hour trying to telephone the people at the B&B to no avail.

Finally, we scuttled our packs at a local fish and chips shop (we are indebted!) and headed through crowds of youthful Travelers toward the fair. Though the whole town was closed, the atmosphere was that of a high school parking lot on the last day of school.

Bright-eyed young women revealed their historic past with an eye toward equestrian couture. Wearing fur-trimmed capes, short skirts so high that the air was thin, muddy fields and stiletto heels, they plied the grounds looking for potential mates within their Traveler community. They seldom marry outside the culture. Few Travelers stood out boldly as “gypsies.” Most were subtle in their dress, and yet, we slowly developed “an eye” to recognize the Irish, Spanish and Romani qualities of Travelers.

We eventually found ourselves immersed in a sea of people and slowly, like an epiphany, realized that most everybody was of gypsy heritage except ourselves. We were completely engulfed by this community; everyone was enjoying the annual reunion with their kinship. Horses, ducks, geese and canaries in cages were being bought, sold, swapped and traded.

Hundreds of tents and vendors were hawking all manner of merchandise — the very latest fashion statement in purses and watches, certainly all bootleg and knockoff merchandise. The event site was a bit unregulated, and the vanner horses were hitched to surreys and raced at break-neck speeds up and down the pedestrian walkways.

With regard to romanticizing the gypsy culture, we understand that these people can intimidate and are known for less scrupulous behavior. There had been an act of violence the previous year, and the place was almost under police lockdown (a Bobby every 50 meters) as a helicopter soared above.

The Stow Faire was a promotional opportunity unrecognized by much of the local community. We found the festival to be a highlight of our Cotswold experience.

Mudding the Thames

We taxied back to Moreton-On-Marsh and caught a train to London-Paddington Station; from there, we took the tube to St. Pancras/Kings Cross. Our backpacks were still heavy, but allowed us to hike thru the city with relative ease. Our hotel was only eight or 10 blocks from the station, so there was no need for a taxi. We seemed to be getting rather fit after all this trekking.

We love London. It is easy to find your way around and has the cleanest subway system (the tube) known to mankind. Five years ago, we spent 10 days in this city and felt we didn’t get enough of London. We visited many of the museums the city has to offer, which are free (donation only). As we headed to my favorite statue, Boudicea (the Iceni Queen who valiantly tried to fight off the Roman intruders in approximately 64 A.D. — it’s kitty corner from Big Ben), we were sidetracked and headed down steps to the water’s edge.

People have been throwing their garbage into the Thames for thousands of years, and if you walk down to the water’s edge at low tide you can become a “Mudder” — the term given to people who hunt and collect artifacts from London’s past. We encountered mudders searching for copper handmade pins perhaps 200 to 400 years old. We did not have rubber boots in which to muck about, but were overcome by the sense of adventure and given to hunting anything that looks curious. We reached down and pick up a neolithic stone scraper — pre-Londinium. We could easily have picked up a shoebox of discarded pottery, but quickly realized there were old pipes and pipestems everywhere. Pipes were very fragile, and they were also some of the first disposable items of mass manufacture — all at the water’s edge.

With pockets full of muddy pottery, we got back on the tube and headed to Bond Street, wanting to explore the stores. But Bond Street is for the rich; we felt like we might be the only people on this street without an extra 10,000 quid in our pockets. It was getting dark, and we couldn’t afford to eat in this part of London, so we headed back toward Cartwright Gardens. We have our own treasure — dirty, broken, ancient dishware.

Bienvenue en France

Our original reason for this trip was to reconnect with our French friend and intern Louise Robino. With a day’s rest we repacked for St. Pancras International Train station, just blocks away. Our backpacks are still no lighter because our friends like peanut butter, maple syrup, Grapenuts and various items that have greater gravitational impact.

The EuroStar is a shining example of the cooperation between Great Britain, France and the rest of Europe. The train travels at speed of 190 to 240 mph. It glides as smooth as glass, and the Chunnel portion of the trip takes approximately 25 minutes.

We harbored a little apprehension at this point in our journey because we did not have an address for Louise and her family in Paris; everything including our travel schedule/itinerary was emailed back and forth, but no phone or street addresses. When arriving in Paris at Gare Du Nord Train Station we trudged about looking for a familiar face in the crowd when a few recognizable faces popped out behind a welcome sign. It is our kindred French family.

Bill Keitel is the proprietor of the Cows’ Outside and Buffalo Billfold Co. in Worthington, where he will share more of his travel stories with customers upon request.

April 27th, 2011 by Bill Keitel

Reprinted – EVENTOS MAGAZINE-STATEWIDE ADDITION MAY 2011
My town is different than your town. You go many places and travel far and wide. I have an interesting community that allows me to enjoy the far flung reaches of the world…..right in my own back yard.

Recently the news is all about “immigration” and our national concerns for security. I find “security” in my own back yard and in my community. Before you respond to the hype and fear about immigration (legal or undocumented) let me tell you about my community.

I am a small business man that has modestly prospered in this curious setting. I have come to embrace the fine people that are immigrating to my community. They have become the life blood that has allowed our community to continue to prosper….in a time when the demographics are completely against us.

Our community is located just south of the mythical “Lake Wobegone”and we typify those demographic characteristics.

Our accommodation of the newest immigrants started about 25 years ago with the Vietnamese and Laotian peoples. It has continued throughout the decades and has been of great benefit to this community, a community that would have demographically drifted off the charts…because of an aging population.
Many of my Lao and Vietnamese friends are here…because they stood up for “American Ideals” and risked both their lives and the lives of their families, much to their credit. In quiet moments, I have heard their stories….it has brought tears to my eyes….. I have a profound respect for them. American Idealism…I have not sacrificed, like they have sacrificed. If they would tell you their stories….you would have a new found respect for the immigrant experience. Immigration doesn’t happen because “things are dandy!” Immigration happens because people are at the limits of their own (moral) tolerance.

Today , I can take my 3 block walk to work and say “hello” in numerous & different languages. Sai Bai Dee (Lao), Buenos Dias (Mexico, Guatemalan,El Salvador ), De Tu Jot (Sudanese) Djow Go (Vietnamese), Ka May La ha (Eithiopean) its is perhaps a crude rendition of their languages….but it allows me a comfort zone with my new neighbors. I have them sign an atlas in my store….it allows me the ability to understand where they have come from and often times it allows me to understand some of their travails. They all enjoy and appreciate my attempt to speak in their native tongue(they laugh at me) , as they continue to become assimilated into our community. We are a small community and we strive to make sure that know one is anonymous.

Assimilate…..they have! I am convinced that these new found immigrants have saved my community. They have purchased homes, they have purchased cars, they have kept our grocery stores busy. They have created their own grocery stores. Many have started their own businesses, some try and some fail….for that I think more of them, not less. They are the new graduates at the local community college. They have become the New Worthington. There might be a few people that consider this immigration a threat…..those folks are prone to fear and loss of their standing within their perceived place within our community. The good news is that the majority of folks around these parts recognize that this “immigration thing” is of great value to our community!

If you are looking for the latest trendy shopping mall or strip mall (filled with brand named stores) this might not be the place for you. We do have many standardized big box stores, however if you are looking for a real “WORLD MARKET” experience, I encourage you to come and visit Worthington.

It won’t be completely “standardized” with all the generic brand name stores….but if you have a truly adventuresome spirit…..you can enjoy a “real” World Market experience. Ma and Pa stores are sprouting up as we speak…..and they are the new entrepreneurial spirit of Worthington.

Immigration has never been “clean and tidy”, it has a “learning curve”. My community, Worthington has stepped up to the plate and embraced that spirit of accommodation. We learn from our friends, we learn from our new found immigrants, we learn from being able to say….”I don’t understand you, explain to me… again” that is what it means to be accommodating….We aren’t afraid to understand our new neighbors. We recognize that “They” are our new beginnings. We have been re-invented and though we do make mistakes….we recover and strive to learn from them.

Worthington has benefited from its new found immigrants and I suspect….history will eventually write a new chapter about this community and its “Accommodating Spirit.”

Bill Keitel
Worthington MN.

November 22nd, 2010 by Bill Keitel

The waves lap gently on the shoreline, the bike & walking path are being put to good use. I sit across the street and enjoy the vantage point, solitude and sunset interrupted with an occasional wave or nod from a passerby.

Tonight there is a walker on my side of the street, a Lao friend. He strolls by our house and after a few years of hello’s and pleasantries, he stops to visit in earnest. He wants to talk…and I want to listen.

We are both in business and we often visit about our mutual concerns. I inquire about a curious sport being played in Wgtn it is called “katoi”. It is a most impressive sport, played mainly in Laos. My friend explains, Katoi is a cross between volley ball and hacky sack. It is far more demanding than volleyball because there is a “no hands” rule, only feet,knees and head. The net is perhaps a foot shorter in height than a volleyball net…and yet these nimble Lao players are able to do a 360 degree flip and spike the ball with stunning proficiency, using only their feet. This sporting event takes place at Centennial Beach throughout the summer with very little fan fare. The majority of the public is consumed with baseball, football & hockey. The game of katoi is as demanding as any ball game ever played and in my communities lakeside park. Katoi is far more curious than anything I’ve encountered in recent years.   I am stunned by the amazing agility of the participants.

The ball is approximately 7 inches in diameter and was traditionally made of Katoi vine. This ball has succumb to the modern age of plastics and seldom is made of traditional material. The original vine, pencil thin….might be hundreds of yards long…..so says my friend.

Our mutual comfort level allows us to visit on all topics and tonight we finally cross the Pacific to his homeland. A—- was a police officer in Laos and was educated beyond most of his countrymen, he went to “police officers school”. He was trained as a policeman in Laos and found the job to be rewarding and not to demanding of work. In the mid 70′s however, a crisis arose when he would not succumb to the communist rule. Horrific events followed, events that caused him to not even want to mention the word “communist”. I can hear his forced intonation , almost a repetitive studder,when he says the word, a word that still pains him to enunciate, c’c'communist.

A—- was treated cruelly by the communist regime and though he was of “educated background” that may well have been his undoing. The events that followed would test any persons ability to distinguish right from wrong. My friend confides how he has survived the indoctrination ethics of a brutal regime and its philosophy. The events unfolded and were as dark as any humanity has to offer up. He survived and escaped, but not without unspeakable & horrific deeds, his hands were intentionally soiled by their manipulative behavior.   We was able to put into meanful reflection & understanding  their ways of creating complicity.

If you knew only of his past deeds, you would want to avoid him. However, the entire story is one of patriot dreams & American Redemption, all can come true. This man and his family have become an asset to this nation, they quietly go about their business unnoticed by most everyone.

He could not endure under the communist regime and knew that if he fled…….traditional communist punishment would be meted out, his family and all of his kinfolk would be killed. His decision was to escape with his entire family. It entailed a complex scheme in which “escaping” took the lives of many in the police force, the same force that had murdered so many of his countrymen. A— could not suppress his vision of what freedom must be.

A– ‘s brother will remain safe in Laos….because he is cc Communist. They will never again communicate.  A —cannot bring himself to think that his brother continues that path.  As long as the current government is in place, A—- will never be allowed to return.

He has come to epitomize the American dream, he has very valuable property in California where he lived for many years. He decided to leave California wanting to get out of the big city and was tired of dealing with serious crime in his neighborhood. He also has Worthington property and a business. His children have more than high school educations and they have done well for themselves. His children drive expensive cars and even have enough money to gamble, A— is a bit annoyed. He is concerned that they don’t realize the importance of higher education. They don’t realize his own personal struggle to survive and get to this point in his life. A— is 61, he smiles and says he will retire in four or five years.

Our sidewalk conversation has lost all available sunlight..the street light is burned out and darkness surrounds us. As I say “la gon” ((goodbye) , I can barely see his smile, we both return to our homes, neither of us … afraid of the darkness.

November 22nd, 2010 by Bill Keitel

It wafts through the air of my neighborhood and I start to search for its origins. I go from backyard to backyard. The sound I’m hearing could be likened to a bagpipe or harmonica, perhaps more pleasing than either. I find my Lao friend & he has a talent that I’ve never known about. Kampau is the elder of his family and he is playing an instrument called a khen. It’s an instrument that is made of many lengths of bamboo and a gourd located midsection. The khen is approximately three feet tall and it produces a sound that is completely ethereal. As I listen to his song I think of his journey and his flight from his homeland. I have glimmers of his harrowing experience as told through his children. His khen conjures up an image of a land far away. Eventually the music stops and he looks down from his porch and I politely applaud. He seems a bit uncomfortable with this adulation and goes back into his house. I never again see or hear him play the khen . It will be another twenty years before I am priviledged to hear him perform.

The twenty years have past and Kampau now is the grandfather, his children have grown and have families of their own. They have made a home for themselves on the east end of our community. Through out the year we have been invited to various celebrations including a traditional Lao wedding. Today we are attending a grandchild’s 7th birthday party. The families live close together and their backyards join each others, Kampau’s daughter smiles and tells me its just like “little Laos” .

Food is cooking , stews are stewing & salads fill large containers. Kampau’s son-in-law is grilling pork ribs or something of the sort. I ask him about the other things I’m seeing on the grill that I can’t identify. Though he is fluent in English….even after twenty five years in this country….he can’t quite come up with the word for what I am pointing to. Beef ribs?…no pork ribs? no…..then he smiles and grabs his cheek and and shakes it. I laugh…..the word he is searching for is ” hog jowls”! Ooooh, I graciously save them for the other party goers.

I brought a guitar and play a birthday tune for the party girl, they all seem quite entertained. Kampau then leaves and comes back a few minutes later with his khen. After a two decade absence, we are treated to his music. The air is filled with the sound of the khen. As he plays, I look about and see three generations that have flourished, far from their homeland. I recall stories of them fleeing Laos on elephant back,.. losing children along the way. They have created a new homeland of their own and have invited us to be apart of it.

A small community that was once the most homogeneous place in the mid west, is now home to dozens of different immigrants. My Lao friends invite the Karen people to their party. The “Karen” are refugees from Burma and have recently arrived in our community. We witness ongoing generational assimilation of new peoples to our community. Most of the Karen still wear traditional dress. We will regret the day when they show up in blue jeans.

September 22nd, 2009 by Bill Keitel

As I wend my way through the seemingly braided streets of London, somewhere on Shaftesbury Ave. I slowly come to a halt. The store window in front of me contains rope, rope, and more rope. This term “rope” is used only by non-sailors. When a rope comes to have a specific use on a boat or ship….it is then known as “line”. To my surprise I have come across an honest to goodness chandlery. I enter the store and find all manner of “rope”, stay line, rigging, sheet, jib, & main—— ——- and even hawser, (the gigantic line used to moor ships).

The store is filled with everything nautical and everything that has to do with outfitting a sailing ship, sailboat or yacht. Hooks, cleats, stays and marlin spikes, the only metallurgy used is solid brass. Nothing else would survive the briny waters that lap the shores of Great Britain.

The bespectacled man behind the counter greets me and sizes me up as an unlikely customer. He’s elderly and seems not to be interested in casual conversation with some U.S. dandy. My intention is to see if he will allow an interview for this brochure. I search in vain for something to buy in hopes that it will break the ice. Everything is seriously nautical and has limited use for an amateur sailor like myself. I spy French woolen sailors caps and buy a hand full. At the counter I introduce myself and explain my interest in his store. I then build up the courage to ask if I could have 5 minutes of his time for an interview, he then casts me a glance and flatly states “maybe half that time”, I smile.….and he doesn’t.

From the back of the store comes Steve his assistant, to quell the lack of cordiality. Steve smiles and introduces himself as the “apprentice chandler” (says with some sarcasum) , he’s be doing this kind of work for 21 years! They go on to explain that they have just been abused by a film crew that asked the “same question” a few days ago and stayed for 3 hours, with bright lights and sound. Undaunted, I reach out my hand and ask the old man his name, “Cecil”, he exclaims and goes on to tell me its pronounced “sessil” not “Cee Sill” like you folks in the U.S. pronounce it. Still smiling I ask “Sessil”, “how long have you been in this line of work?” “The Store has been family owned for about 120 yrs. .and has been in existence for about 4 centuries, “myself…why about 45 years” he responds.

The clock is ticking and my time is running out……I ask about the evolution of this business. Rope/line is now Polypropylene….its taking over Sisal (pronounced “size al”), much of the rigging and boating lines are now using this material because it doesn’t degrade so quickly in Great Britains wet weather. (

Cecil looks at me and pronounces “cee sil, sessil & sisal,size-al” putting my hands up in the air, I profess to understand.)

It has become so popular that they now make this polypropylene in a color that matches the color of sisal. One percent of the boats and yachts still use sisal.
The drawers, shelves and racks of brass hardware remind me of a gold storehouse.

In quiet times they occasionally weave the fancy knotted ropes that you see at banks and theaters (the ropes that direct you to the counters) queueing the patrons. They also have another niche in the theatres throughout London, all the rigging that goes into the staging & production of theatre is a perfect compliment for chandlers and master riggers.

The Arthur Beale Chandlers are still open, centuries of plying their trade. They find themselves in the center of a city that considers them a bit of an oddity…or at least a curiousity. I sense they want nothing more than to continue their work and craft and perhaps not be looked upon in the way that hundreds of tourists see them. I hear the timer buzzing and my interview is up.

These master mechanics of wind power would like to get back to work. Somewhere there is a ship that needs new rigging, a yacht that needs hardware & new hawser or, as the audience applauses.. somewhere the theater curtain is going up…At your service The Arthur Beale Chandlery.

June 2nd, 2009 by Bill Keitel

The photo that you see on this website is not just any photo…………..it’s a photo of the roads we’ve traveled…..traveled for many miles. As I recall this is a photo in the deep south of South Dakota, in the heart of Custer State Park. Don’t take this road…..as it is restricted!
The trails that we’ve encountered……from interstate underpass’ to river bottoms in south TX. we’ve enjoyed them all and we’ve appreciated the folks that have helped us survive our foolishness.
We hope to see you all out on the trail!
bill and lauri
buffalo billfold company

September 16th, 2008 by Bill Keitel

Today I’ve been asked to take a pair of glasses to the Lions Club. The Lions Club makes sure that glasses get redistributed to people in need.

My friend’s glasses are of interest to me…..as my daddy was an Optometrist and these items are of forensic value. Glasses are the eyes of your world, glasses allow you to view your domain, glasses give you perspective of your own world.

I suspect my friend’s glasses have seen many things far differently than my own. I’ve led a life of relatively few travails. My friend hadn’t the good fortune to be as lucky. Her life was different than mine. We grew up in houses , side by side. Her glasses saw life from a different side, her glasses saw life from a side that was different than mine.

She was a friend of mine. She was a gal who I considered not only my friend, but a gal who could be called upon in a time of need. I too, would rise for her, if necessary.

She had a great spirit that allowed her to see the curious inequities in the pantheon of life. She was not perhaps… the prettiest, she was not perhaps… the smartest, she was not perhaps..the highest achiever. She was however, someone I considered a barometer of our humanity. Her insights & wit, gave me a perspective that I exceedingly valued.

She was a gal who could appreciate your own accomplishments, she was a gal who could appreciate your aspirations. She was a gal who could be called upon to help assisit you in your own dreams and aspirations.

Somewhere, she’d drifted off course. Her own aspirations weren’t considered. We hadn’t communicated for sometime. She had worked for us in the distant past and it worked. However, she moved on and left for a far off city.

Alas, it didn’t seem to connect.

Recently, I was at an all time “high” in a community service mode, and she was at an all time “low” in her despondancy. She didn’t call, she didn’t reach out, I didn’t inquire…..we hadn’t communicated for a few years. She was adrift without appropriate saftey devices, she was without.
Today I’m left burying my friend, the flowers are beautiful, yet, she is all powder in a box.We’re taking her glasses to the Lions Club. I look at her glasses from that forensic point of view………..they seem to be tear stained.

billkeitel