"The Idyllic Was Lost"
A Generational Impact
She’s a bit smaller, maybe somewhat older than I envisioned. Because her first book, “Poetic License,” details childhood experiences, I may have unintentionally frozen her in time. It’s a pleasure to meet the author, who presents as warm and approachable, making it hard not to like her. Years seem to have brought a measure of wisdom, perspective, and acceptance.
Gretchen Cherington’s life and mine have little in common, however, one thing we share: our grandfathers both worked at Hormel’s in Austin, Minnesota. Oh, and she pronounces it like I do: HOR-mels, with an “s”. A decade before Grandpa Meyer started at the plant in the late 1920s, Cherington’s grandfather, A.L. Eberhart, a top Hormel executive, was fired, part of a necessary “housecleaning” after it was discovered the company’s comptroller had embezzled $1.2 million.
Cherington is in Austin, home of Hormel Foods, to discuss her new book, published in early June, “The Butcher, the Embezzler, and the Fall Guy”. I envisioned writing about this book here but attempts to snag a copy fell short. At Cherington’s presentation, part of the Lunchbox History Series (bring your own lunch) hosted by the Mower County Historical Society, the local bookstore ran out. A midweek crowd, maybe 100 people, was much larger than average.
I stop by a Barnes & Noble in the Twin Cities enroute to our “up north vacation,” overcoming my reluctance to patronize non-local booksellers. “Yes, we had that book in stock… but we sold it,” a helpful B&N employee informs me. “I can order it for you.” “No, thanks, I’m literally headed out of town,” I explain. I start to leave, then turn back. “You only had ONE?” “Yes… and it sold.” I say it’s an outstate Minnesota story; there might be some interest. “Ah,” she responds. “I already placed an order… for two.” Okay. (I try LOCAL booksellers in Duluth and Bayport, Wisconsin. “Here’s the book on my computer screen. Shall I order it for you?” Harrumph.)
The Hormel embezzlement happened more than a century ago, ill-gotten proceeds used to create an amusement park near Cresco, Iowa. I’m astounded when Cherington mentions in the short lifespan of this regional attraction, 60,000 visitors would come ON ONE WEEKEND. I’m eager to investigate this part of the story, in part by reading the book, duh.
Cherington’s valuable perspective -- what makes it a memoir -- is how an overarching episode can be passed along through generations. Her grandfather was not directly involved in the embezzlement but lost his job. Sadly, his wife, the author’s grandmother, was dying of cancer at the same time. This double whammy dramatically altered her family history. I recall major blocks of Richard Eberhart’s poetry are focused on (obsessed with?) death and the transitory nature of life. According to Cherington, her father’s mythic image of Austin, his boyhood community, was shattered. In her words, “The idyllic was lost.”
Cherington’s first book, cited above, dealt with a different kind of shattering. Published in 2020, “Poetic License” outlines how she dealt with the shadow of sexual abuse cast upon her by her famous father. That book was a real struggle for me. I became acquainted with Eberhart’s career a decade before his death in 2005. In a 25-year period, I’d studied his poetry, collected his books, and read biographies of the Austin-born poet.
Cherington’s saga prompted a recalibration, balancing the poet’s evident talents with a profound character flaw. Obviously, it wasn’t the first time something like this ever happened; you’d think I’d learn to navigate such adjustments more easily.
Upon reaching the front of the line, I hand Cherington my copy of “Poetic License” for her signature while gushing my admiration. We exchange smiles, a moment of connection. She inscribes, “For Kurt, with pleasure + all good things.” I promise to write about her second book soon. Meanwhile, Gretchen Cherington is starting her third and says it will be fiction.
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Proud to be a member of the Iowa Writers Collaborative