The anesthesiologist who gave me my cortisone injection Friday had very Middle Eastern first and last names. When I met him in person, I noticed that he looked very northern European and spoke just like a North Dakotan. and I knew then that he was from here. He is a graduate of the UND Medical School.

I don’t think it is very common knowledge that the first established mosque in the US was built in Ross, North Dakota in 1929. Ross is in northwest North Dakota south of Estevan, Saskatchewan. There were a lot of Lebanese and Syrian immigrants to the area in the early 1900’s, and they homesteaded and farmed there in harmony with their Norwegian neighbors. They fought in the US army in the First World War. They intermarried with their neighbors, and many became Lutheran or Catholic. Some remained Muslim, and there were Muslims with Norwegian last names. They all seemed to get along. I read a story by a woman in Ross with a very Norwegian last name who told of her father, a Muslim, who tried his best to maintain some rituals, and who prayed while butchering chickens on the farm. She said “Do you know how long it takes to butcher 50 chickens when you pray before each one?”

Many of the Middle Eastern settlers moved to larger communities during the Depression and Dust Bowl. By 1970 the Mosque had fallen into disrepair and was demolished. There is a small domed structure built on the site in commemoration.

Husband and I had several psychology colleagues who were ND natives with Lebanese/Syrian last names. Every so often you run across folks with Middle Eastern names whose families have been here for generations. What astounds me is how everyone seemed to get along back then, even those diverse groups up in Ross. If they could do it, I have hope we can, too.

How diverse was your community growing up? How about now?

Every eight weeks we get a call from the Memorial Blood Center.  I assume it’s because her name is before mine in the alphabet; YA gets the first call and usually before I even get my call, she has come to me to pick out a good date for us. 

We went down to our local center as usual but unlike usual, YA got light-headed afterwards and instead of grabbing a snack, put her head down on the table where we were sitting.  This was like an alarm bell going off in the center.  Suddenly there were five folks around us, one bringing a cool cloth, one bringing a wheelchair, two helping to get YA into the wheelchair and one poor gal, who was just hovering but didn’t seem to have a specific job.  YA actually lost consciousness for a second in the wheelchair.

The phlebotomist (what a great word) who had done my draw was the one who appointed himself as YA’s guardian while she recovered.  He was very knowledgeable and answered all our questions.  OK, all of my questions.  He was very clear about what he was doing and how long before the next “check-in”.  It was very comforting for the anxious mother.  YA stayed reclined for about 45 minutes before we took off.  She wanted Taco Bell on the way home and then she spent the rest of the afternoon in bed, watching tv. 

I asked if this has soured her on giving blood.  She said she doesn’t think so.  Guess we’ll know in another six weeks or so!

Have you ever seen those fainting goats?