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May 11, 1958: Minnesota's glittery centennial, starring Judy Garland

Minnesota’s centennial brought out the stars back in 1958, led by Judy Garland, who fought through a case of laryngitis to entertain 20,000 people at the U’s old Memorial Stadium. Also baking in the sun on that hot Sunday afternoon in Minneapolis were Secretary of State John Foster Dulles, Princess Astrid of Norway, Prince Bertil of Sweden, the prime ministers of Denmark and Finland, and ambassadors from West Germany, Iceland and Yugoslavia. Longtime columnist Barbara Flanagan, writing here as the Tribune’s “Women’s Editor,” captured all the color and emotion in a story that ran atop Page One the next morning.

 

A Gallant Dulles, a Jittery Judy Spark Our Centennial

 

By BARBARA FLANAGAN
Women’s Editor

Secretary of State Dulles doffed his hat to a jittery Judy Garland Sunday as the two put the topper on Minnesota's Centennial in Memorial stadium.

Grand Rapids-born Judy came on strong singing special material – “I thought it would never happen … I finally got here.”

Midway through the tune, she stopped the orchestra – 32 hand-picked members of the Minneapolis Symphony orchestra – and said:

“Can I start again? I missed the lyric. Isn’t this terrible? I was trying to be so good.”

More than 20,000 sun-drenched spectators applauded and Dulles tipped his homburg.

At the downbeat, Miss Garland lit into the song again and finished it with the phrase: “It’s hard to believe, but here … I … am.”

“Boy, I really messed that up,” she said. “But I really meant every word of it. This is a great honor and I’m really just terrified.

“This place is so damn big.”

Sitting behind the singer along with Dulles and Mrs. Dulles were such VIPs as Princess Astrid of Norway, Prince Bertil of Sweden, Gen. and Mrs. Lauris Norstad, plus prime ministers, ambassadors and state officials.

Wearing a black, glitter-trimmed knit chemise with long sleeves and white Buster Brown collar and cuffs, Miss Garland stepped from a sickbed to sing. She has had laryngitis.

 
  Secretary of State John Foster Dulles sat next to Isabelle Norstad, the wife of Gen. Lauris Norstad, a Minneapolis native who was commander of U.S. and NATO forces in Europe.

She often seemed as nervous about turning her back on the dignitaries and would turn to sing to them occasionally.

Buster Davis, Hollywood, Calif., her conductor, steered into the next tune – the famous “You Made Me Love You,” and Judy seemed to calm down.

After it, he said: “Need a hankie, honey?” She did and dabbed at her nose with a paper tissue handed up from the orchestra pit.

Next came such hits as “Rockabye Your Baby With a Dixie Melody” and “The Trolley Song.”

During “For Me and My Gal,” she urged the crowd to sing along. Norstad tried it and Gov. Freeman seemed to know the words.

Yugoslavia’s Ambassador Mates sat on the edge of his chair, grinning and bobbing his head to the music.

Denmark’s Prime Minister Hansen tapped his toe in time to it. Prince Bertil clapped vigorously after every number.

Then Judy asked for a glass of water.

Congressman Walter Judd, a doctor, leaped to his feet from a seat in the back row and rushed into the audience. He came back with a glass of orange-colored liquid.

“What’s this?” asked Judy. “Orange juice, I think,” said Judd. “Are you sure?” said Judy, and sipped it. “You’re right.”

She handed it back to Judd with a thank you and “Boy, it’s hot.”

Turning to Davis, she said, “Where are we?” “Rainbow, darling,” he said. And the orchestra began to play her most famous melody, “Over the Rainbow.”

Miss Garland sang it like new and ended up a little misty-eyed. The crowd applauded and she bowed off.

Off stage, she said: “I’ve never been so scared in my life. I’m afraid I just wasn’t good.”

ASSURED that she was, Miss Garland said, “Now, don’t kid me. Was it okay?” Then she cheerfully signed autographs for youngsters who clambered down to greet her.

Miss Garland appeared just before Dulles made his speech. The secretary and Mrs. Dulles came on stage about 4 p.m. to a rousing welcome.

By that time the people in the stands and the personalities on stage were mighty hot. The sun beat down throughout the afternoon from a cloudless sky.

IT FORCED Prince Bertil – a man who prides himself on not wearing a hat – to borrow an old felt topper from a Centennial official.

Women on stage, including Princess Astrid, were given paper Japanese parasols to shield them.

The princess seemed cheerful in spite of the bright sky. She teased photographers in the pit by holding the parasol in front of her face. Then she’d smile and remove it.

Cedric Adams, Minneapolis Star and Minneapolis Sunday Tribune columnist, was master of ceremonies for the rededication program.

HE INTRODUCED Gov. Freeman, who introduced the special guests.

Those who brought special messages to Minnesota on its 100th birthday included Princess Astrid, Prince Bertil, Danish Prime Minister Hansen, Finland’s Prime Minister Kuuskoski, Yugoslavia’s Ambassador Mates, Iceland’s Ambassador Thors and German Ambassador Grewe.

Bertil said: “Scandinavia as well as Minnesota will continue to change. But the roots we have in common will remain. The ideals we regard as fundamental – friendship, honesty, justice – are timeless. What we need is a rededication to the basic principles of the pioneers and this Centennial is a good opportunity.

“In my native language, may I say, “ja, ma Du leva, Minnesota,” (Surely you will prosper).

Princess Astrid paid tribute to Norwegian pioneers in Minnesota and added: “The compassion and aid you rendered to us in Norway during our darkest hour of World War II will never be forgotten. I, now, bring my father, the king’s, sincere and warm greetings to the people of Minnesota.”

SPEAKING for the Centennial commission was its chairman, Rep. Peter Popovich.

One of the most dramatic moments in the program came when actor Walter Abel – born in St. Paul and reared in Heron Lake, Minn. – read “Giant in the Wooded Earth,” by Herbert Krause, professor of English at Augustana college, Sioux Falls, S.D.

His moving words were accompanied by the symphony conducted by Gerard Samuel.

ANOTHER musical moment came from the Apollo club which sang “They Called It Minnesota,” the Centennial prize-winner by tunesmiths Sid Lippman and Sylvia Dee.

Other distinguished Minnesotans honored yesterday included Dr. Lloyd V. Berkner, president, Associated Universities, Inc.; Dr. Paul Klopsteg, associate director for research, National Science Foundation; Carroll M. Shanks, president, Prudential Insurance Co., and Gen. Norstad, North Atlantic Treaty Organization.

The original caption for this photo by Jack Gillis of the Minneapolis Star:

Here’s Judy in a black knit chemise as she sang to the crowd. She was accompanied by 32 members of the Minneapolis Symphony Orchestra. In addition to special material, the Grand Rapids-born actress sang such hits as “Rockabye Your Baby With a Dixie Melody,” “The Trolley Song” and “For Me and My Gal.”

Judy Garland and other VIPs sang “The Star-Spangled Banner” at a commemorative dinner the night before the big show at Memorial Stadium. Front row, from left: Lt. Gov. Karl Rolvaag, Garland and Robert Snook, a centennial organizer. Back row, from left: Judge Luther Youngdahl, Mrs. James L. Morrill and University of Minnesota President James L. Morrill, and Eleanor Pillsbury.

Jan. 6, 1972: South's one-eyed goalie makes comeback

Minneapolis South High goalie Tony Julin, who lost an eye when a shot hit him in the face during practice, returned to the ice seven weeks later with a glass eye and a renewed determination to stop pucks. His greatest difficulty: the high shots. “I still can’t get the angles right. And I don’t always know where the net is,” he said.

A January 2010 interview with Tony follows this report from the Minneapolis Star.
 

South's one-eyed goalie makes comeback

 
Minneapolis Star Staff Writer
 
As a Hill-Murray player skated in toward him Wednesday, South High School goalie Tony Julin slid smoothly to one side and blocked a shot.
 
It was just a hockey scrimmage with no score kept. But regardless of whether he stopped all the Hill-Murray shots, Julin was a hero to his teammates – just for being in the nets.
 
 
  Tony Julin, January 1972
Julin has only one eye. He lost the other one in November when he had his mask off and a flying puck shattered it, necessitating its removal. It was replaced by a glass eye. It was almost seven weeks before he put on skates again.
 
It appeared to South fans Tony was through with hockey. The South High School newspaper had him out the remainder of the year at least.
 
But they didn’t reckon with this 16-year-old, with his determination to return to hockey – and to return as a goaltender.
 
“I always figured on coming back, and as goalie,” Tony said. “I’ll give it till next fall, and if I can’t hack it, then I’ll try to skate wing.”
 
He finds his greatest difficulty – as a one-eyed goaltender – is on the high shots.
 
“I still can’t get the angles right. And I don’t always know where the net is,” he said.
 
So far, he hasn’t felt there has been any problem judging distances, although vision experts felt this would be a major handicap.
 
He did ask that it not be revealed which eye is glass, “so they won’t all try to skate in on my blind side.
 
“I still keep my body the same way,” Tony continued. “but just turn my head a little more.”
 
The slight turning of the head isn’t evident under the “cage” he wears – a barred catcher’s-type mask he wears on the ice to make sure nothing can get at his good eye.
 
His coach, Jim Salwasser, isn’t surprised that Tony is back.
 
“He always had a lot of courage, and his attitude was always good,” said Salwasser. “He doesn’t want any special breaks. He told us that right away. He just wants to play. And I’ll give him a fair chance.
 
“He is a quiet kid, in fact so quiet you almost think he’s lethargic – until it comes to stopping the puck.
 
“And he stopped them today. They (the Hill-Murray players) didn’t know which eye it was.”
 
Tony had been involved in South hockey for less than a year before the injury, after attending De La Salle for ninth grade. Tony transferred to South and thus wasn’t eligible in his sophomore year until last January.
 
This year, as a junior, he was battling senior Rick Rogers for the South goaltending job.
 
“They were pretty even at the time of the accident,” Salwasser said.
 
Tony had slipped off his mask before a skating drill, he said. Then he went back into the nets as some teammates finished some one-on-one drills. Down on one knee, Tony said he batted one puck away, then the second caught him.
 
“A lot of 16-year-olds lie down and never try anything again,” Salwasser said. “But Tony has never complained. And his teammates are behind him 100 percent.”
 
JANUARY 2010 UPDATE: Tony Julin, 54, is a software engineer in Chandler, Ariz. He has two grown daughters, a son in eighth grade and a 4-year-old granddaughter. In matter-of-fact tones, he recalls the day he lost his eye in a practice at Met Center more than 38 years ago.
 
"We were doing two-on-ones, and I didn’t have my mask on," he says. "A guy took a shot, and it was a low shot I had to kick away. As soon as I turned my head to get up again, there was another shot about 2 inches from my eye."
 
He knows who took the shot – "it was a guy I played hockey with for years" – but he wasn’t angry with the shooter and doesn’t hold a grudge against him.
 
Instead: "I was pissed off at the coach for not supervising and letting two guys shoot at the same time. For a while I was real pissed off."
 
As a goalie who has never stood in front of shooters without a mask on, I had to ask: Where was Tony’s?
 
"We were just doing skating drills, and I just didn’t happen to have my mask on," he says.
 
It wasn’t unknown for a goalie to remove his mask at practice in the early 1970s. Until the 1960s, few high school goalies even used one.
 
"Whether or not I had a mask on, it wouldn’t have made a difference," Tony says his doctor told him after seeing the fiberglass mask he had been using. "The shot hit an inch above the orbital bone. The [eye opening of the] mask I had at the time was at the edge of the bone."
 
 
  Tony Julin with his son, Tony.
What made him decide to get back in the crease?
 
"I love playing hockey," he says, using the present tense even though it’s been 20-some years since he has strapped on the pads. "It’s the greatest sport there is. Especially when you’re a goalie. You’re out there all the time, you’re the center of attention. When you make a save, the crowd cheers."
 
His parents backed his decision to return to the ice. "My parents were supportive of whatever I did," he says, adding that he would do the same for his own children.
 
His high school career ended not long after the scrimmage against Hill-Murray. With one eye, he had difficulty tracking the puck and anticipating plays that developed on his blind side.
 
"I just couldn’t play," he says. "Maybe I could have hung around and been a part of the team. But I just couldn’t perform at the standard I set for myself. It just wasn’t working out."
 
He did get back on the ice a few years later, playing in bar leagues after graduating from high school. "It was a lot of fun," he says. “We actually made it to the championship in Owatonna one year."
 
He hasn’t played hockey since moving to Arizona in the 1980s. But he stays active. "Right now mostly I do a lot of bicycling,” he says. “In Phoenix there’s a huge mountain park, so I do a lot of hiking. Also, I coach my son’s football team."
 
He says some good came of the accident that cost him his left eye. Not long afterward, hockey associations in Minnesota began requiring all players to wear eye protection. And goalies at every level now must wear standardized masks.

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