Chuck Haga, Forum Communications, Published November 11 2012
Discarded photos tell story of a Buxton, N.D., family
And that was that: a life in three paragraphs.
He was part of a large family, with six brothers and four sisters. But Lloyd never married, the family has largely died off or scattered, and only a few older residents of this Traill County town recall the Domiers. Like members of previous generations, Lloyd was quietly fading into the unremembered past.
Then the pictures came.
A man in Florida, taking out his trash one day this fall, spotted a bundle of photographs in his apartment complex Dumpster. Curious, he fished them out. In faded images and scrawled notes, they hinted at a multigenerational story, the story of a family.
Many of the pictures had notations that made reference to the little town of Buxton in northeast North Dakota. The man who found the photos had been born in North Dakota, and his father had grown up in Prosper, a small town near Fargo. So he shipped the photos, more than a hundred of them, to his father in Louisville, Ky.
“I have had them for a while but really do not have any personal interest in them,” Loren Waa wrote recently to the newspaper in Grand Forks, knowing the city was not far from Buxton. “It seemed to me that they would be better off in your hands than mine.”
In Buxton, Duane Bjerke, 84, visiting with friends over coffee at the Cenex station, looked at the photos, one by one. He paused as he studied the smiling face of a boy, a boy from another time.
“That’s me,” he said.
“I was raised on a farm 4½ miles west of here,” he said. “The Domiers were on a farm 3½ miles west. Lloyd ran with the same crowd I did, but he kept mostly to himself. He worked for a construction outfit for many years. They built elevators. Pretty much the whole family worked for that company.”
Bjerke smiled as he remembered one of Lloyd’s brothers.
“I was a police officer here for 10 years,” he said. “Lloyd’s brother, Douglas, was a little wild, and I had to talk to him a few times.
“He became a minister. He was back here once, and he thanked me. He credited me with steering him in the right direction.”
Another man in for coffee called for Doug Thompson, the Cenex manager.
“Don’t you have an address for Douglas Domier out in California?”
The family still had a financial interest in the cooperative, and Thompson quickly found an address.
“I have a phone number, too,” he said, “but I don’t know how current that is.”
“Of the brothers, he was the closest to me,” the Rev. Douglas Domier said last week from San Juan Capistrano, Calif., where he lives.
“He was an older brother who really encouraged me to continue with my schooling,” Douglas said. “He invested in me, personally and financially and every other way, to encourage me to finish school and go to college.”
The photos, he said, may have been tossed by an ailing elderly relative in Florida, or by someone caring for her.
“Yes, I would very much like to have them,” he said.
The photos include old-time images of a chubby-cheeked boy and a baby girl: Douglas and Lloyd’s father and mother. Their maternal grandparents are dressed in their Sunday best for a formal portrait, and their paternal grandfather poses as a young man with five brothers.
A reprint of a studio portrait taken about 1900 shows a proud elderly couple, also dressed for the moment: Lloyd’s paternal great-grandparents, Henrik and Kari Domier. With the photo is a copy of the passenger list from the Norway-Heritage Line’s Fauma, the three-masted sailing ship that brought them to America in 1867.
Newer images show a young Lloyd at work on a farm, posing with two brothers, and sitting on the fender of a 1940s-era car with a toddler, a nephew perhaps, in his lap.
In another, he is bending over a stream, about to splash water on his face. “Cleaning up a little,” he wrote. Another shows him in uniform and reclining on a bed, maybe in a barracks. “This is my room,” he wrote, and probably sent the little photo home to his mother.
There are letters, too, though spelling clearly was not Lloyd’s strength.
“Dear Ma … Just a line to tell you not to right to me here I will leave here party soon. Lloyd.”
On Jan. 29, 1952, he wrote a little more.
“Dear Mom and Pop … I got your letter yesterday but I sat down last night and tried to write a letter but I could not think of anything to write about so I gave it up.”
He wrote that it was good to hear they were well “and that the roads are still open” back in North Dakota. He was a farmer’s son.
So close …
“I was in the first grade when my brother was called into the service during the Korean War,” Douglas said. “I remember sitting on a swing that morning outside the school, crying, thinking I had lost my brother. I was already so close to him, and I thought I would never see him again.”
People thought Lloyd resembled the actor Humphrey Bogart, both in appearance and in the way he moved, a confident but not arrogant stride.
“I loved to watch him,” Douglas said.
Though he never married, Lloyd appears to have been a popular uncle and big brother. In several of the old photographs, he is holding a youngster. Maybe because of the age difference, about 15 years, and maybe because of his own disappointments, he felt a special responsibility for Douglas.
Lloyd was a construction foreman with a crew, building grain elevators. “We worked like animals, 14 to 16 hours a day, and he always tried to finish a job before other crews,” Douglas said. “We were paid by the hour, but it was a thing of honor to him.
Douglas graduated from Mayville (N.D.) State University and went on to earn advanced degrees.
“If he had not encouraged me to continue my studies, pushed me to hold onto my values and try for a better life, I probably would have continued on in the beer-drinking construction industry.
“I became his hero. But I did it basically for him. I am greatly indebted to my brother.”
In his mid-40s, Lloyd was working at a construction site one day when he fell 25 feet to a concrete surface, Douglas said. The fall damaged his spinal column, and he was in pain most of the rest of his life.
In the packet of photographs that help to explain who he was, where he came from and who he became, there is a picture of Lloyd lying in a hospital bed, probably just after the accident.
He died on May 8, 1995, in Union Hospital in Mayville, at the age of 66.
He was buried in Immanuel Cemetery, rural Buxton.
He is remembered.
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Chuck Haga writes for the Grand Forks Herald