Growing up in rural Menomonie, Wisconsin, people had perceptions of our little family. Lots and lots of different perceptions. Most of it was that we were a rich family.

We, unfortunately, were not rich. We weren’t poor, but we sure as shit weren’t rich.

My father’s name was Norman Keith Rockwell. He was a cartoonist and an art teacher. He was NOT the famous painter, Norman Perceval Rockwell. 

My Norman’s cartoons were published all over the world in places like Good Housekeeping Magazine, The National Enquirer, Punch Magazine, and Reader’s Digest to name a few. 

But most importantly to local townsfolk, my father was published weekly in The Dunn County News. It was our local Menomonie newspaper. I even delivered the paper for most of my formative years. I brought my father’s cartoons right to our neighbors’ doorsteps.

Often, his cartoons were Menomonie-themed. Locals seemed to like that. I liked that, and even understood some of the jokes.

For hundreds of years, The Dunn County News was owned by the Flint Family. I’m guessing they made some good money on that newspaper venture as they lived in a home with more than three bedrooms.

Every week, The Dunn County News paid my father $50 for his cartoons. Not bad! That’s like $121 today. This was in the early 1990s.

But things were about to change.

Enter the evil corporation. Sometime in those early 1990s, an evil corporation took over The Dunn County News. They bought out the Flint Family. At least that’s what I’ve been told. Things changed quickly after this.

The Evil Newspaper Corporation was the type of place that strips newspapers for parts and sells ads for jacked-up rates. They’re known for operating “newspapers” (I use that term quite loosely) with a single “journalist” for a whole town. 

When The Evil Corporation took over The Dunn County News, they had a proposal for my father: They would pay him $25 for each cartoon instead of the agreed-upon $50 per cartoon.

He stopped bringing them cartoons. 

When I say he stopped bringing them cartoons, I mean just that. He would drive the cartoons down to his editor each week. He liked being back in the newsroom as he had previously been a newspaperman. But he had been slighted by the Evil Newspaper Corporation and would never bring them a damned cartoon again.

Most of my father’s meager earnings came from the national magazines he sold to. Not The Dunn County News. But man, oh man, he was mad. “How dare they!” And other expletives I shall not repeat.

A few weeks later, when I showed up begrudgingly, as usual, to Menomonie High School, I was getting some weird looks. Looks of regret. Sadness? From fellow classmates who usually ignored me, and rightfully so.

And then my friend, Benji, came up to me and said, “Found out your dad lost his job at the paper. You guys gonna be okay?” I was incredibly confused.

The whole Dunn County News hubbub had barely been a blip on my radar. My father was mad about something again. Check. No big deal. 

At least two other people over the course of the day asked me if we were going to be okay. I was pretty sure somebody was going to offer me cans of generic tomato soup and blankets. 

We were not a rich family. Heck, I’m not even sure we were middle class. Most likely lower-middle class. But the loss of The Dunn County News cartooning gig did not break us. 

Over the course of the week, I had teachers ask if I was okay. Even the principal of the school inquired. 

THEY ALL thought that The Dunn County News was my father’s only source of income. And apparently my entire family’s entire source of income. But if I had to guess, I’d say that I probably made more than my father some weeks working weekends at the produce department at Red Owl Grocery.

So, we were okay. And we weren’t poor. Just a little more lower-middle class than before.

Man, what I’d do with $50 right now.

The End

If you’re interested in getting The Dunn County News, shoot me an email here. Just kidding, I made a solemn vow to my father never to support those backstabbing sonsofbitches again.