From Where I Sit

By Pat Spilseth, Columnist

This weekend a little friend gave Ellie, our 5-year-old granddaughter, a ticket to her dream come true, Disney on Ice. This magical show has Ellie and her friend believing they are truly princesses dressed up in fancy ball gowns going to a fancy ball. In crowns, gowns, sparkly shoes and gloves, they sat in their seats mesmerized by the spinning skaters in sequins and satin floating on the ice. These little girls still believe in magic…how refreshing to see the world through their eyes.

When I was a little girl in the 1950s, my folks took me to the Ice Follies in Minneapolis. What a treat! We sat in the stands near the ice rink, up close to the glamorous girls in their furry jackets with hoods, short skirts twirling and those enviable white laced up ice skates, jingle bells jingling. That was as close to heaven as I could imagine!

Created and produced by three St. Paul boys, the Ice Follies was a perfect example of “Minnesota nice on ice.” “We wanted nothing offensive or even questionable ever to be a part of our show,” Follies founder Eddie Shipstad said. The founders stopped performing by mid-1950, but continued to produce the show. By 1980 Feld Entertainment purchased both Ice Follies and Holiday, eventually merging the shows into Disney on Ice.

EDDIE SHIPSTAD ICE FOLLIES STAR, written by L.E. Leipold, tells the story of St. Paul native Eddie Shipstad, born Feb. 16, 1907. At the age of eight Eddie clamped on his first pair of ice skates to glide on the ice like his Swedish dad, Frank. Lake Como attracted hundreds of skaters on winter Sunday afternoons. This is where the “fancy” skater Eddie met Oscar Johnson, a “trick” skater who loved the turns and jumps. By January of 1924 they were performing together putting on “Spike McDougall and Gas House Annie.” Oscar was dressed in fancy clothes and a top hat; Eddie impersonated a woman with dress and wig. His younger brother Roy joined them around 1934.

Influenced by traveling circuses, the boys decided to form the Ice Follies and hit the road in 1936. They traveled in a Greyhound bus loaded with 26 skaters and $500 in homemade costumes. The Follies had a slow start due to bank failures, blizzards and infantile paralysis, which closed schools, churches and theaters to the public. Few people ignored the health department’s warning to avoid public gatherings, but the show went on, playing to small crowds. As the show moved east, agents from Madison Square Garden and Boston Gardens came to check out the show. After seeing enthusiastic crowds, they rushed to secure bookings for their arenas.

As a treat, Dad and Mom decided to take me to my dream show in Minneapolis. Dad drove his blue Hudson for three long hours on Highway 55, through rolling farm fields and small towns. Dad was rarely without his Lucky Strike cigarettes, and the cigarette smoke made me car-sick. My smeller was sensitive, and the yucky yellow carsick medicine wasn’t much help. It made me nauseous. We’d have to stop so I could walk around outside and get some fresh air. Otherwise, we’d have a mess in the car.

The colored ice rink, spotlights and glamorous people looked so different from my home town friends and family. The shows featured 24 different numbers with more than 400 costume changes. Elegant ice dances, stunts and humorous skits included a horse act, “Spark Plug”; Mr. Debonair, featuring a man in top hat and tails with six lovely ladies; Frick and Frack and the synchronized Ice Folliettes. Just like the Doublemint Gum twins, the Follies always had a set of twins on the ice. It was a huge production. Props and cargo filled 24 semi-trailers to get to the train station where a 16 car train moved the cast and crew to the next city.

The Ice Follies was a class act advertised in the newspapers, which drew crowds from all over the state. Clowns with funny hats, red ball noses and big shoes jumped through hoops, tripped and slid on the ice, falling on their behinds. But the glamorous girls captivated my attention. I wanted to be an ice skater. Of course, after seeing Debbie Reynolds in the movies, I planned to be a dancing movie star. And when I heard Van Cliburn play the grand piano, I wanted to be a concert pianist.

Why couldn’t I be a glamorous skater swirling in a velvet dresses performing figure 8s, taking graceful leaps on the ice?  I just needed to practice. I’d tie my skates together, a Christmas present, and head for the ice skating rink on the old football field across from the VFW near downtown. I knew my friends would be there, at the warming house and playing games on the ice. Music was piped through loud speakers out onto the rink. Am I remembering correctly? Skating to dance music, I’d imagine a handsome partner waltzing with me across the ice. More often, we’d form a long line of kids to play “Crack the Whip.” The kid who clung to the end of the skaters’ line got thrown, far across the ice and into a snow bank. We thought it was hilarious! The leader of the pack had the power. He decided when he’d stop, turn sharply on his blades, stick them in the ice and crack the whip, sending the whipped skaters into a frenzy of squealing tumbles.

Remember, back in the 50’s, we weren’t exposed to much TV or trips outside our little town in rural Minnesota. We were a homogeneous group of Scandinavians and Germans, plain folk who enjoyed family, church and Saturday nights in town. Only the movies gifted us with glamorous people and exotic scenes of far-away places. Now the Ice Follies had entered my dreams. I’d sit in my room and dream…maybe I truly could become a glamorous ice skating queen.

   

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To contact Pat, email: pat.spilseth@gmail.com.