Bernard K. Von Wald

Very kind, caring, and great coach, I cannot recall a time he did not have a kind hello and warm smile.
Rest in peace coach

Bernie was also a little bit French.

Everyone knew about his family ties to German-speaking Switzerland. And although he didn’t constantly talk about it, he was very attached to his European ancestry.
And then, without anything being premeditated or planned, he became more French over time, starting in October 1985, when he and his wonderful wife Randy offered me one of the most important opportunities of my life: to live with them for the duration of my academic year teaching at Harding High School. I even extended what would become a family life until August 1986. And since then, exactly 40 years ago, this unbreakable bond has only grown stronger, passing on to new generations on both sides of the Atlantic.
Bernie, Harding’s impressive athletic director, agreed with his daughter Stacey and son Duke that they could indeed try hosting a French student, after all, it was only for a short period of time. And years later, we continued to nurture this relationship in every way possible, relayed by those who took part in it over time.
Bernie taught me some essential principles that were indispensable for solidifying our relationship: thanks to him, I became a Minnesotan, a Viking addict, a St. Louis Cardinals fan, and a Kirby Puckett idol. It was non-negotiable and very enjoyable, in fact. More subtly, but so precious, Bernie made sure that I was fully recognized as a resident of Mitchell Avenue, so I could shovel snow with a smile and mow the lawn whistling. I was a “local.” Becoming the ski coach at Harding High School was a responsibility that I greatly appreciated, and I am grateful to him for that. He guided many of my steps in St. Paul-Minneapolis that year, turning an apprenticeship into a true American acculturation. And while I appreciated all the kindness, generosity, enthusiasm, and empathy at the time, I didn’t realize the full extent of it until I returned home and realized how much he had taught me about the visible and invisible aspects of life in America, and life in general in less than a year. I was 22 years old at that time.
I still have vivid memories of moments in my life, adorned with all kinds of emotions and engraved in my mind: trips to Mr. Lee’s famous French restaurant, barbecues in the snow discussing the meaning of life, the “OK, right” that punctuated every car ride, certain food “reflexes” that, , it must be admitted, cannot be recorded as recipes, the mass that I sometimes accompanied Randy and him to, the precise and sometimes disillusioned comments on games and players, so many other milestones in my memory and in my heart.
I feel eternal gratitude, which Nietzsche summed up in the phrase “you belong to the place where you were formed,” and there is no doubt that this American life, largely mentored by my fortuitous and happy proximity to Bernie, formed a fundamental basis for my education.
Bernie and Randy’s trip to France was a highlight of our relationship. I loved seeing him touch the stones of medieval churches in Provence, climb up the steps of the Roman theater of Fourvière in Lyon, and admire the gardens and monuments of Paris. And the people in our families, whom he treated with such consideration and joy. His overflowing enthusiasm brought me even closer to him. He discovered another world in Europe, in France, and revealed a side of himself that was so sensitive, so spontaneous, so full of wonder. I loved it! He was excited at the idea that his children and grandchildren would one day be here in France with us and our future children, in addition to Paul, who was just born. This is what has already happened and continues to happen, just as he wished !
Bernie embodied the family bond that we cherish so much in so many ways that have become part of our culture: peanut butter, rare in France, can be found in all our homes, Cardinals T-shirts and caps as banners, “oh oh… I don’t know…“ as an euphemism, burgers cooking in the winter snow when there is any, ”too many chiefs not enough Indians,” etc… and special mention for the stories of annual migration to Alabama: the best possible series that we would comment on at dinner, gathered around the daily adventures of Bernie the snowbird on an anthropological expedition!
I was deeply moved by the encounter in Lindstrom, almost 15 years ago now. Our three young children told me that they were so familiar with him because they had heard so much about him, listened to so many stories I had told them about him, and heard so many stories. It was tender, sweet, and so incredibly intense. Since then, Paul has a photo of Bernie and him in his room, while I don’t think he has any of his grandfathers. Marie has been Miss Mary ever since Bernie suggested it, and Lola is making her professional debut as an English translator.
Bernie was with me for 40 years, despite the distance and a few silences that were sometimes too long. Year after year, we shared the joy of seeing our family grow. He was so happy with everything he shared with his children and grandchildren, proud, loving, and attentive to each of them in all our birthday conversations. I loved knowing that he kept a photo of my home village somewhere in one of the rooms of his house. Roots give us wings and allow our feelings, emotions, and souls to travel.
In several cities in France, and also in Morocco, we will share the emotion and sadness of his passing on October 20. We will be inspired by everything Bernie Von Wald gave us and will rekindle the flame of what we were able to share so marvelously over time. We will strive to keep his memory alive here too, through the energy of memory and the strength of the bond we maintain with everyone. My thoughts go out in particular to Randy, to to who I offer my deepest condolences, assuring her of my deepest and most sincere love and everlasting gratitude.