[Congressional Record Volume 146, Number 51 (Monday, May 1, 2000)]
[Senate]
[Pages S3185-S3186]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]




                        THE LAST CLASS IN BUTTE

 Mr. DORGAN. Mr. President, in a recent article in the New York 
Times, Nicholas Kristof, a reporter, posed the question why this 
country should care about the fate of family-based agriculture in this 
country.
  Many people are asking that question today. For part of the answer, I 
suggest they read a short essay by Elizabeth Haugen, a high school 
senior in Butte, North Dakota, a town of 129 people in the central 
portion of my state.
  Elizabeth has grown up on a family farm. As her grandmother put it, 
she ``helps with the cows, drives truck, cleans granaries, and 
maintains an A+ grade average.'' She sings in the State Choir and 
competes in statewide speech contests.
  Elizabeth is a member of the last graduating class in Butte Public 
School--one of two seniors. After she leaves the school will close. The 
school will not close because it has failed. It has been a success, and 
Butte too has been a success. For generations, the school, and the 
town, have produced the kind of traditional community values that we 
hear so much about in this Chamber and that this Nation desperately 
needs.
  The Butte Public School will close because family farms are failing, 
and family-based agriculture is the economic base of Butte--as it is 
for thousands of small communities like it across America.
  This is not rural romanticism of Jeffersonian nostalgia. It is real. 
If we want the kind of traditional values in this country that people 
here in Washington preach so much about, then we have got to show some 
concern for the kinds of economic arrangements that promote those 
values--including the family farm.
  Family based agriculture is not failing in this country because it is 
unproductive or inefficient. It is failing because it cannot survive in 
a marketplace in which big grain companies, food processors and the 
rest are permitted to stomp on family farmers with impunity. It cannot 
survive when the federal government favors these corporate interests at 
every turn.
  To begin to understand why we need to act, I commend this essay by 
Elizabeth Haugen to my colleagues. ``The little town of Butte, North 
Dakota is the positive evidence that the small, trustworthy, and simple 
lifestyle still exists,'' she writes. How would we replace those 
values, once they are lost?
  I include for the Record a copy of the essay.
  The essay follows:

                     The Little World All By Itself

                         (By Elizabeth Haugen)

       We live in a world of advanced technology, increasing 
     violence, and the rush of people running through their lives 
     in an attempt to conquer their busy schedules. What has 
     happened to the silence? The beautiful grazing land? The 
     simple pleasures of life? It once was all people knew. Let's 
     dig deep. This lifestyle has been preserved somewhere.

[[Page S3186]]

       I've grown up on a farm with the closest neighbor one and a 
     half miles down the road. I have attended a public school 
     that has endured a startling decrease in the student body of 
     100 to 34 students in kindergarten through twelfth grade. I 
     ask myself if I have been sheltered and deprived--or 
     fortunately been forced to dig into the soil where I've found 
     what really matters?
       Butte, North Dakota. It has a population of a dwindling 
     number of 129 people, but it is a place of great happiness 
     and memories for many. Art Meller, 93 years young has never 
     lived anywhere else. He remembers when the old people used to 
     call Butte, ``the little world all by itself.'' Butte was 
     founded as Dogden in 1906. Since then the cornerstone, and 
     the town's greatest asset, has been the school.
       I'll never forget that first day of kindergarten when I 
     walked into school and met my nine classmates. Now, I will 
     finish my senior high school with only one classmate. We are 
     excited for the typical reasons just like any other senior, 
     but there is something that is unique about our class. Not 
     only are we the only two seniors, but also we will be the 
     last graduating class of Butte Public School. The cornerstone 
     of Butte will be closing its doors. ``It's sad to see Butte 
     School end because when the school closes, the town closes,'' 
     said Matthew, one of seven juniors. It is sad, and everyday 
     as I drive down Main Street, the only paved street in town, I 
     gaze at the sights--the Cafe, the grocery store, the Farmer's 
     Union, and the small town bar--that have given me hope.
       On a normal day I hear the sounds of wind blowing, children 
     playing outside, and the murmur of people talking. It's not 
     the sounds of loud sirens, or construction machinery, or 
     traffic jams. It is simply, for the most part, a safe and 
     comforting environment--``the little world all by itself.'' 
     People living only an hour away haven't heard, or even know 
     that a town named Butte, North Dakota exists.
       Every morning I drive down the four blocks of Main Street 
     to school, and every morning I slow down as two elderly women 
     cross the street. They are on their daily walk to the Butte 
     Post Office and then to the Cafe for a cup of coffee. Oh, and 
     don't forget the small town gossip. It's the chatter of 
     figuring out all 129 people's lives in Butte. When the town 
     is so small, shouldn't everybody know everything? It's a 
     different life, ``the little world all by itself.''
       As I walk in the school doors there are no metal detectors, 
     no locks on lockers, just the smiles and solemn faces of the 
     small student body ready to put in another day at Butte 
     school, knowing that there won't be many more at Butte. We 
     aren't about violence or competition. Students have developed 
     cherished friendships. We are proof that school isn't all 
     crime and violence. It isn't a scary place. The wonder of 
     ``will a bomb blow up today?'' isn't a thought. It's a place 
     where every student shares the common bond of simple 
     pleasures: seeing deer running in the open country, or not 
     having to worry about locking the doors or turning on the 
     alarm system. Everybody has gone outside at night and been 
     able to enjoy the bright, shining stars.
       The little town of Butte, North Dakota is the positive 
     evidence that the small, trustworthy, and simple lifestyle 
     has been dug up and still exists. Don't lose heart. Pick up 
     your shovel and start digging deep.

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