Eight Fine Sons—and Dale

By Dale E. Vander Linden

A touch of history. An Iowa sharecroppers son describes the adventures and vagaries of growing up in the 1930s and 40s and 50s.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Jun 30, 2014
• ISBN: 9781483412627

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LINDEN

Copyright © 2014 Dale E. Vander Linden.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of both publisher and author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

ISBN: 978-1-4834-1372-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4834-1262-7 (e)

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Lulu Publishing Services rev. date: 06/11/2014

CONTENTS

MEMOIR

Chapter 1:   The Powers Place-1932-1936

Chapter 2:   Up by Lorimor-1936-1937

Chapter 3:   Gas Station in Osceola-1937-1938

Chapter 4:   Out on the Highway-1938-1940

Chapter 5:   Emerson Day Place-1940-1942

Chapter 6:   Doc Harken’s Farm-1942-1943

Chapter 7:   Eef Kent Farm-1943-1945

Chapter 8:   Up by Indianola-1945-1947

Chapter 9:   Arch Wade Place-1947-1949

Chapter 10:   Down in the Hole-1950-1952

Chapter 11:   My Tour in the United States Navy-Jan 1951-Jan 1955

Chapter 12:   The Single Years Months-January 1955-August 1956

THE BROTHERS

Chapter 13-Brother 1:   Marvin Carl Vander Linden-September 16, 1912-June 15, 1965

Chapter 14-Brother 2:   Richard Fisher Vander Linden - February 26, 1914-August 6, 2004

Chapter 15-Brother 3:   Ernest Leo Vander Linden - August 12, 1915-April 7, 1999

Chapter 16-Brother 4:   Donald Francis Vander Linden-March 4, 1918-July 14, 2002

Chapter 17-Brother 5:   Gerald Nolan Vander Linden-October 4, 1920

Chapter 18-Brother 6:   My memories of Herman J Vander Linden-October 4, 1922-November 5, 1979

Chapter 19-Brother 7:   Bernard Keith Vander Linden - September 6, 1927-February 7, 1990

Chapter 20-Brother 8:   Leland Paul Vander Linden - April 9, 1930-June 24, 1993

AT HOME

Chapter 21:   A Switch on the Patootie

Chapter 22:   Best Teacher

Chapter 23:   Children Alone

Chapter 24:   Crackers

Chapter 25:   Farming When I Grew Up

Chapter 26:   Grocery Store

Chapter 27:   I am Thankful

Chapter 28:   Ice

Chapter 29:   Ice Cream

Chapter 30:   Lye Soap

Chapter 31:   The Moving Game

Chapter 32:   Quest

Chapter 33:   Watermelon

Chapter 34:   What We Ate

Chapter 35:   What Do You Do If You Have No Toys

TRIBUTES

Chapter 36:   Lives of Great Ones-Mom and Dad

Chapter 37:   Courage for the Occasion-Cheryl Vander Linden

Chapter 38:   Dicks Eulogy

Chapter 39:   R-U-T-H

Chapter 40:   Grandma Fisher’s House—It’s Still Cute But

Chapter 41:   Another Great Life-Jean Nelson

SHORT STORIES

Chapter 42:   Aliens Come to Earth

Chapter 43:   Gun to a Knife Fight

Chapter 44:   My First…

Chapter 45:   The Mystery of Time

Chapter 46:   Old Man

Chapter 47:   Patriotism-Wherefore Art Thou

Chapter 48:   The Picture

Chapter 49:   Somebody Else

Chapter 50:   The View from the Outhouse-Reasoner Farm

POEMETRY

Chapter 51:   A River Runs Through It

Chapter 52:   Country School

Chapter 53:   Happiness

Chapter 54:   Owed To Delano

Chapter 55:   Poetry Also

Chapter 56:   Respect

Chapter 57:   Thankful

PREFACE

I have attended an unofficial group at the Delano Senior Center called the Senior Writers since 2005. I also met with another group for a while at a different venue. Many of the writings I did centered on my youth and discussions in those groups led me to doing somewhat of an after the fact journal.

I started with the first chapter being what I remembered about the Jake Powers place where I was born, then proceeded to the other places where we lived naming each chapter by how we always referred to that particular place. Since we moved about every two years, Dad was a renter/sharecropper, there are a number of chapters.

I then wrote a chapter based on what I remembered of each brother while I was growing up.

I wound up by adding several of the writings I had done over the years including feeble attempts at humor, short story and poetry, some based on mutually agreeable assignments. As part of the Writers several TRIBUTES were also generated.

Part of the intent was to give grandkids, great grandkids and other younger folk some idea of what life was like in the family back in the day. This book terminates at the time Mary K and I were married with the time after that being the subject of another tome.

Many members of the family are mentioned in the course of the writings. Some humorous. It is not my intent to offend anyone and if I did I am sorry but what I have written is the way I lived my life.

MEMOIR

CHAPTER 1

The Powers Place-1932-1936

What we called the Jake Powers place was five miles south and one mile east of Murray on the south side of the road. The house was probably no more than 900 square foot 2 rooms up and 3 down with a lean to kitchen. And of course no running water or bath room. We used some kind of receptacle. Mom and Dad had an enamel thunder mug but us kids usually just had a gallon can which we were supposed to empty every day, however each kid would keep using it as long as there was any room left in it and finally someone would have to carry it out. By then it was so full that you couldn’t carry it without spilling. There was a big grove of evergreens along the west and north side about a 100 yards from the house, an Arabian crab tree in the swale between the house and the barn and a blue birds nest in a fence post up by the mail box (a big deal even then). The yard was dirt and matted grass as no one on a farm at that time had the time, energy or equipment to have a lawn. That is where the folks had moved in March of 1932 just before I was born on April 29, the youngest of a family of nine boys and no girls. The folks were married on December 21, 1911. Marvin Carl was born September 16, 1912, Richard Fisher on February 26, 1914, Ernest Leo on August 14, 1915, Donald Francis on March 4, 1918, Gerald Nolan on October 4, 1920, Herman J. on October 4, 1922, Bernard Keith on September 6, 1927, Leland Paul on April 9, 1930. I guess all of us kids were born at home on the kitchen table. Smart Ass Joe (Shelly’s husband) said, yeah and they haven’t left the table yet. To give you right up front more than you probably want to know about the Vander Linden boys, but being born at home, none of us were circumcised, but that is a story reserved for a later time.

I don’t remember Marvin (Marv, Marvie, Bocco) being at home at all during the four years we lived there. I vaguely remember Richard (Dick). I don’t remember Ernest (Ern Leo, Van by his wife) there either. I vaguely remember Donald (Don, Wimpy) as he worked for a neighbor, Russell Critz and also fed E. K. Jones cattle in the winter. I really don’t remember Gerald (Pood, Pete, so named by his future wife after he left home) there either. The other three brothers, Herman (Jake, Herm), Keith (Casey, Keithy but never Bernard) and Leland (Lee, Enny Pau) were the ones that I grew up with and are really the family I knew. The older brothers seem almost more like Uncles than brothers. Dad was a share cropper and after 4 years on the Powers place we never lived more than two years on any one farm until he finally bought in 1955 right after I got out of the service.

I don’t know how big the Powers farm was. Probably a couple of hundred acres of which we farmed maybe 50-60 and the rest was pasture and timber. It had a barn about 100 yards from the house and a chicken house closer. We farmed with three horses, Ned, Nell and Topsy. I suppose we had about 20 or so head of cattle of which we probably milked maybe 15 or so always by hand. Dad always named his milk cows and we kids usually named the rest with such as Gran, Granary, Barnyard, Jersey, Mary, Spec, Red, Jerry, Bull and We also always had some hogs and some laying chickens. Lee and I would go to the barn with a little cow jumped over the moon aluminum cup and get a cup of warm milk right from the cow about every evening in the summer months. We never had a decent place on any of the farms we lived on to raise baby chicks and mostly raised them in the house until they were feathered out and big enough to survive on their own outside. We would put papers on the floor in an empty room or a corner of the kitchen, put papers on the floor and use table boards to make a little pen. For brooders mom would turn a wash tub upside down propped up on bricks with a kerosene lamp underneath. After they got feathered out a little we would carry them outside every day and put them in a pen and clean up the mess in the house, bring them back in at night or when it would rain and do it all over again the next day. We usually had a least one pig a year too that was a runt and would have died in the pen, that we would bring into the kitchen and raise until it would get big enough to go out side. By then it was a pet and would stay in the yard until it would start causing too much trouble and Mom would finally insist it go to the pen. Always named them Porky.

Besides Poochie we had Spot, another rat terrier and Queen, kind of a dog looking dog, maybe part German shepherd. Spot was nuts about hunting. The older boys would take him hunting and he would crawl into the holes after game. One time he got stuck and they couldn’t get him out. When they told Dad, he simply said, Too bad. I told you that would happen sometime. But later that night he put down his paper and told the boys get the lantern and the shovels. Let’s go get that damn dog. And they did. Later though he disappeared and never came back. We always figured he went hunting on his own, crawled into a hole and couldn’t get out. One time the FOFWG(Future Old Fat White-haired Guy) was playing with poochie when he was just a tiny pup. Mom heard a yelp from the dog and asked what had happened. The FOFWG said, The little son-of-a-bitch bit me so I bit him back. That was logic in those days. Now some one would call the SPCA. Ern’s future La Vena was out one time and heard the FOFWG using a torrent of the same kind of language. Believe it or not, in those days she was shocked by that type of language since she had been a school teacher when she first got out of high school. She came to see what the tirade was about and the FOFWG was trying to get a bug to crawl over a stick and wasn’t having much success.

We all had a designated place at the table at eating time. One time La Vena was visiting us and happened to sit down at Gerald’s place. He said, get up. That is my place. She said, Nonsense. It doesn’t make any difference where you sit. He said, Get up or I will take you outside and drop you off the porch. She didn’t and he did. They always had kind of a love/hate relationship ever after.

As I had mentioned before, there was an Arabian crab tree down in a little swale between the house and barn. For some reason or other Mom had told us not to eat them. I suppose she figured, and probably rightly so that we would make ourselves sick from eating too many. That of course only made them like the apple in the Garden of Eden. I don’t know how many time she had to run us and the neighbor kids away from that tree. The neighbor kids that were over most often were Bernard and Beulah Critz and their twin siblings Doris and Donald. The Cone boys used to spend a lot of time with the older boys, as well as Chris (Tiny) Morris (the Morris kids Dad) and Tom Siefkas.

In the spring of 36, Darrell Morris was born. Apparently Dot, his mother (nee Dorothy Haller) was living at Uncle Charley Hallers a mile north across the field from us. They wanted Keith to come up and stay with Marvin Morris while Dot was in the hospital. The roads were not all open so he had to go across the field to get there. I remember that I was really put out that I couldn’t go with him. As a four year old I am sure I would not have posed any problem. He had an actual snow suit to wear too. Something that I was always jealous of as all I had was a long coat.

The winter of 35-36 was nasty. Lots of snow. Almost buried the evergreens in the grove. Lee and Herm were getting a load of hay from the haystack out beyond the grove by the road. A bulldozer was opening the road. They could hear him but couldn’t see him as the snow piles along the road were too high. He was rolling big balls of snow up and over the piles along the road. One of them rolled down kind of close to the horses and they took off with Lee in the wagon screaming at the top of his voice. They came around the corner of the grove on two wheels, lucky they didn’t leave a part of the wagon on one of the trees, and down toward the house. Dad had heard the commotion, went out and stood in front of them and flagged them down. Then he climbed into the wagon and whipped them into a dead run and headed them towards the deepest snow banks he could find. He would whip them all the way through then find another snow bank. He kept doing that until they could just barely stand. Another SPCA or PETA event, but you know, the horses never ran again. He was tough on his horses but they were always well trained and any of us kids could always handle them with no fear. Sometimes he wasn’t a hell of a lot easier on his kids, either, but they damn sure knew right from wrong even if they didn’t always act like it. Of course I wasn’t in school yet but I don’t think school ever closed for the blizzard. We lived two miles from Doyle Center and even Lee, who would have been a first grader, walked.

The older boys did a lot of hunting in those days and at one time had a young fox for a pet and several different times they had raccoons. We also harvested Hickory nuts and black walnuts every year. Walnuts are quite messy to hull and handle. The older boys built a trapezoidal box just a little wider than a car tire. They would then run the Model A up against a tree, jack up one rear tire, put the box under the tire so it had about one inch of clearance. Then start the engine, put the car in low gear and let out the clutch so the wheel would start spinning. Then you drop walnuts in the front and the hulls and walnuts go flying out the back. Of course you still have to dry them out and crack them and pick them out but at least the dirtiest job is done. The hickory nuts are much easier. Their hull comes off in 4 easy sections. Usually you can hull them as you pick them up. They are not as hard to crack as black walnuts although some what harder than pecans. Flavor is something like pecans only better.

Ern had gone to Naperville Illinois. Uncle Nate (Dad’s youngest brother) and Aunt Blanche were out there. He worked for the Post Office. Supposedly he could get Ern a job, but it didn’t work out. Ern ended up working on a dairy farm for a guy named Les Steck (more wasted brain cells). Mom, Dad, Dick and I went out. On the way home down by Burlington we had a car wreck. It was after night. Dick was driving. Some guy was drunk, had stopped his car, ON THE CONCRETE part of the highway and was standing in the ditch hurling. The lights of an on coming car kept Dick from seeing the stopped car and we ran into the back. Dick had some chest injuries, Dad had 30 or 40 stitches in his head and Mom had about half that many. I was asleep on Moms lap in the back seat and had a little scratch on my middle finger. The only thing I remember about it is that I woke up on a couch in the house of somebody who lived close and some lady was washing my face and hands with a wash cloth. I had slept through it all. I have no idea how long Mom or Dad was in the hospital or how we got home. We must have been out there another time also because I ended up in the hospital in Burlington with Pneumonia. That is where I got the little rabbit, a nurse gave it to me, that lives in the Schaffear Pen box, and has since 1936 (Mom would never let me play with it for some reason or other). La Vena was with us that time. When we crossed the Mississippi River I guess I asked her, How would you like to drown in there Bena? She answered, Well if I had to drown, it might as well be there as any where. The one thing that has always stuck with me was when we were there with Ern at the dairy farm (of course he had room and board there) was that at every meal there was a huge plate of fried eggs, sunny side up, with the eye closed and sprinkled with salt and pepper.

I don’t remember seeing any of the Grandparents or Aunts or Uncles while we lived there except Uncle Charlie (Aunt Nettie was gone already and so was Grandma Van). More wasted brain cells (wbc from now on). One time when we were going to Uncle Charlie’s for Thanksgiving we had car trouble. Some of the older boys had to walk across the field to get some one to come and get us. Of course I cried because they wouldn’t let me go with. Uncle Charlie used to get upset at things once in a while. One time he got angry at Dad because Dad couldn’t go help him butcher a hog. Didn’t speak to Dad for quite some time, then just met him on the street one day and started talking. Betty and Thelma lived there with him. They didn’t get married until they were older. They had a wonderful garden, orchard, strawberry patch and grape vines and always shared. They always raised sheep also. I always wanted Dad to and finally when he did we tried to grow a flock from two that someone had given us. In ten years time I think we got it all the way up to seven or eight. Always trouble with sickness or dogs.

My earliest memories were probably in the late summer of 1935 when I was about 3 ½. Getting chased away from the crab tree by Mom. The bluebirds nest up by the mailbox. The warm fresh milk. Those are my very earliest memories.

I also had the first dream that I could remember. I was out in the field north of the house kind of up by the mail box. Some guy whom I didn’t know was coming across the field which was like a standing oats field. He seemed to be a neighbor whom I had never seen. He was kind of smiling and really not threatening in any manner but yet I was afraid of him and was trying to get away but like in many dreams, I couldn’t run or get to the fence, let alone over it. I woke up before he ever got close. I have no idea why I still have such vivid memories of that dream laying in there, using up brain cells.

We could look across the field and see Uncle Jake Sternberg’s farm. The folks had lived there just before the Powers place so their was always a lot of talk about it. They had lived there for several years. I’m not sure, but I think Lee, Keith, and Herm all may have been born there. I always thought it sounded kind of exotic but never had a chance to go there even though it was only about a mile away. Uncle Jake was my Granddad Van’s Brother-in-law. Grandma Van’s brother. He ran a barber shop in Pella as long as I could remember. Don’t know how he came about owning a farm at Murray. We did stop at his shop in Pella one time (in the 40s) when we were there for the Rovaart reunion. You’d have to check the Vander Linden book to see how we were related to them. That is the only time I ever saw him. We also saw great aunt Harriet Vander Linden that time. She was married to a brother of Dad’s Grandad. At that time she lived in an apartment in Scholte mansion on the north side of the square.

Marv, Dick, Ern and Don used to play a lot of baseball. Each area had its own team kind of similar to town team baseball now. There were several around Murray and Hopeville. Marv was a pretty good pitcher from the stories I have heard and also a good strong arm for the out field. Ern played catcher. We used to have an old catchers mitt, we called it a pud. You didn’t catch the ball in the web like they do now but right in the middle of the palm. It would kill your hand. This one had a hole worn through the leather from catching so many balls. One of the guys had a bright idea and got a sponge and cut a dime sized hole in it and put that in the palm of his hand to help ease the pain. The way the mitt was made there was only two layers of leather between the pocket and your palm. Baseball gloves weren’t much better. Don was left handed. We still had his glove around until I suppose I was 10-12 years old. I would put it on and toss the ball in the air and try to catch it. I would count one run for me if I did and one run for the other guy if I dropped it. I suppose that should have made me ambidextrous but the other guy won way to many of the games.

CHAPTER 2

Up by Lorimor-1936-1937

We moved from the Powers place to up by Lorimor in the spring of 1936. The farm is about 2 mile north of the northwest corner of Murray, 1 ½ mile west, 1/2 mile north then back west about 1 1/4 miles. It is about 1½ miles NW across the field from the last farm where Keith and Barb lived. The house is still there and is used as a day care center. I wasn’t in school yet but the school was about a half mile west from the farm. The house had an entry porch, a kitchen, living room and bedroom downstairs and several bedrooms upstairs. Of course there was no electric, water or plumbing. There was a well close to the house and the out house about 50 feet away.

Galen and Helen Marie (Uncle Harold’s kids) came to stay with us for a while. Apparently he and Aunt Bernice had some difficulties. Galen had seen some movies, one called The Ghost Goes West. Galen was telling us about the movie, took a sheet and threw it over has head and stomped around muttering The Ghost goes west.’ And went west till he stepped in the pot which was mostly full. Nice mess. We always had a bunch of big little books. My favorite was Billy the Kid". Somehow or other I managed to drop it in the pot. There has always been some question about his killing. But we knew-how he died—he drowned in the piss pot!!

Galen had also been to swimming pools in Kansas City where they lived and had actually taken swimming lessons. We were never allowed to play in the stock watering tanks but for some reason we decided to do it one day. The tank was probably four feet wide and eight feet long. Galen said he could swim under water the whole length of the tank. I was scared to death and knew he would surely drown. But he went under and swam the whole length, mostly because he pushed off with his feet. I was really relieved when he came up but none of us boys had the nerve to try it. That was one of the very few times we ever played in the tank.

Herm had made a cart out of some pieces of old farm machinery. Mom took a great picture of us four boys on the cart and Galen and Helen Marie on old Topsy pulling the cart. It is a great pic even if the front of the horse and the rear of cart are cut off in the picture. We played a lot with the horse and cart.

There were several sheds on the farm besides the barn. When it would rain Lee and I would play a game we called shelter. We run from building to building hollering shelter, shelter. Pretty complicated, huh. We thought it was great. If you think that that was pretty simple to keep us entertained, you should see some of the things I do even now to keep entertained.

One of the sheds was the chicken house. For some dumb reason I decided that it would be fun to break some eggs. I had been taught to count by the older boys and so I would count the eggs in a nest. If there was only one or two I would leave them. If there were three or four I would take one and if there were more I might take two. They made a nice splash when I threw them on a rock. Only problem was the rock I threw them on was right in the middle of the chicken house. Didn’t take long for Dad to figure it out. He got a little switch and tanned my ass to a fare thee well. I didn’t break any more eggs. As a matter of fact I would flinch even in later years when I had to break on to cook.

Farm crops looked pretty good that year until a grasshopper plague came along. They ate the corn stalks right down to a nub about one foot tall so there was no corn to speak. We always had oats and timothy in those days as both are good horse feed. We threshed the timothy in a curved stack and then the oats right next to it. We threshed on a Wednesday and a week later lightning struck the hay stacks. That left us with only about 300 bushel of oats in the crib for livestock feed. Dad had figured he could sell the cattle and buy sheep as they would winter nicely around the timothy stack. Even though threshed it still has a lot of feed value. Even today it is one of the best horse hays available. So a decision was made to have an auction in the spring.

The hoppers were so bad that they would eat just about anything. If you left wood handled tools, like hoes, pitchforks etc out they would chew on the handles, because of the body oils and salt on them, until they would get so rough you couldn’t use them.

When the lightning struck Herm was out in the barn lot standing up on a platform where the pump was, about 3 feet off the ground. It knocked him off the platform and knocked several of the cows down. All survived. Gerald wanted to climb up on top of the stack and throw off what looked to be like just a little wisp of smoke. Dad wouldn’t let him cause he knew the whole center of the stack would be on fire. In a few minutes you could see smoke seeping out of the stack all around. For mattresses in those days we usually used a straw tick which is a mattress made of a heavy material filled with straw. We did manage to get enough straw to fill a couple of those.

Dad bought a newer 1935 Ford with a radio yet. We kids had the mumps that summer. Mom would let us lie on their bed downstairs and open the window. Then Dad would drive the car up by the window and turn on the radio. What a treat. The car quit after a few weeks. The dealer took it back and gave Dad another car, but without a radio. Bummer. Dad had traded Old Ned, the best horse we had on the car. You could still do that. I think he got like $300 in trade on a $450 car.

Mom had a few geese. One of the babies, I had named him Gossey, wasn’t looked after by the mother goose so we fed it. It imprinted on me and followed me all over the place. When I would sit down to play the goose would sit down and talk to me. It followed to close cause one day when I went into the house he tried to follow me in and the screen door slammed shut on his head. End of Gossey. Years later at my Citizen of the Year award Brother Pete related this story at the ceremony and suggested that that was where I got all my brains!

I had a wild dream one time when we lived there. One of the shed was a machine shed where dad kept tools and grease and stuff. There was a five gallon bucket of grease. I dreamed that I rubbed some of it on my little tool and it grew out in a spiral a couple of inches in diameter and about eight or ten inches long. Pretty impressive for a four year old. Funny thing is, it didn’t work that way when I tried it the next day. I am sure that if my wife ever reads this she will have some kind of comment.

The first time I remember Marv was while we lived there. As I said I never remember him on the Powers place. He sold radios door to door for Robinson’s ten cent store in Osceola. He had a Model A and carried two or there radios in the rear seat. He would drive around the country side, sometimes with appointments and sometimes not, and demonstrate them. He was in our neighborhood one time when the roads were really icy. He came walking up to the house. On a steep hill just east of us it was so icy that he couldn’t get up and his car started sliding backwards while it was still in a forward gear. It slid backward through the ditch and into a pasture. Neither he nor it was damaged. I don’t know how they got it out. I remember at the time I wondered how they would get it out.

Another thing we weren’t supposed to do was ride the calves, but naturally, one time when the folks were gone we put them in the driveway of corn crib and held a rodeo. Keith got bucked of against the concrete foundation of the crib and was out for quite a while. No one bothered to tell the folks. Same kind of deal, we weren’t supposed to climb on top of the buildings but he did one time while we lived there. He slipped and fell of onto ground that was almost as hard as concrete and was out for a while. No one told the folks about that one either.

When we had the auction in the spring we didn’t do very well. I know Mom thought we got robbed. I remember that the pile of money on the table looked awful large to me. It was a bitter cold day but I think it reflected a lot on the quality of the stock we had. My Dad worked his butt off but I’m not sure you could ever call him a really good farmer.

There were a couple of kids that lived about a half mile from us. Leslie and Charlotte Kane. They went to the same school as the older boys. I wasn’t in school yet in spite of my superior brain power (see counting eggs above). Their grandparents lived straight on west of us on highway 169 right by the railroad tracks. One day we were over there playing with them and he showed us how to lay nails on the railroad track and get nice flat nails that you could sharpen into a knife. Pocket knives were really big stuff to farm boys in those days and a nail flattened into a knife was better than nothing. Their Dad got put in jail once for writing bad checks. I had no idea what that meant and it didn’t make sense to me when they tried to tell me. I never heard of them again after we moved away the next spring.

Another first that I remember from there. I recall that one day Mom made fresh peas for dinner. I wondered why we were eating in midday as I didn’t remember eating at noon before. It still seems strange to me that I wouldn’t make the connection.

After the haystacks burnt Dad got on with the WPA (a government program, Works Progress Administration, for putting people to work) for a few days then one day he came home in mid-morning. We had his packed lunch for dinner. Turns out that because we still owned livestock that he didn’t qualify for the WPA. Dad always felt it was because he would actually do work and most of the guys would lean around on their shovel. Work lasted longer that way.

On day in the summer we could see smoke over across the field. It was at the time of year when oats were ready to harvest. Somehow a fire had started in a field of standing grain. Dad and a couple of the older boys went over to see if they could help but there was nothing they could do except let it burn out. They said the fire went across the field faster than a horse could run.

I made one trip with the folks, with Don driving, up to Spencer in north central Iowa to look at a gas station to run. I don’t really remember too much about it except that it rained hard and I was impressed that it looked to me like it was only raining right down the road in front of us where the car lights were shining. I don’t know how Dad got the line on it but he did end up renting a Cities Service gas station on the west edge of Osceola about where the farm service store is now and we moved there in March of 1937.

One day Dad and some of the boys were putting a new front spring under the old Model A. It fell off the jack and smashed Dad’s hand between the spring and the axle. Ern Leo picked up the whole front of the car so Dad could get his hand out. It pretty well smashed some of his fingers. I was to learn later in life that Ern always was as strong as a horse.

We had a little dog while we lived there. We had actually gotten him before we left the Powers place. His name was Poochie. Dick had brought him home one time. As a pup he was so small that Dick had carried him home in his rear pants pocket. At Lorimor he got worms and would have worm fits. He would just be hanging out in the yard an all of sudden he would take off as fast as he could go yipping as he went. I never knew what it was that the worms did to him that made him do that. Of course it never occurred to anyone to take him to the vet. He was a farm dog and either made it or didn’t. We fed him, and the other dogs we ever had, and that was about all. One day he took off across the field when he had one of those fits and we never saw him again.

In the spring of 1937 we moved to the Cities Service Station on the west edge of Osceola, about where the farm store is now. We took one cat and one cow with us.

UpbyLorimor.jpg

Up by Lorimor 1936-37 taken 2012

CHAPTER 3

Gas Station in Osceola-1937-1938

We moved into Osceola in March of 1937. We had a Cities Service gas station at the west edge of town about where the Farm Store is now. The station was in the front of the house and we lived in the rest. There were 3 or 4 road side cabins, as they were known then, before the days of the motel. Cabin was actually a pretty loose word for them as they were wood buildings, no interior walls, with a bed, a small chest of drawers of some kind, a bucket for water and a wash pan with a bar of soap. They also had a chair and a little table that folded up against the wall. They were not heated. The toilet was down behind the house. As I recall it was a four holer with different sizes for different size people. We got 50 cents a night for the cabins. I don’t remember that they were rented very often. Dad was on the road selling the Wallace’s Farmer and Iowa Homestead Service Journal. Some of the other salesmen would stay in them if they were in town. One time some folk came through pulling a little travel trailer and paid a quarter or so to park overnight. They were out of bread and asked if we had any. Mom sold them a huge loaf of her homemade bread for a dime. The lady told her the next morning that she should get at least a quarter for such a big loaf of such good bread. And of course, we kids being poor and under privileged, had to eat that darn bread every day.

The house was two stories. It had a kitchen, living room and one bedroom as well as the station office on the first floor and two or three bedrooms up. There was a shed down behind the house as well as the toilet. The house did have electricity with one light bulb hanging in the center of each room. No outlets or wall switches. Those would have been too expensive to put in.

About the only regular customer we had was a Dr. that drove a LaSalle. What a beautiful car. We loved to gawk at it whenever he stopped. One time a guy stopped that was driving a rickety old truck with living quarters built on it. He needed gas and had no money but also didn’t have anything to trade for gas. His side of the truck had no door and he climbed in and out of the window to get in. Probably the first motor home I ever saw.

Dad’s job selling put him on the road much of the time as his territory was southwest Iowa. The Wallace’s Farmer was a farm magazine but when you subscribed you also got some kind of insurance protection. They then would post a little 12x12 tin sign on a post in front of your farm showing that you were protected. The formal name was the Wallace’s Farmer and Iowa Homestead Service Journal. That company was owned by Henry Wallace who was FDR’s vice president at one time. The family was a significant contributor to the agricultural industry. When Dad was out of town Mom and Herm ran the station. The tank truck delivery man that filled our tanks was a Mr. Peterballs. (For true). He had given me a nickel one time so I thought he was ten feet tall, so to speak. Apparently he wasn’t a real nice guy cause he told people around town that we weren’t open any more. One time Herman and I were playing somewhere the guy came by to deliver then went inside to talk to the folks. Herman said something about the son-of-a-bitch and I told him I was going to tell. So I went into the station where Mr. Peteballs was talking to the folks and told him that Herman said he was a son-of-a-bitch. I don’t remember what the reaction was but the folks never said anything to me so apparently they didn’t think it was too far wrong. We never got to get anything out of the candy counter in the station or a bottle of pop, unless we could pay for it. I whined and whined until the folks let me spend the nickel the guy had given me. I bought a Cherry Mash candy bar. God, that name sounded so great. It was a mound shape and had ground peanuts and