Walkers Hollow

By Don Allison

Adventure and highjinx, as well as a few mysteries take place in Walkers Hollow. Lying as it does among the rolling hills of west central Wisconsin, unexpected experiences occur in every story. With a few exceptions, its citizens are fun and friendly. And lIke every community, some characters stand out from the rest. Here, in Walkers Hollow, at a time when America was reaching her peak, one looks in on the lives of folks you would like to call friend. Come and share the adventures of - mostly - good people.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Don Allison
• Release date: Mar 11, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215360095

Don Allison

The author of The Black Bridge Road, Charlie, and Walkers Hollow, Don Allison is a retired industrial process coordinator who left the work world to begin life anew. The Black Bridge Road deals with the adventures of a boy somewhere between the city and the country. Walkers Hollow takes us to a small rural community where almost anything can—and does—happen. Charlie is a true story of a man whose life went from farming, to coal mining, to bootlegging with The Organization and thence to northern Wisconsin where the St. Valentine's Day Massacre was planned. Don currently lives in Janesville, Wisconsin with Lyn, his wife of 58 years.

Book preview

Origin of Walkers Hollow

THIS IS A BRIEF HISTORY of Walkers Hollow. It draws a picture of the village—my village—giving life to the community. After all, it’s not a real place. Well... maybe it is.

Anyway, the stories are set in the 1950’s, a time of relative peace and freedom in America. In no particular order, one can begin reading anywhere. The tales are short and lighthearted, mostly, although you may find a serious thought in some, if you care to dig deep enough. Otherwise, just enjoy them for what they are—stories.

WALKERS HOLLOW IS SITUATED among the rolling hills and farms of west-central Wisconsin. It is home to 524 souls whose lives, while revolving around farming, involve much more, as we will see.

A small rural community near the Mississippi River, it was first settled in 1832 when Edmund and Sarah Walker arrived in the Territory, bringing with them a young daughter, two oxen, one cow, a dog, and a wagonload of supplies; everything Edmund believed necessary to carry out his dream. His vision was motivated by his brother George. George had previously settled a small community known as Walkers Point along the shores of Lake Michigan. Near two other settlements, Juneautown and Kilbourntown, the three villages eventually merged to form the city of Milwaukee.

This was a dangerous time, for just five years earlier, two Winnebago men had been detained at Fort Crawford on murder charges. When their tribe believed they had been executed, an uprising resulted in the Winnebago War of 1827. Several other incidents over the next few years culminated in the Black Hawk War in 1832.

Edmund succeeded in establishing his trading post, then sought to lure one of the new railroads as they advanced westward. Unfortunately, the rail line he hoped would run from the territorial capital of Belmont to his settlement chose a more southerly route to the Mississippi River, becoming the Dubuque & Belmont Railroad, leaving him without the transportation link his community needed.

Unable to compete with the powerful timber barons to the north, and with the area’s lead being quickly depleted, there was little left to induce newcomers other than farming. The soil was rich, but the steeply rolling land prevented agriculture from becoming a booming industry here. And while Walkers Hollow failed as the large and important community Edmund had hoped for, still, it served the new arrivals well.

Decades later, as more farmers moved in, timber and mining resources played out. Then we arrive to the 1950s where we find Walker’s Hollow firmly rooted in the soil and the lives of those who live here. Hard work, friendships and tradition are the hallmark of this small Wisconsin community.

A simple community, it has a small IGA store, and a smaller mom and pop store, operated from the home of Darvis McGoon and his wife Dolly.

Walkers Hollow is blessed to have two churches, St. Blaise Catholic and Rolling Hills Independent Baptist. Father James Hardwick, an easy-going man, is the priest at St. Blaise, the larger of the two churches, and Jedidiah Jacobson as pastor of Rolling Hills Independent Baptist. Folks simply call him Preacher.

An elderly man, Preacher still has plenty of fire and brimstone in him.  And though his age is uncertain, his beliefs certainly aren’t. A steadfast Conservative and confirmed bachelor, Pastor Jacobson won’t give a woman a second glance. Food, though, is another thing. He likes nothing better than the monthly potluck dinners served at Rolling Hills Independent Baptist. Not only does he enjoy potlucks, but those in his flock can expect a visit almost any evening near dinner time.

As if to balance the two churches, Walkers Hollow also has two taverns. Floyd Fassbender runs Floyd’s Towne Tap on the west side of the road as you enter the village. Floyd has lived here all his life. His papa, Earl, opened the tavern before Floyd was born while Earl’s daddy, Franklin, was born and grew up on a farm less than two miles away. There has been a Fassbender in this valley for well over a hundred years.

Across from the Towne Tap sits the other tavern, Peavey’s Palace. Though it’s not much of a palace, Leonard Peavey opened his tavern shortly after graduating from college. Leonard and Floyd went to school together; not college, but Walkers Hollow’s little one-room school. Few from the area have ever studied in college. Leonard and Floyd have competed against each other since they were pups, and that continues today through their businesses. Each year they try to find enough locals to put together a couple of softball teams to play against each other, but in a farming community of this size, they struggle to recruit enough men to fill rosters. Still, they try.

Folks here get their gasoline from the only filling station on town, Bernie’s Phillips 66. Bernie Freeman owns the station. He also sells fish bait. You’ll find Harley Dunmore here at the station too, sometimes. He’s the local mechanic. There isn’t enough repair work to keep Harley on full-time, but he’s always available, unless he’s fishing. He’s good, but he makes slow look like lightning.

Then, if you’re hungry, Walkers Hollow has a small restaurant, Neil Cosgrove’s Drop-In Diner. Neil’s is a favorite place for neighbors to gather. Here you can get a big breakfast for a small price and all the gossip you can handle for free.

Next to the diner is Oscar Hansen’s hardware store and post office. And that’s about all there is for businesses. Oh, except for Oscar Hansen’s brother Lawrence. He’s the barber. He’s retired now, yet he’ll still cut your hair anytime you need.

There’s not much else here in Walkers Hollow; a combination town hall and volunteer fire department with one old fire truck and a rusty pickup, and a schoolhouse sitting on a parcel of land at the north edge of town. This one-room school serves about twenty-eight kids most years in grades one through eight. After eighth grade, kids are bussed to nearby Riverton for their last four years of education. Across the road from the school is the local cemetery; a favorite place for some of the teens on warm summer nights to gather away from the prying eyes of adults.

Walkers Creek tumbles past the school. A small but popular trout stream, it is one of several that meander through the nearby valleys. As it winds along, one might discover a few deep pools that attract big fish, eager fishermen, and naked boys in the summer.

Driving north out of the village, one must pass the school and cross a narrow bridge over the creek where, on your right, is Homestead Park. This is where townsfolk hold many of their celebrations.

Farms lie scattered throughout the valley and beyond, separated by heavily wooded sections. A fire tower sits high upon a hill about a mile north of Walkers Hollow. Fortunately, as far as fires are concerned, there hasn’t been one in the village since Agatha Oglethorpe burned her beans and the kitchen curtains caught fire. Her hubby Alex, a member of the volunteer firefighters, singed his beard while putting the fire out. Known as a bit of a storyteller before, now, without his beard, when he tells a story, he gets kidded as being a bald-faced liar.

A second road passes through the center of the village, this one running east-west. Riverton lies about fifteen miles to the east. To the west, not quite a mile, is a gravel pit. In it are found several spring-fed ponds stocked with bass and bluegills.

Charlie Comstock once owned the pit and had it posted to keep everyone out. But since his arrest for murder a couple years ago, his heirs all but abandoned the property, having no need of it nor any apparent desire to sell it. Now, the bass and bluegills flourish to the point where you can walk around the edge of the ponds and see them swimming in vast schools in the crystal-clear waters or finning beneath lily pads. But better than watching them is catching them, and this the village boys often do.

A few miles farther west are the tracks of the Chicago, Burlington and Quincy Railroad.

parallel to the Mississippi River. The Twin Cities Zephyr and other trains can be heard when the wind is right. This can be both eerie and mesmerizing on a summer’s night as the sound of trains echo throughout the valleys. Yet it was this distance from the railroad that prevented the village from growing, while other towns were better situated.

Though the village has been unable to grow, Walkers Hollow has become the focus for community life in this region as, season after season, folks talk, children play, women gossip and men argue. Yet, all enjoy the life and challenges of this rural Wisconsin community.

I believe you would enjoy visiting here too.

A Summer Evening

Welcome to Walkers Hollow. The folks here enjoy a more relaxed lifestyle than we do today. For a glimpse of I mean, the Carpenhaugens, both in their middle sixties, provide an example.

CLETUS AND MAVIS CARPENHAUGEN sat on their front porch enjoying the summer evening, their dog Ralph lying at Clete’s feet. The supper dishes were washed and put away, and the bustle—such as there is in Walkers Hollow—had settled. Children had been playing Annie-Annie-Over at the Bratt’s house across the street and had just gone indoors. All was growing quiet but for the sound of June bugs beating against the screen door. Then in the distance came the sound of a train, afloat on the warm summer air.

Hear that? Cletus asked.

What?

That train.

Mavis paused a moment to listen, then replied, I do, Cletus. Over west of here, along the river. I like that sound.

Yeah. Me, too. Can only hear it when the wind is right, though. It’s a long way off.

Yes, it is. I especially like hearing those summer sounds late at night. It’s so relaxin’.’

What’s it sound like to you? Cletus asked.

Whataya mean?

I mean, what’s it remind you of; what’s it make you think of?

Adventure, Mavis said.

Me too. Ever think of what woulda happened if the train had come through town here instead of being routed along the river?

The Mississippi?

Yeah. Ever think of that?

I’m not sure what you mean, Mavis replied.

Well, if those tracks had come through here like some folks wanted, way back when, Walkers Hollow woulda been way bigger than it is. Think of the business.

Think of the busyness, she said.

Huh?

Think how busy this town would be. I like things just the way they are.

Yeah, me too.

Y’know, my sister there in the city says things are happening all the time; houses going up and all, people hurrying, businesses growing. It’s busy, she says, and there’s no end of people to meet and talk to, yet, she says she feels she’s missing something.

Sure. She’d probably feel alone in a crowd. I will bet she’s lonesome.

Smarty pants. You been reading her letters?

Huh?

That’s just what she said in her last letter. She said she thinks she’s homesick. Says, since the folks passed and she hasn’t seen her old friends in such a while – been stuck in the city for so long - she’s getting the blues.

That right? And, no, I ain’t been reading her letters. But why don’t you invite her to come stay with us for a bit? Get out of the city. Take a vacation.

Really? You mean you wouldn’t mind her coming here for a little while?

Course not. Be good for her to sit back and reminisce with you. Be good for you, too, maybe, Clete said.

Such a great idea. You’re sure you wouldn’t mind?

Said I wouldn’t.

Wonderful. She arrives Saturday.

What?

Mavis just smiled, then said, Listen. Hear that?

They both listened as the faint sound of the train echoed through the valley.

Then she said, Whatcha wanta do the rest of the evening?

Ralph looked up at the two of them, shook his big floppy ears to shoo away a mosquito, yawned, put his head back down and closed his eyes.

Clete said, Oh, I think Ralph has the right idea.

Meet Malcolm Hardy

Typical of small farming communities, folks often gather on Friday nights to visit and share time together. This is one of those typical nights, although, Malcolm Hardy is not so typical, as you will learn.

IT WAS FRIDAY NIGHT when Jay and Bonnie Oxnard were at Floyd’s Towne Tap to have a fish dinner and a few beers. While they visited with friends, Malcolm Hardy entered. Jay worked with Malcolm at Atkins Grain Storage since Malcolm moved to Walkers Hollow two years earlier. In telling Bonnie about work, Jay had occasion to mention Malcolm’s work ethic and his eccentricities, so she was eager to finally meet him.

Hey, Malcolm! Come on over, Jay called, waving at him.

Malcolm sauntered over in his oddly rolling gait and said, Evenin’, Jay. Don’t believe I met your lower half.

Stifling a laugh, Bonnie said, I don’t think you want to do that.

Why, shore I do, Ma’am, said Malcolm. Howdy.  I’m Malcolm Hardy.

Hi, Malcolm. I’ve heard a lot about you.

All lies, I insure you, Ma’am. Can’t believe a word.

I’m not Ma’am, Malcolm. Call me Bonnie, she said.

Yes, Ma’am. Thankee. I’ll do that.

Say, Malcolm, said Jay, This is the first time I’ve seen you here in Floyd’s.

Yep Malcolm said. I don’t come in here as a rule, but had to run in for some things at the hardware store and figured I’d just maybe have me a fish dinner. Heard it was good.

Yes, it is, Bonnie said, best in town.

Only one in town, added Jay.

Why don’t you join us, Malcolm? There’s room at the table here.

Well, thankee agin, Ma’am said Malcolm. I’ll just do that.

That’s Bonnie, she reminded him.

Yes’m. Bonnie, Malcolm said as he pulled up a chair.

Malcolm here’s quite a handy man, Bonnie, said Jay. Anything goes wrong at Atkins, they just holler for him. Like, just today we had an auger break down and Mal here had it up and running in hardly a half hour.

Well, Malcolm replied, that was an easy fix. Didn’t have to be a rocket surgeon to figure that one out.

Well, it sure kept things going. We had a big load to get out and were pushed for time, said Jay. Hadn’t been for old Mal here, we’da been in hot water.

Ah, he’s making a mountain out of an ant hill now, Ma’am. Just a shear pin. That’s all it was.

Well, how about last month when Zack took a fall from the top of the silo and fell into the grain?

Darn fool.

Yeah. But you got him out unhurt.

Well, the bin was nearly full anyway, remarked Malcolm. Didn’t have far to fall. Gettin’ him out was as easy as falling off a piece of cake.

Bonnie smiled.

How about I get us some beers? said Jay.

Sounds good to me, said Bonnie.

Malcolm. What can I get you?

I think I’ll have a Blast.

You mean a Blatz, don’t you?

Yeah, that’s what I said, wasn’t it?

Close enough. One Blast coming up, said Jay as he excused himself and went to the bar.

That is what I said, wasn’t it, Ma’am?

That’s what I heard, Malcolm. And it’s Bonnie.

Yes’m.

After a few seconds of uneasy silence, Bonnie asked Malcolm how he’d come to move to these parts, and he told her he had been a mechanic working in Eau Claire when he learned that his boss was cheating him over his pay.

Well, cheatin’ really gets my dandruff up, Malcolm said, so me ’n’ him had some words and I told him he can’t pull the wool over my head and he just laughed at me.

So, what did you do?

Well, I don’t pull no bones. I punched him.

You hit him? Bonnie asked with surprise.

Yeah. Probably shouldn’t have. But he had it coming. Dang cheat! Thief is what he is.

So, then you moved here?

Not right away. It took me a while to wake up and smell the bacon, but eventually I decided to let dead dogs sleep and I moved from the city out to here where it’s quiet and where folks aren’t like them in the city.

Didn’t you get in trouble for hitting your boss? Bonnie questioned.

Pretty near. I got out of it though just by the skin of my feet. Seems he had some others after him for cheating too. Customers, that is. Anyhow, he got sued, the business closed and I had to bite the bucket and figure’d I’d never get my pay. So here I am.

Well, we’re glad you’re here, Malcolm, said Bonnie.

Thankee, Ma’am. And I’m mighty glad to be here. Got a good job, good pay, and I like the fellas I’m working with too, especially that man of yours. You know, he sure keeps his eye on the grindstone. Hard worker, Jay is.

Yes, I know.

Did I hear my name? Jay asked as he returned with their drinks and sat down.

Why’s that, Jay? Your ears burning? asked Bonnie.

Something is. You smell that? Looking about, he saw the waitress arriving with their dinners.

Here you are, folks. Dig in while it’s hot, the waitress said.

That’s right, said Malcolm. Gotta make hay before the sun shines. Let’s eat.

And eat they did, and talk, and laugh, as friends and neighbors and fellow workers filed in and out of Floyd’s until finally it was time to go. Jay and Bonnie bid Malcolm a good night.

Walking home together, Jay asked Bonnie, Well, what did you think of old Malcolm?

She replied, He may not be the brightest crayon in the box, but he sure is colorful. I like him.

Thought you would, said Jay as he and Bonnie walked home in the dark hand-in-hand.

You Don’t Get Nothing for Nothing

It’s interesting how conversations can lead from one subject to another. Interesting, too, how talk can sometimes lead to action and adventure. The following is an example.

OTIS FINKLEMEYER, A quiet and rather simple man, had worked up a thirst. He had been baling hay. That task completed, he headed to Floyd’s Towne Tap for a beer where, sure enough, several farmer friends were already.

Conversation had gone from crops and weather to milk prices and Grange meetings. When talk moved to the subject of water, that naturally led to rivers and streams. That’s when Stover Jones mentioned the local trout population. Of course, this brought forth a series of stories among the old friends, each well-versed in the art of both fishing and storytelling.

Otis had been content to listen. Then Stover asked him if he had any fishing stories to tell.

Me? I never been fishin’.

Whataya mean ya never been fishin’?

I ain’t.

How come ya never?

Pa never let me.

Whadja do in your spare time?

Didn’t have any.

Didn’t have any spare time?

Nope.

Growin’ up?

Yup.

Whatcha do when ya wuz a kid, anyhow?

Work.

Whadja do for fun?