July 26, 1987
For some time I have been having an imaginary talk with a good friend in my life, but sometimes an enemy. This is a four-and-a-half-pound meat cleaver in our meat market. It has been there for seventy-five years and has several fingers to its credit, as well as many bruises and gashes. Many butchers kept it sharp as a knife. George Steinbach worked for me a short time and he kept the cleaver sharp as a razor to cut round steak, chops, dressed fowl and dozens of other things. Old-time butchers loved to show their dexterity with the cleaver. You could draw a straight line on paper, cardboard, or tin and they would cut it right on the dot. Each chop was right on the line.
In the early days many things came packed in wooden boxes with light metal straps held in place by nails. Bulk tea from China was one of the products that came in this manner. The cleaver made short work of the straps and wooden lid. This cleaver made a great hammer. The back at the tip was about one-third inch thick. The butcher was always showing the carpenters how he could drive a nail. We took it camping to cut and split wood. We could dig a place for the campfire, too. Hickory wood for the bologna smoker was split with this cleaver. Bill Beck, our butcher inside and out in the early days, said he never thought of using the cleaver on Monday mornings without giving it a good bath with strong soap. He knew it would have been used somewhere. People get mixed up on the difference between a cleaver and a meat ax. They are the same style, only the meat ax has a longer handle and a larger blade. The ax is used to split dressed hogs down the backbone.
Now a word about the Hughes sheep barns that were in Chariton. They were located in the block just west of Van Allen School, in the northwest corner of the block. Sheep were brought here in wagons to be purchased, sorted and hauled to the stockyards to be shipped out. Some people drove their sheep. We were accustomed to see them go by our home in wagons, in flocks, or maybe one farm wagon load. Sometimes it took more than a day, and the people bedded them down at a farm along the way and they started out the next morning. People were glad to keep someone, as they got the news from another area. These barns were off-limits to us boys, but that meant to us that we should check them out. When the pens were empty, there was a billy goat there that really put us on the run. In retrospect, we learned this animal was a bellwether. It was trained to lead sheep from place to place.
One night about one o’clock, these barns mysteriously burned. No livestock were lost, as the goat was out to pasture. Mother wouldn’t let us go, but we could watch as it was only one-and-a-half blocks away. Mr. Lukens, the principal of the high school, stayed at our house and he went to the fire. He had been working on school grades when Old Betsy went by. He left his desk open as he hurried to the fire. Naturally, we took a look at the records and put in some marks of our own. Next morning there was bedlam at school. No time lost in locating us and we admitted our guilt.
For some time I have been having an imaginary talk with a good friend in my life, but sometimes an enemy. This is a four-and-a-half-pound meat cleaver in our meat market. It has been there for seventy-five years and has several fingers to its credit, as well as many bruises and gashes. Many butchers kept it sharp as a knife. George Steinbach worked for me a short time and he kept the cleaver sharp as a razor to cut round steak, chops, dressed fowl and dozens of other things. Old-time butchers loved to show their dexterity with the cleaver. You could draw a straight line on paper, cardboard, or tin and they would cut it right on the dot. Each chop was right on the line.
In the early days many things came packed in wooden boxes with light metal straps held in place by nails. Bulk tea from China was one of the products that came in this manner. The cleaver made short work of the straps and wooden lid. This cleaver made a great hammer. The back at the tip was about one-third inch thick. The butcher was always showing the carpenters how he could drive a nail. We took it camping to cut and split wood. We could dig a place for the campfire, too. Hickory wood for the bologna smoker was split with this cleaver. Bill Beck, our butcher inside and out in the early days, said he never thought of using the cleaver on Monday mornings without giving it a good bath with strong soap. He knew it would have been used somewhere. People get mixed up on the difference between a cleaver and a meat ax. They are the same style, only the meat ax has a longer handle and a larger blade. The ax is used to split dressed hogs down the backbone.
Now a word about the Hughes sheep barns that were in Chariton. They were located in the block just west of Van Allen School, in the northwest corner of the block. Sheep were brought here in wagons to be purchased, sorted and hauled to the stockyards to be shipped out. Some people drove their sheep. We were accustomed to see them go by our home in wagons, in flocks, or maybe one farm wagon load. Sometimes it took more than a day, and the people bedded them down at a farm along the way and they started out the next morning. People were glad to keep someone, as they got the news from another area. These barns were off-limits to us boys, but that meant to us that we should check them out. When the pens were empty, there was a billy goat there that really put us on the run. In retrospect, we learned this animal was a bellwether. It was trained to lead sheep from place to place.
One night about one o’clock, these barns mysteriously burned. No livestock were lost, as the goat was out to pasture. Mother wouldn’t let us go, but we could watch as it was only one-and-a-half blocks away. Mr. Lukens, the principal of the high school, stayed at our house and he went to the fire. He had been working on school grades when Old Betsy went by. He left his desk open as he hurried to the fire. Naturally, we took a look at the records and put in some marks of our own. Next morning there was bedlam at school. No time lost in locating us and we admitted our guilt.
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