November 2, 1986
Left here at 2 p.m. George, Richard and myself in my car. One thing we never go without is hard candy. We headed northwest going through Liberty, Jamison and Osceola. Drove around Osceola quite a little and found it to be a nice town. Lots of new homes. Saw lots of pheasant hunters and some farm work going on. We had to stay on the better roads.
The words discussed were clutter, and can something become uncluttered. Not in good grammar. The other word was carapace, the shell of a turtle. We arrived back at 5:10 p.m.
Do you remember, or did you ever hear of the older ladies’ Sunday school class in the Presbyterian Church of Chariton known lovingly as the “Olive” class? The members were Olive Oden, Olive Brewer and Olive Harrington. Mrs. Lon Mickle was the teacher for years. When she passed away Olive Oden taught the class for years. This story is unique in that Olive, although a pretty name, is not very commonly used. Here were three in one class.
Speaking of Sunday schools, I taught the old men’s class some thirty-five years ago. I really wasn’t qualified, but it was easy for this reason. The class was made up of mostly men who knew the Bible. All I had to do was put forth a question and we never had time enough. I remember well of one man, although not a member of our church, who came regularly and was quite well-versed on the Bible. He would now and then get so worked up in his discussion, he would take out his upper plate and hold it in his hands as he gestured to emphasize his point. Feeling he had made his point the would snap it back in his mouth as if to say, “Take that!” He was a nice fellow and usually made his point, much to everyone’s amusement because of his tactics.
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Back to the old bakery again.
The power of cookies. Many a quarrel, fuss, disagreement, frightening experience, has all been ended with cookies from the bakery. Broken ones at that. This cookie barrel was almost sacred. Being sons of the owner, we two boys had privileges. We could get into the barrel whenever the need arose. I really don’t know if Father ever knew anything about this, but Mother did. Occasionally cookies were made from these broken pieces. They were called moss cookies and were one of my favorites. One of our jobs was to coat them with a glaze as they came out of the oven. They were soft and chewy.
About eight blocks south of the bakery lived Lightning Johnson, a black man. I know now that it was because we were kids that he could frighten us. We could keep him on our side with a few cookies. One day he came over to the bakery quite drunk. Father happened to be there. He settled things right now and no more visits from him. Of course, we chimed in and mentioned that Lightning had been bothering us. Father settled this, too, for all time. No more problems with this man.
However, up the street three blocks lived twins. Two big girls that enjoyed beating up younger kids. Cookies didn’t work with girls. Ivan Savacool lived across the street, and one day happened to see our problem. For cookies he agreed to take care of the girls. This he did and we had no more problem there.
Sometime later, the White City gang came over to our end of town. This was bad as they all were a little older and much stronger, having worked in the mines. Cookies for a time took care of things, but the more we used, the more they wanted. Mother got in on this and called Father’s attention. Father called the father of the ringleader and they stayed home after that.
We had a deal with the city to mow the grass at North Park on Green Avenue. We got a dollar for this. Cookies came in handy here as we could get lots of help to push the mower.
Do you know the average tire population on an Iowa farm is sixty-five? Sometimes one hundred to one hundred and fifty. Believe it? Go count them. I read this in a farm journal.
Years ago about this time, the J. C. Penney store came to town. A merchant hired a popular young man about town to work for him. He didn’t stay long. Father asked the merchant what the trouble was. The man said the boy purchased a pair of pants at Penney’s and somehow got the idea that the pockets were the cash register. Several heard the question asked and all got the point I am sure.
This was our first detective work. Brother Howard and myself had gone to the slaughter house early one winter morning to butcher a hog. This was before school time. The afternoon before we were to butcher two hogs. It got dark and having no light we got only one done. It was cold and we left it hang there. Upon entering the slaughter house, we discovered the dressed hog was gone. There had been a light snow and we followed wagon tracks back to town and to a certain house. We told Father and the police went to the house. The people were cutting up the hog. I don’t remember how it was settled, but we got out of butchering that day as we had to go to school by this time.
How to identify a crow in flight. First, they are never up very high, generally speaking from tree tops to the ground. If the bird soars, it isn’t a crow. They fly to the ground or to their perch, but do not soar. It’s continual flapping of the wings. They like to bother owls, especially big horned ones. The owl can always fly away if it wants to. This scene we observed taking place the other day. The crows stay above the owl and fly down, pecking at it. One crow made the mistake of getting below the owl. The owl dropped like a shot and grasped the crow in its steel-like talons. The owl had crow for supper.
If you want to ask questions about flowers or birds, call me or call Emma Thomas, one of my pupils and about the best authority I know of.
The Palmer Department Store was located where the Charitone Hotel stands now. It was magnificent for those days. Nothing like it. All plate glass show windows. Gargoyles adorned the down spouts. It had four departments: groceries, hardware, dry goods and house furnishings, millinery and lamps. Mr. Palmer was always in evidence, wearing his Lincoln stovepipe hat. His son-in-law, Riley West, was his assistant. There was a son Charles Palmer who didn’t have much to do with the business. He was an outdoor man and sportsman. This building burned one night in 1913. I remember going over close and the bricks in the sidewalk were hot and they burned my bare feet. It was never rebuilt. Riley West started a store in what is now the west half of Hawkeye Bank, later sold to Edwin Jarl. He sold out and went to California and Woolworth then came in.
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