November 9, 1986
George, Charles and myself left here at 2 p.m. and drove northeast into Monroe and Marion Counties, over into the old strip mining area that will not be restored under law. The newer strip mines must restore the area by law and in many areas this had been done. Most of this restoration is in terraces, and crops growing there look fine. We drove to Maryville, Attica, Pershing, Bussey, Tracey, Williamson and Weller. Saw lots of hunters. Many fields are still untouched and make great hiding places for game. Charles made the statement of the day when he remarked that many farmers not only picked their beans, but plowed the fields for next spring. Word we discussed today was euphemism. The day was wonderful. We arrived back at 5:30 p.m.
A number of years ago when my daughter Sue and her husband Bob Johnson lived here, Ruth and I were invited over to their house for Thanksgiving dinner. Bob’s folks were there, as well as some other guests. About a dozen in all. Sue, knowing I didn’t care for fowl, asked me to bring something I liked, or tell her what I would like and she would fix it. I said I would fix something. I used a large rectangular aluminum baking pan. I put in a mixture of butter, brown sugar and vinegar and heated it until it was blended well. Then I added a layer of Kraut, then a layer of franks sliced thinly lengthwise, alternate layers to the top. I baked this and then froze it hard as a rock. Early the day of the dinner I put it in the oven to thaw and heat. There was a wicker basket to put the pan in. I carried it into the house while all had fun asking, “What is it that I smell?” At the table the pan was in front of me. Everyone said, “Help yourself first.” A little later on, I said to Sue to pass the kraut and franks again. There was none left. In the center of the table was a big platter with pheasant ringed with quail, looking as if it had hardly been touched. The moral to this story is to take what you are going to eat the first time around. The whole episode was a lot of fun.
Several years ago I was taking a box of apples up to the high school. Several boys were standing inside the door. I knocked on the door, but no one paid attention. I set the load down, opened the door, and had to ask them to move over. While I was there, I decided to ask the office if they could recommend a boy for some work I needed done. They said they would send me one. You guessed it. The boy who came was one of the group inside the door at school. He was crestfallen. I said, “I am going to give you the job because I have faith in you.” He did the work and I never had a better boy to work for me. I could have said no and maybe destroyed his faith in himself. I felt he needed someone to show they had faith in him. This is after the case and I feel this was true with this young man.
I was looking at the Charitone Hotel the other day and my mind flitted back to the year 1923 when the excavation for the hotel was dug. Working in dirt could be considered rather a common-place occupation. Maybe so today, with all the modern machinery and computers. This was not so back in the early years when excavators took pride in their work, just as those who worked in wood or steel. William Baxter was the dirt boss. He ruled his workers with an iron hand as to perfection in their labor. The wagons were backed down into the excavation from the street. Baxter stood on the street and guided the wagons down, just as a man at the airport guides the plane to the ground with his hand signals. The drivers had to pay attention or he would whistle them out.
The dirt was spaded into the wagons. It took a strong team of horses to pull the load to the street. Where did the dirt go? Most of it went to fill in the area where the Double Dip stands and south to the alley. That area was eight or nine feet below the 8th Street level. A great deal of the dirt was taken to what is now known as Yocom Park. Earlier this park had been a lake and used by the municipal light plant. When this lake was drained the area was used as a dump. Later the dump was ruled out and the dirt from the Charitone Hotel was used to cover up the trash and make the terraces there. Most of the larger pieces of trash had been hauled away, but there was litter to be covered.
In 1934 my brother Joe Howard and wife lived at the corner of Lucas and 8th in one of the houses of Piperville. Ladies Aid was meeting at their house one afternoon. Sometime before they had made a batch of root beer. This was sealed in half-gallon earthenware jugs. It was corked, but they didn’t know to put sealing wax over the corks. Reverend Nichol came to visit the meeting and about then the corks started popping from the jugs. Ruth was beside herself as to what to say. Reverend Nichol took charge and said with a laugh, “Let’s see what this popping is all about.” This broke the ice and Ruth went downstairs and brought up a jug of brew. It turned out to be a fun day for all.
Along this same line, my Ruth had a similar experience. Her club was meeting at our house. Birthday money was on each table, as was the custom at their monthly meetings. There was a knock at the door and Reverend Landgraf had stopped by for a call. He was a great man and was amused at the red faces. It was explained to him and he put everyone at ease. This story made the rounds for a long time, causing many laughs.
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