Saturday, March 31, 2012

Easter Eggs and Model A Fords


The best free show in town Friday afternoon was in a front window at Piper's when confectioners Mickey Davis and Katie Mathes came out of the candy kitchen to demonstrate their Easter-egg-making craft in a front window.

Hundreds of these eggs are made annually at Piper's during the pre-Easter season for sale locally and shipment around the world. The eggs come in four sizes, half-pound (one of which I'm in the process of eating), one-pound, two-pound and five-pound. The half-pound eggs are filled with M&Ms or a small candy mix; the larger eggs, with Piper's homemade candies, produced here on the northeast corner of the square since 1947.

Katie (above), with a chocolate egg, has the most experience. She began working at Piper's while in high school and, now with four children, has been at it since. Mickey (below) is close behind, however.


It's a touchy process that begins when the egg shells are molded, then cooled. Once cool, the filling is added and the shell assembled and sealed with more candy. Finally, after the seal has taken hold, entire eggs are coated in more candy, swirled artistically and decorated.


Dealing with the pure chocolate used in the candy-making process is tricky, too. It must be properly tempered to ensure that it behaves itself. That involves heating to a specific temperature, then cooling to another and reheating to yet a third level before it is molded or used in a candy recipe prior to solidifying.

Piper's has been in business at the same location in Chariton since 1905 and remained in the family until the deaths of the late Ruth and Bob Piper. Jim and Anne Kerns took the operation over after Bob's death in 1987 and it now is operated by their daughter, Jill.


Chariton Newspapers reporter-photographer Bill Howes also was photographing the fun Friday.

Candy is available year-around as are groceries, gifts and notions, including many locally generated products. Here's the Web site. And if you missed Friday's show, there will be another at 10 a.m. on April 7.

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Also on Friday, we should have had a parade I suppose when the Lucas County Historical Society's prized Model A Ford made its triumphant return to the museum campus. But the decision to bring her home was made late, so Jerry and Al settled for a couple of quick spins around the square before heading west on Braden.


The Model A had been parked for about five years with a variety of mechanical difficulties until LCHS board member Jerry Pierschbacher volunteered last year to get it going again and enlisted Al Pearson, who has forgotten more about Model As than most others know, to spearhead the project. That's Jerry at left and Al at right.

The two men worked on the vehicle off and on for several months in Jerry's shop to return it to top form. She starts easily, ran perfectly around town Friday and we're looking forward to entering the Model A again in the various parades that will be held in Chariton this spring, summer and fall.

Friday, March 30, 2012

Pink slime and me


OK. Here's what lean finely textured beef (aka pink slime) really looks like. The previous photo here was chicken. Drat. Now I'm off processed chicken products for a few days, too.

I was anticipating meatloaf --- freshly ground beef plus other stuff, topped with slices of bacon, slathered in Sweet Baby Ray's barbecue sauce and baked to a satisfying brown. A vegetarian's nightmare. But after yesterday's pink slime tour by Gov. Terry Branstad and others: Just can't do it. Re-envisioning the pink slime as "lean, finely textured beef" didn't help.

And, yes, I know --- fresh ground beef does not contain "lean, finely textured beef." But it is pink and when you drive in there with both (immaculately clean) hands to blend in the breadcrumbs, egg, etc., it's decidedly slimey. The thought that counts, you know. Yuk --- for today at least.

This, too, shall pass --- but some days the vegetarian lifestyle seems to be gaining in appeal.

My friends at Wikipedia, who I suspect don't care that pink slime generates jobs in Iowa, describe it as "disinfected beef gristle puree." It's manufactured by Beef Products Inc. (BPI), headquartered across the Missouri River from Sioux City in tax-advantaged Dakota Dunes, S.D., and until it started getting a bad rap publicity-wise was widely used as a filler in lower-grade hamburger, usually frozen, of the type sold  in bulk and also used by fast-food restaurants, school lunch programs, institutions and the like.

To make it, beef trimmings are warmed and put through a centrifuge to remove fat and then treated with ammonia to kill bacteria before being pureed. Nearly everyone agrees the result is safe --- providing you're willing to live with a little ammonia; on the other hand, it's not at all appetizing.

As more and more big consumers pulled out of the pink slime market, BPI started cutting jobs, some 650 so far (at least temporarily), 220 of them at the BPI plant in Waterloo. That was the reason for Thursday's tour, involving among others Branstad, Texas Gov. Rick Perry (remember Rick?) and Kansas Gov. Sam Brownback, plus the lieutenant governors of Nebraska and South Dakota. They were visiting BPI's South Sioux City (South Dakota) plant, the only one still producing.

The governors, kind of a holy trinity of right-wing politics, want us to learn to love pink slime. It's all the media's fault, Branstad says, adding that he wants to end the "smear campaign and stop the use of inaccurate, inappropriate and charged words designed to scare people."

"I believe the national media have permeated this discussion with a poisonous tone that's detrimental to the beef industry and the jobs that support it," he said --- before declining to taste-test the product, adding that he'd be sure to eat a burger contining it over the weekend. Hmm.

So I'm going to go into fall-back position today --- bought a half pound of my favorite pickle and pimento loaf freshly sliced right off the loaf yesterday. Little bits of pickles and pimentos suspended in pink --- well, who knows? Actually, I'm afraid I do. But it tastes good --- and until that danged elitist liberal media gets around to exposing bologna and its cousins, I plan to enjoy. Ground beef will take a day or two.

Thursday, March 29, 2012

Put the Haw back in Redbud State Park


Somebody (shall remain nameless) asked Sunday, "So why do you-all keep leaving the 'k' off  Red Hawk State Park," which stunned into silence those of us accustomed to answering with aplomb the ususal question, "Why do you-all keep calling Redbud State Park --- Red Haw State Park?"


As an aside, if you-all plan to see the redbud show at Red Haw, do it now. Once the weekend's over, the annual display will dry up and blow away --- about a month early. It's beautiful out there. Just beautiful.


But here's a hint: All that beauty is not exactly as Mother Nature planned it. When the Civilian Conservation Corps turned those then mostly treeless prairie hills out east of town into a state park at the head of a branch of  Little White Breast Creek back in the 1930s, there weren't any redbuds.

But there were plenty of red haws, a short variety of hawthorn that blooms white and produces a red fruit, called a "haw." You can actually make red haw jelly --- providing you can find enough ripe haws not already consumed by other critters.


There are a few other white blossoms in the woods at Red Haw right now, but they're not red haws.


Red haws like open hills and creek banks, but do not flourish in overgrown and brushy woodland, which is what the hills around what now is Red Haw Lake have turned into.

So the redbud display at Red Haw came along later, begun consciously, and then spread with additional planings aided by natural reproduction and enthusiasm. I'm not complaining, mind you.

There aren't many red haws left at Red Haw these days, but when one of the specimen trees near the ranger's house blooms during an ordinary spring it looks like this.


As a rule, the redbuds and the red haws bloom at roughly the same time. I think they're pretty and wish more would be planted.


That is not the case this year, and the red haws are just sitting there as this unnatural spring advances, looking angry as their more feckless redbud neighbors bloom with abandon.


I hope they're not so angry at being tricked by nature that they up and die on us. I'll keep checking back as the season advances.

But, again, if you're going to enjoy the redbud show at Red Haw State Park, this is the week to do it.









Wednesday, March 28, 2012

Hotel Charitone: Inside Out


We're all getting a little anxious, now that it's coming, to see activity in and around the Hotel Charitone, that landmark on the northeast corner of the square that will be renewed, restored, redeveloped and returned to life staring this summer.


But thanks to Ray, I had a chance to poke around all five floors (basement to 4th) on my own Tuesday, just to see what was there before work begins. He had to get back to the office. I held onto the heavy-duty padlock that fastens the chain that adds extra security to the front door. Right now, the Charitone's an interesting place to visit, but you wouldn't want to get locked in.


And it is the Hotel Charitone, by the way --- not the Charitone Hotel. I know that seems picky and there was some discussion of this the other day on a Chariton-related Facebook page I patronize. But it's been Hotel Charitone from the beginning, back in 1923, perhaps because its builders decided that sequence of names added class.

The photos here are of the former lobby, up top from the northwest corner looking past a barber chair that came up from the basement toward the front door; looking northwest toward the stairway and elevator shaft in the second photo; and from east to west past the front door in the third.

The stairs up to the front door are in a recess on the south facade of the building, which accounts for the brick box in which the front doors are located.


This is the area where we gathered recently to hear the announcement that Hy-Vee had committed $1.6 million and the Vredenburg Foundation $500,000 more to launch to restoration project. As is case throughout the building, all interior partitions, plaster and trim have been removed, leaving large open spaces from top to bottom. This happened in two phases years ago, the gutting process beginning with the furniture store that occupied the building after it ceased to be residential and continuing with an earlier redevelopment project that foundered.


The original ceramic tile floors remain on the first floor, however, partially covered with the dried but removable glue used to secure carpet many years ago. These are the lobby tiles, with shadows cast by the area's wonderful fan-lighted windows. Those windows announced, inside and out, that "this is the most important room in the building!"


The restaurant, party room and kitchens filled the east end of the first floor, lighted by more conventional flat-topped windows. The tile floor remains here, too, under a coat of glue, wrapped around the plainer flooring of the kitchen. The exterior door into the restaurant is at the immediate right here, with later plywood covering the interior steps that led down to the street-level entrance.


All the windows in the basement are boarded up, so any shooting down down here was done blind because it was very dark, but the area is high and for the most part dry --- at least in the western portion not affected by roof and drainage issues that for several years have allowed water to enter the east end of the building and percolate down.


This is the south end of the former barbershop area, a big room that could be accessed either from the lobby or via an exterior stairway. I vaguely remember being down here at least once with my dad to get a haircut before the shop moved to the south side of the square. The floor here is cereamic tile, too, although the tile are very small and not evident here.


Because the areas have been gutted, there's little to distinguish the second from the third floor, although someone --- apparently fearing confusion --- has spray-painted numerical designations on the walls of each, visible from the stair.

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The staircase climbs in easy double flights alongside the elevator shaft from top to bottom of the Charitone. It is in very good condition, metal with wooden treads. The hotel's builders trumpeted its "fireproof" nature back in the 1920s, which wasn't exactly the case --- room partitions throughout were of frame construction and trim --- but as much of the building as possible at that time was steel, concrete and masonry. Even the original hotel furniture was metal. Although that doesn't sound very attractive now, it must have seemed like a good idea at the time.


It's also possible on the upper floors to see the footprints of former hotel rooms, outlines on the concrete floor indicating where partitions once stood. Keep in mind, hotel rooms in 1925 as a rule did not have private baths. This is a smaller room at the rear on the fourth floor.


Here's the east end of the fourth floor, where water infiltration has caused the greatest damage. The Hotel Charitone's roof is pitched from west to east, something not evident from the street where a parapet conceals it. That, combined with the fact previous recent owners did not deal with roof issues, has resulted in major leaks here at the "pooling" end. Water also has infiltrated upper courses of the masonry walls at the buidling's southeast corner, loosing a section of facing brick.


Well, there are other photos that could be posted, but I'm running late. So it's time to head back downstairs and into the lobby again. I really like that tile floor and am anxious to see how the architect and decorators deal with it. There were some fairly awful floral drapes in the lobby as late as the 1960s and a flock of bamboo furniture. I sure hope .... Well, it's a little early to be offering decorating advice.


Tuesday, March 27, 2012

God bless us atheists, one and all


I was going to write Sunday about Saturday's Reason Rally in Washington, D.C., but couldn't build traction since my own atheism these days is confined  to Saturday forenoons and Tuesdays in a conscious effort to avoid the inconvenience of cosmic doubt scattered randomly through the week.

But it was an interesting event, perceived so far as numbers were concerned much as the blindfolded guy experienced the elephant --- it all depended on where you were standing. Some saw 10,000 of the godless, or godless wannabes, others, 30,000.

Some of the usual suspects were there --- Richard Dawkins of "The God Delusion," for example, sounding more than a little like an old-fashioned fundamentalist preacher as he urged the faithful to "ridicule and show contempt" for doctrines and sacraments of the religious whilst reassuring the crowd that he didn't really despise religious people, merely what they stood for. Love the sinner, you know; hate the sin.

Anyhow, it was an interesting and for the most part benign event that borrowed a page from the playbooks of minorities subjected to real ridicule and real persecution --- black folks and the LBGT community, for example. Especially the latter. Atheists should "come out of the closet" seemed to be a popular rallying cry.

One of the big problems for full-time atheists, I figure, is that atheism is far more widespread but far more fluid than either racial misperception or squabbles about sexual orientation. I've never met an honest person of faith, for example, who didn't acknowledge his or her own doubts --- even outright rejection, sometimes for days and sometimes for years at a time, of this God business.

Some come back, others don't --- and that's fine. In a Christian context, some merely follow Jesus without getting tangled up in doctrines and creeds.

It's hard to build a movement, however, when the sand is shifting constantly beneath the feet of those who try, so I'm not sure there's much future in atheism, although I'm glad atheists are out there.

But what if Dawkins --- even Bill Maher --- is a closet Methodist? You just never know; sometimes there's such a thing as protesting too much ....

Other than Saturday forenoons and on Tuesdays, I figure altheists are doing God's work --- holiding up a mirror and offering believers another way to view themselves, perhaps to find ways in the images to mend our ways, too. So God bless us atheists, part-time or full. The threat to faith is not, after all, atheists, but indifference.

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This is my birthday; I forget some years --- and that's fine. Fussing make me nervous and I cringed Sunday when called to the front of church for a pre-birthday blessing. The difficulty with parish registers is that they contain incriminating material that can be used against a guy, including birth dates.

But it worked out fine;  blew out the cupcake candle and declared it a positive experience. Spring came early the year I was born, too. Granddad brought a bouquet of violets gathered in the grass to my mother's room at Yocom Hospital.

I happened to see again, over the weekend, what now is a vintage (1989) film called "Longtime Companion," the first widely-relased feature to deal with AIDS. Golly, that was a long time ago; too much came back.

Many years after that bouqet of violets arrived at Yocom Hospital, I was sitting late at night in the courtyard of another and far larger hospital with other refugees from sorrow as my mother lay nearby, dying, and we got to talking about the knives fortune twists in our hearts --- for me Vietnam, AIDS and now this, a procession of deathbeds.

But despite it all, the sun rose, spring rises and so do we. And that's all been a long time ago now.

Monday, March 26, 2012

Joseph Braden's Chariton: Part Two


Here are two views of the Melville house, one of the finest in Chariton when it was built prior to 1869, the probable date of these photographs. The house stood at the intersection of Court Avenue and South Eighth Street, a block east of the southeast corner of the square --- now a grassy lawn where a service station once stood. This house was replaced during the early 20th century by the newer Melville house, also for a time the Melville Funeral Home, which still stands just beyond a board fence south of that grassy square. The newer house, according to Chariton lore, was built facing north on the footprint of the earlier house, then moved south and turned to face east when this intersection became a popular location for filling stations.


The second half of Joseph Braden's memoir, published in The Chariton Herald of April 3, 1902, is not quite as interesting as the first (which is here) to me, at least, because it is more general. But there's a lot to think about none the less.

How near to bare subsistence most Lucas Countyans lived during those first years, ca. 1847-1867, for example. That's the 20-year period when all of my ancestors arrived here and settled on farms. Cash, as Braden points out, was neither abundant nor much needed. Barter sufficed for most farm families.

How long it took to get anywhere --- three days by stage to Burlington, for example, in the earliest days. We're accustomed now to driving into Des Moines in under an hour. Des Moines then was a muddy village with few attractions; Iowa City, the capital; Burlington and Keokuk, the nearest cities of any sophistication. All eyes (and feet) turned toward the Mississippi River. Trains, stalled at the Des Moines River in Ottumwa by the Civil War, did not arrive until July, 1867.

How Chariton sat during those earliest years astride the busy main trail across Iowa, blazed by Mormons in 1846 and used by thousands headed for newer settlements in western Iowa and, beyond Great Plains "Indian territory," to the Great Salt Lake, the Pacific Northwest and the gold fields of California and elsewhere. Selling to emigrants was a growth industry.

And finally, the circus. I'd never thought of that --- but imagine circus wagons rolling across the prairie toward Chariton, accompanied by elephants, camels and exotic performers. I can almost see an elephant on the horizon now.

JOSEPH BRADEN'S CHARITON CONTINUED
The Chariton Herald, April 3, 1902

Reference has been made to the enviable hospitality of the early settlers, and I must add my testimony to them. The doors of all the houses were always open to the strangers, as well as acquaintances and friends; tramps were unknown then, (all) were received with most cordial hospitality and treated to the best the home afforded. There were literally no locks on the doors, or if there happened to be a lock, the key had been lost of thrown away; the stranger on entering did not see on the walls in a fancy frame the word “Welcome,” but could see it written in every lineament of the face of the worthy hostess.

I have referred to our mail facilities being so poor; daily newspapers we never saw, and weeklies when they reached us were probably two or three weeks old. Accustomed as we are today to see the fast mail rushing along to Chariton at the rate of from 50 to 70 miles an hour, delivering to us the great morning dailies of Chicago at 10:00 a.m. --- receiving messages from our friends in distant states by the lightning’s flash --- conversing with our neighbors, perhaps separated by miles, through the telephone, it is somewhat difficult in looking backward to realize what discomforts we old settlers in those days “enjoyed.”

Yet we remember those old weekly newspapers were, when we received them by the one-horse mail, read by us with as much avidity as we now read the great Chicago dailies which reach us with the printer’s ink hardly dry upon them. A letter received from the distant ones at home, so long a time on its journey to us, I believe we then prized more highly than we do now the postal cards we receive the day or two after it is written, and I believe we then greeted our friends, when we would meet them, far more heartily as we would take them by the hand then when we now sound the “Hello, give me No 26” over the telephone.

When the Burlington & Missouri River railroad began pushing its way west from Burlington, the hope of closer connection with the old folks at home and better facilities for reaching a market for our surplus products made us all look forward with hope in the anticipation of its reaching Chariton, as we then could be bound together with the balance of the world with bands of steel. Railroads are now-a-days pushed forward, into uncultivated regions, and settlers are expected to follow the road; in those days the road followed the settlement and oftimes we thought very tardily. Strong inducements had to be held forth to the company to get a move on them, representations made as to the largeness of the settlement to be reached, figures given of the number of acres of tillable land adjacent and tributary to the proposed road and estimates as to the probable shipments over the road when completed.

Knowing these facts and desirous that the road should be extended here, we held meetings large and small, but always enthusiastic, passed many resolutions, appointed committees to confer with the officers of the road and left no stone unturned that we might have a railroad. At these meetings the citizens were drummed up by a boy perambulating around the square ringing a dinner bell. One meeting, I believe the last public one we had, many of us had become discouraged and through discouragemet somewhat indifferent, and it required more than the usual amount of effort to get the public together, notwithstanding assurance had been given to our committee that a representative of the company would meet us on that day.

It was necessary that if he come we should make a good showing in regard to numbers and enthusiasm, and thus make a good impression. After considerable persuasion and button-holing, a goodly number were gathered in the court house. Mr. O.L. Palmer, the most prominent business man in the county, opened the meeting with well chosen words welcoming the coming of the railroad representative, Mr. Joy. He announced somewhat like this: “We, the citizens of Chariton and Lucas County, have become disheartened and discouraged by the delays of the railroad and the suspense the delays have caused which has caused us to doubt whether we would have a railroad through the county. Now in the midst of our discouragements, when our hearts are saddened, we look up “for Joy cometh in the morning.” (alluding to the representative of the road, whose name was Joy).

Alas! Alas! Hardly had Mr. Palmer uttered these words when a drum and brass band was heard in the distance. As the sound came nearer the cry was raised “The circus is coming,” and before one could say “Jack Robinson” the room was cleared, in order that the elephant and clown might be seen in the procession passing along the street. Railroads might wait, but circuses never. After the procession had passed, some of us gathered together again, and eventually the road was completed to Chariton. I remember my first trip on the road soon after completed --- my first railroad ride in the state of Iowa. We started at 7 o’clock a.m. and reached Burlington at about 5 p.m. --- 10 hours ride. The last time I had visited Burlington, the trip occupied three days and nights by stage; today one can go and return same day.

The problem that now occupies our attention is not how we can improve our facilities for reaching the great centres of the United States in less time and more comfort, but is, how can we reach the railroad depot in Chariton with our surplus products with less labor, time and expense --- in other words, the improvement of our county roads and highways.

In the early settlement of our county, as I have said, we had no roads and not much use for them, save for going to mill for our grist and visiting our neighbors --- no surplus products to ship. In the 1850s our hogs were slaughtered and cured at home; a ready sale was found for any surplus we might have to newly arrived settlers and to the large emigration passing through the county to California and Salt Lake.

Many of your will remember with me that throughout the spring and summer months, companies would be continually passing through Chariton, traveling, with wagons drawn by horses, oxen, milch cows, and some afoot, with go-carts, and so closely did some of our farmers sell, that before the season was over, would run out of meat and come to Chariton and re-purchase the meat they had sold; and here, speaking of home competition, reminds me of the first fresh meat I tasted in Chariton. Word was carried around several days in advance that on a certain day a beef would be killed, near the public square, all who wanted fresh meat must be on hand early in the morning. Most of that beef was consumed for our breakfasts that day. After the railroad had commenced pushing towards us, our surplus hogs and cattle would be driven in droves to the nearest depot.

I have tried to ascertain in what year the first work was done on our public roads, but have not been able to obtain the record. I have somewhat of an idea how the work was done. In the early 1850s I was called upon to work on the roads in Dubuque county, this state. Never having been accustomed to outdoor labor, I thought I could do more efficient service by sending my team with a man who was then working for me. In the evening he reported that the neighboring farms were not at all pleased with my action; as a newcomer amongst them I was evidently stuck up and not sociable. To show them they were wrong in their estimate, the next day I went with team myself. It proved to be the easiest day’s work I had ever done in my life; the greater part of the time was spent socially and in friendly political discussion, and an attendance at a royal feast set up by a neighboring farmer. There was some three teams and six men besides the supervisor, and I candidly believe two men and one team could have accomplished far more work than the whole outfit that day, saving and excepting our work at the dinner table. This you remember was at an early day.

I have never worked on the roads in this county, so cannot say how the work was done here, but presume somewhat after the same fashion. Today we have in the neighborhood of 1,000 miles of roads, highways and cross-roads, not including streets and alleys in our town. In the county, a larger territory to cover, and we have stricter rules --- more work and less play; yet I think you will agree with me that with the money, something near $12,000, besides the labor, expended on our roads and bridges, our roads do not show a full adequate return for the amount invested each year; but I am reminded that my duties as historian are to record the past, not the present or the future.

I spoke of the circus parade breaking up our railroad meeting. Public holidays in those days were few and far between and the annual visit of the circus was looked forward to both by young and old with the most joyful anticipations. Early on the day the circus was to appear the boys, not all boys either, would walk several miles to meet the cavalcade coming to town. It was an event, and the day became a general holiday; there were very few who had any scruples as to attend the show, and many of those very few who had contentious scruples in regard to patronizing the show would visit the tent because of the instruction conveyed to their children, in seeing the wild animals; they, the poor children, had not the opportunity of visiting zoological gardens as the children in our cities had, and this was their only chance of seeing specimens of wild animals from all parts of the globe. After viewing the animals it was too hard to lead the dear children away when the performance commenced, so they also staid.

It is somewhat difficult for us to recall the monotony of the life we lived. We had but two general holidays, circus day and 4th of July. On the 4th of July we usually had a picnic, not on the public square, but in a grove near the city. The day would be ushered in with as much noise as possible, as it is now-a-days, though we had to content with firing anvils, firecrackers were scarce. I remember one of our citizens, Mr. William Tout, at one time was seriously injured by a premature discharge and came very near ceasing to be an old settler, but he is still alive and well and ready to fire again should occasion demand. We had the customary exercises, reading the declaration and public speaking, and closed the day with fireworks, not on so grand a scale as today. The fireworks consisted of balls of candle-wick steeped in turpentine, lighted and thrown from hand to hand.

Today scarcely a week passes but we have some kind of entertainment, conventions without number, club meetings, meetings of the different secret societies, concerts, picnics, church and Sunday school meetings and conventions, our 4th of July, decoration day, labor day, Christmas day, New Year’s day. You will recall days now kept, not forgetting “Old Settlers’ day.”

New Year’s and Christmas we had, but the days were not generally observed, so that being the reason that we so seldom met together in a general way, it was no wonder that the coming of the circus was an event not to be despised.

In those early days we had not much use for actual money. I will take that back; we had not much money for actual use. Money was scarce; while its legal rate of interest was 10 per cent, the actual rate often paid was 40 per cent, and here let me say that I myself have made more money out of cash for the use of which I paid 40 percent, than I ever have made at the legal rate, which is now 6 percent.

There was a great deal of bartering in those days; a farmer could manage ordinarily to get along through the year with very little money provided he had enough to pay his taxes, and taxes were not high. I remember meeting a farmer one day at the store door, who was on horseback; he handed over the bucket he had carried some 12 miles, with caution to “be careful as it contained eggs.” He traded those eggs, or rather those that were not broken, for three cents a dozen for groceries; the town was over-supplied. What use to us of Chicago quotations three of four days old? And had we enough eggs to ship, it would have taken two or three weeks to reach Chicago.

Eggs, butter, beeswax, furs and hides, wool, home-knit socks, jeans, blankets, wool dress goods, homespun, soft soap, rags, onions, provisions, chickens, bacon and hams, all legal tender at our stores, though the latter, bacon and hams, given at low prices of demand. Our stores in town did not make the elaborate display in their show windows they do today. They had no show windows to display their fine goods in nor fine goods to display. Our farmers’ wives thought it a luxury and extravagance if they exchanged their homespun flannel dress goods for dress goods at the store costing 35 or 40 cents a yard, not that they would not have appreciated a far more costly dress as much as their daughters and granddaughters do today, but necessity compelled them to economize, so that their daughters and granddaughters might be able, as they are able today, to indulge in fine dresses. We had no fresh fruit from abroad; what fruit we had, aside from dried and canned fruit, was wild grapes, plums and blackberries; not having facilities for preserving fruit fresh by putting in air tight jars and cans, our wives covered the plums with water in barrels and preserved them fresh a long time.

Sunday, March 25, 2012

Chariton's first hotel: 1850-1898


This engraving of Chariton's first hotel, in its dilapidated ca. 1894 state, was published in a special courthouse dedication issue of The Chariton Patriot on May 22, 1894. Behind at least part of the false front and later siding was a double log house.

Since the Hotel Charitone has been so much in the news lately, I thought it might be interesting to go back more than 160 years and talk a little about Chariton’s first hotel. This discussion also drops neatly into a gap between the first and second parts of Joseph Braden's 1902 memoir (here's Part I of that). He, after all, provided some of the most specific information about this historic, although very modest, building.

 The hotel was a story-and-a-half double log house constructed ca. 1850 and operated by Henry and Susan Allen until about 1854. During their tenure, this was the only hotel in Chariton and any stranger who arrived in town with the resources to pay for a bed would have slept here, often sharing that bed with a complete stranger.


The hotel was located on the southeast corner of the square, at the intersection of what now are Grand Street and Court Avenue, on the site of this rambling brick building built by Ed Lewis ca. 1898 as a grocery store. Lewis demolished the old hotel and later additions to clear the way. The newer building, blended by a 1950ish façade shared with the building immediately to its south, now houses State Farm Insurance, a beauty shop and two apartments.

Henry Allen
Lucas County land records show that Henry Allen (left) acquired official title to the property here (Lot 2, Block 15, Original Town of Chariton) from the county judge on June 9, 1853, but it seems likely that his informal title to it went back to perhaps four years earlier, when Chariton was located and platted. Because the county had only a pre-emption claim to the town site for more than two years, from the fall of 1849 until the fall of 1851, there was a considerable delay in issuing lot deeds. In fact, few were issued until the U.S. Land Office moved west to Chariton from Fairfield during 1853.

Henry had been in Chariton, however, for as long as it had been Chariton, having been appointed Lucas County’s first school fund commissioner during a meeting of the first county commissioners at Buck Townsend’s Chariton Point cabin on Sept. 11, 1849.

When the 1850 census was taken, Henry, age 37 and born in Maryland, was enumerated in Chariton with Susan, age 32, and their two daughters, Lydia, 7, and Catharine, 5, as well as a boarder, Daniel Chase, age 24 and a farmer, born in Ohio. Henry owned real estate valued at $600, according to the census record, and his occupation was given as “hatter,” just one of multiple job descriptions he would have during what seems today a relatively brief but very busy life.

Joseph Braden, who opened the land office in Chariton during 1853, writing for The Chariton Herald of March 27, 1902, provided the most comprehensive description of the Allens' inn as it stood when he arrived during January or February of 1853:

“In January, 1853, there was but few houses in the, then, village, only one hotel, a one and a half story frame, or rather a one story with low garret which served as a bed chamber and contained six beds, just room enough to pass between each bed. There was no dearth of patrons. Hotels did not receive their main support from commercial travelers those days; had they done so, they would soon have closed for want of guests. These beds were usually occupied by two.”

Susanna (Millan) Custer, who arrived in Lucas County with her husband, James, during 1849, remembered Henry Allen as a “dandy,” in the sense of nice guy rather than sharp dresser. She recalled, in a memoir written late in her life, that both preaching services and dances were held “alternately” about 1850 in the public room of the Allen hotel.

And Benjamin B. Siggins, who went on to become a prominent Colorado attorney, took the bar examination in Des Moines during the summer of 1852 and recalled --- again in a memoir written late in life --- that he walked from Des Moines to Chariton that July to “hang out his shingle” and boarded with the Allens. Susan Allen cooked for hotel guests who wished both bed and board.

Joseph Braden also was the source, during 1894 while helping the editor of The Chariton Patriot prepare historical copy for his courthouse dedication issue, for what apparently was one of the most widely told stories about the hotel --- recorded in The Patriot of May 22, 1894. Recalling one of Braden's first nights in Chariton, the editor reported:

“When it came time to go to bed (during January or February of 1853), the landlord (Henry Allen) informed Mr. Braden that he would have to sleep two in a bed. It so happened that those present, being somewhat acquainted, paired off leaving Mr. Braden, who was a stranger, to himself. However he was told there would be another occupant for half of that bed. So he went to bed. Some time along about midnight a man came up stairs in the dark, making a good bit of noise and as soon as he entered the room began running his hands over the beds, as he came to them, to see which one of them had but one occupant, as he had been told by the landlord that there was one half bed left. Mr. Braden had risen up just as the man was in the act of reaching out on an investigating tour and his hand came in contact with Mr. Braden’s head, who immediately laid down. Just at that moment his other hand feeling along on the pillow came into contact with Joseph’s head again. “Two men in this bed, two in every bed in the room,” growled the disgusted searcher after a place to sleep, and he straightway went downstairs and raised a big row with the landlord about it. That man was Dr. Charles Fitch (a pioneer physician). It was a good joke on him and caused no end of fun. The doctor for a long time called Joseph Braden the man with two heads."

There probably was modest provision in the inn for women, but female guests would have been rare in large part because the transient  population was overwhelmingly male, and young. Women tended to arrive with family units accustomed to roughing it  until cabins could be built or found or arrived in town as wives and daughters after housing had been prepared for them. For a woman to travel alone and arrive in Chariton unattached would have been considered scandalous.

Men and women did socialize together at the inn, however, because it doubled as the new town's social center.

As the old hotel was being torn down during May of 1898, a woman who identified herself only as “Grandmother” wrote a little letter to the editor of the Herald, published on June 2, lamenting the passing of “that old wooden building, the rickety building, that stood there so long.”

“Mr. Editor,” she wrote, “many a dance have I attended in that house; many a prayer meeting, too, both very interesting to me, especially the dances. This house was a story and a half, very low ones though, and had a cute rough ladder in one corner for the ladies and gents to ascend and descend to divest themselves of their wraps.”

“Henry Allen, the first landlord we had, was a jolly good man; his latch string was open to a meeting of any kind, and his wife, God bless her, could dance or cook equally well. When a traveler stopped at that hotel he often got a good bump in going up stairs unless he was told first that he could not stand up straight; that was the half story, you know, but I am pretty sure, dear readers, that none of you enjoy life like we did in those days. E.A. Temple and wife and Mr. Braden and myself were all boys and girls then. The most of the ladies are gone now and I feel like one who treads alone ….”


While serving as landlord and, quite likely working as a hatter, too, Henry Allen continued to be active in the public life of this new county and town.

He was a Democrat, however, and that doomed him to defeat in a run for county sheriff during 1850, but he continued in his post as school fund commissioner until April of 1852.

Because he also had experience as a surveyor, Henry helped Nelson Wescott resurvey Chariton during April and May of 1850 (the initial survey had proved to be faulty). In May, he was appointed clerk to the county commissioners and served in that position until August. And during October of 1850, he was commissioned to draw up the first tax list for Lucas County.

During 1852, Henry decided to run for state representative and, although still a Democrat, was successful  during an August election. Although he failed to carry Lucas County, three other counties --- Clarke, Monroe and Wapello --- were in the election district and there he had more success. As a result, he served in the Iowa Legislature during its 4th General Assembly, from Dec. 6, 1852, until Dec. 3, 1854.

Iowa City was Iowa’s capital then, and legislative sessions were held at Old Capitol, now the centerpiece of the University of Iowa campus.

During Henry’s absence from Chariton, according to Joseph Braden, the management of the hotel “was in the hands of his estimable wife, assisted by Lowry Boyle as clerk.”

Henry Allen, was among other things, a very restless man and by the second year of his legislative term, he apparently was beginning to prepare to move along. In addition, he no longer had an exclusive franchise on Chariton’s hotel business. During the summer of 1853, a second small hotel opened; and that fall, the substantial two-story log hotel called most often St. John House although it had many names, was built on the current site of Hammer Medical Supply. The much larger Hatcher House, on the southwest corner of the square and of wood-frame construction, was added in 1856.

During May of 1854, Henry and Susan sold the old hotel to Daniel Mussleman and apparently moved elsewhere in Chariton.

They were still living in Chariton during the forepart of 1855, when Henry was admitted to membership in Chariton Lodge No. 63, Ancient Free and Accepted Masons, something that would influence his life greatly in years to come.

His brief career in politics also apparently had allowed him to make the contacts needed to further an emerging career as a public surveyor and to snag future appointments as a post master.

All of these circumstances combined with Henry’s restless to spirit to propel the family toward the frontier during 1855, when they packed their household goods into a wagon and headed for Council Bluffs, the first of many new homes in the West.

As the years passed, the old Chariton hotel acquired a false front and assorted additions, but continued to serve Chariton’s business needs until 1898. It had been acquired during 1866 by William E. “Uncle Billy” Lewis, who operated a grocery store in part of the building before moving across the street north a year or two later into a building later occupied by J.T. Crozier & Co and replaced, also during 1898, by the current two-story brick Richardson Romanesque building at that location.

The Lewis family continued to hold onto the old hotel property, however, most likely renting it out to assorted tenants until it became virtually derelict. During 1898, Billy Lewis’s son, also William E. Lewis but known as Ed, decided to demolish the ramshackle old building and replace it with the current brick structure.

The Chariton Democrat, on May 12, 1898, reported, “W.E. Lewis is tearing down the old building on the southeast corner of the square and in its stead will erect a nice brick structure. The building which is being torn down was an old landmark having been built about fifty years ago. It was then used as a hotel and was the stopping place of Col. Dungan, Jos. Braden, C.F. Temple (actually E.A. Temple), Dr. Fitch and other pioneers when they came to this country.”

That was the end of Chariton's first hotel, but I’ll have more to say another time about Henry Allen and his career after leaving Chariton.

Saturday, March 24, 2012

Nose to the ground


I ran into a yellow lab and his human on the trail at Red Haw yesterday afternoon, dog with nose to the ground and attentive to his surroundings, sniffing out this or that, human more attentive to the pink redbud mist that has settled over the woods a month early --- the bigger picture.


There's something to be said for the dog's approach, however, if you're interested the more subtle side of what's-up-in-the-woods,  likely to be slighted this year when everything seems determined to burst into bloom at once.


These snapshots were taken after I'd climbed off the trail --- and embedded myself in a bramble patch while focused on the ground rather than oh where I was going. But much of this can be spotted alongside the trails, too, and more will become evident shortly, providing you can divert your attention from the redbud show and remember to look down rather than up.


Speaking of that pink mist, and you'll have to look elsewhere for photos of that today, there's a story of redbud intrigue, fear and loathing down in Oklahoma, where passion for pink led to its elevation as state tree back in the 1930s.

It started when Mrs. Mamie Lee Robinson Browne, president of the Oklahoma City Federation of Women's Clubs and a huge redbud fan, managed to get a bill declaring it the state tree through the Legislature in early 1937.

Gov. E.W. Marland was about to sign the bill into law when Mrs. Edward Campbell Lawson of Tulsa, president of the National Federation of Women's Clubs and not a redbud fan, fired off a telegram to the governor in an attempt to derail the measure. 

In it, she alleged that the redbud actually was far more sinister that it appearaed to be; that it was in fact Cercis siliquastrum, or the "Judas Tree," upon which Judas Iscariot had hanged himself in the distant past.

Well, statewide controversy raged. But John Y. Iskian, an Oklahoma City resident native to Jerusalem, resolved the dispute by confirming Mamie Lee's contention that there was no connection between Oklahoma's redbud and the holy land's Judas Tree.

The bill was duly signed during March 1937, Oklahoma continues to celebrate the redbud and Mrs. Campbell Lawson, bless her heart, retreated to her Tulsa garden to pull weeds. Hopefully, no one has planted a redbud on her grave.





Friday, March 23, 2012

Live from the square ...


... give or take 20 minutes. But here's the problem. Chariton's annual Redbud Festival is on the calendar for April 21 --- that's a month from now.


But the redbuds are just coming into full bloom now, as is evident here in the neighborhood of the Civil War monument at the southeast corner of the courtyard. Aren't they pretty?


That doesn't mean Chariton won't celebrate on April 21 --- and we can be grateful we're not as heavily invested in redbuds as Pella is in tulips.

But is a new name for this year's (     ) Festival in order? Yes, I know the last photo is spilling over into the right sidebar.

Shots heard round the world


Trayvon Martin

Strict constructionist that I am, there's never been a problem with the second amendment here --- providing the right to bear arms is limited to arms the founding fathers had in mind back in the 18th century when that amendment was ratified. These would include single-shot, muzzle-loading, black-powder muskets and pistols, swords, knives, spears, tomahawks, bows and arrows and the occasional rock. Feel free to carry, even conceal --- as long as, if it has a blade, it's a pocket knife.

Beyond that, I've got issues --- especially with all the gun-related violence that's been in the news lately. In Florida, a gun-toting Neighborhood Watch vigilante blew away a 17-year-old armed with tea and a package of Skittles.

The Register is reporting this morning that a shooting in Jessup late Wednesday that killed two --- a Waterloo physician and a woman some 20 years his junior, was indeed murder-suicide. As you might expect, he (apparently romantically aggrieved) shot her, then himself. In cases like this, it's almost always a wounded and armed male ego that's the fatal aggressor.

Down at Fort Leavenworth, military authorities are trying to figure out what the heck to do with Army Staff Sgt. Robert Bales, accused of leaving his base in Afghanistan March 11 and casually gunning down 17 civilians, including children, in a nearby village. He'll be charged, according to reports, with 17 counts of murder --- but because of the circumstances and location of the shootings there's unlikely to be enough hard evidence to convict him. Besides, there are all sorts of ways to bolster a diminished responsibilty plea --- wounds physical and psychic sustained during three previous deployments, etc., etc.

But the Florida case seems especially troubling, especially since "stand-your-ground" legislation similar to that shielding George Zimmerman in Sanford --- encouraging deadly force without fear of the consequences against perceived aggressors --- still is percolating in the Iowa Legislature, facilitated by the National Rifle Association and its Republican enablers.

That legislation cleared the House, recently flooded by Tea Party and other GOP whackadoodles more sensible Republicans seem unable or unwilling to restrain, but apparently has stalled in the Democrat-controlled Senate. Of course you never know. Remember the dove-hunting legislation slipped through last year on a procedural sleight of hand wholeheartedly approved of by Gov. Branstad (and his gun-toting son)?

And other issues are all tangled up in this, too.

Trayvon Martin's death almost undoubtedly was related to racism as deeply embedded in Iowa as it is in Florida. Had he been white, he most likely would still be alive.

And Sgt. Bales' rampage cannot be separated from the general insanity of war and the fact no one, neither military nor civilian, has a clue about the nature or severity of the distresses that affect at least some of our troops --- returned, in the field or poised for redeployment.

Golly, it would be nice to have cures for these collective headaches. I'm reasonably sure, however, that relaxing gun restrictions and prolonging pointless wars aren't among them.

Thursday, March 22, 2012

Joseph Braden's Chariton: 1853


This is a photo, generally dated 1869, some 16 years after Joseph Braden arrived, of buildings that stood (and in one case still may stand) immediately south of the alley on the west side of Chariton's square. Both buidings were brand new, having been built after an 1867 fire that destroyed everything south of the alley. The one-story double-front building was occupied by D.Q. Storie's drug store (he moved his business not long thereafter to the north half of this block) and by the Corbus & Best clothing, hat, cap and boot store. The brick building had been built by Thomas A. Matson, who operated his harness and saddle shop upstairs. The first floor was leased by Col. Charles W. Kittredge, late of the 36th Iowa Volunteer Infantry, who came to Chariton from Ottumwa immediately after the Civil War and engaged in a variety of businesses, including general merchandise, before moving on to Colorado. The first floor then was taken over by First National Bank, which remained there until moving during the early 1880s to the new Union Block. The Richardson Romanesque Ensley-Crocker building now stands on the site of the frame building. The Stanton Building, with a slightly later Richardson Romanesque stone facade, occupies the brick building site and quite possible incorporates the original brick building into itself.

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Joseph Braden was among the earliest of those Chariton pioneers who made Lucas County their permanent home rather than just passing through. He arrived in 1853, less than four years after the brand new town had been located, named and platted.

This is the first half of an account of Chariton's earliest days written by Braden and published in The Chariton Herald on March 27, 1902, four years before his death at age 75 during 1906. The second half will follow in a day or two.

Braden was born in London during 1831 and came to the United States in 1851, alighting at Dubuque. He came to Chariton at age 22, during 1853,  to work in the U.S. Land Office, recently moved west from Fairfield. He remained with the land office, eventually as registrar, until it was moved to Des Moines in 1858. After that he engaged in business and held a variety of public offices, becoming one of Chariton's most widely known citizens.

Joseph married Emily Waterhouse, also a native of London, during 1854 in Dubuque and brought her to the rough-and-tumble new town. Although the Bradens would have no children of their own, they brought his niece, also named Emily Braden, from London and raised her as their own in Chariton.

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EARLY CHARITON DATA
Joseph Braden Writes Interestingly of Pioneer Days in Lucas County
The Chariton Herald, March 27, 1902

The readers of the Herald are well acquainted with Joseph Braden, as he has lived in Chariton since 1853, when he came here to take charge of the government land office and deal out at $1.25 per acre the same farms that are now bringing from $80 to $125 per acre. Mr. Braden has been an interested witness of and an active participant in the history of Chariton and Lucas county since that date. There were 200 people in this city then, with not many more in the county, which will make the following letter from the pen of Mr. Braden all the more interesting and readable to the present 5,000 citizens of Chariton and the 17,000 citizens of Lucas County:

It is about 49 years since I located in Lucas county. In that period of time I have forgotten many things that it would have been well for me to remember, and I have remembered some things it would have been well to have forgotten; but there is one thing I always remember, and shall always remember with great pleasure, that is, that from the day I arrived in Chariton, a stranger amongst strangers, to the present day, I have received naught but kindness from the citizens of Lucas county, and those, though strangers, of the early days remained but strangers for a few days, then became friends. I found it far easier to get acquainted in the west than in the east; there was more freedom, more open-heartedness, so that I was very soon at home in Lucas county, and have been at home ever since.

Locating here in Chariton, and having always resided here, my memory naturally turns first to the town. In January, 1853, there was but few houses in the, then, village, only one hotel, a one and a half story frame, or rather a one story with low garret which served as a bed chamber and contained six beds, just room enough to pass between each bed. There was no dearth of patrons. Hotels did not receive their main support from commercial travelers those days; had they done so, they would soon have closed for want of guests. These beds were usually occupied by two. The hotel was run by Henry Allen. In the winter of 1852 and 1853 he represented the county in the legislature, which then met at Iowa City, the capital. During his absence, the management was in the hands of his estimable wife, assisted by Lowry Boyle as clerk. This building was on the southeast corner of the square, and has only recently been removed to make room for the elegant brick building erected by Mr. Ed Lewis. In the removal of this building the oldest land mark of Chariton was destroyed.

In the spring of that year a small building on the corner of Grand street and Armory avenue was used as a hotel. In the fall of the same year a large two story frame was erected by Mr. Culbertson (uncle of the ex-county treasurer) on the south side of the square and took its place as the leading hotel. I say a large two story building because to us then it was large, and many prognosticated that it was too large for the town. Its builders and architects were Newland & Calhoun, and it still stands on its original location, though no longer used for hotel purposes. It was opened with several bands led by our fiddler and was soon full to overflowing, beds having to be made on the floor. In 1854 and 1855 the whole town was crowded, sometimes two and three families occupying the old log courthouse at the same time, until better quarters could be built. There are but few buildings standing today built prior to 1854, none on the public square.

I remember but three shade trees in town, all willows, one of the lot occupied by the Maple block, another where the First National Bank now stands and the other on Braden avenue, corner of 13th street.

The post office was kept in a one-story log building, one room with small shed kitchen, situated on the northeast corner of the square. I well remember my first visit to it. I wanted to mail a letter in the evening at about 8 o’clock, as the mail would leave early in the morning. Finding the post office was kept in a private dwelling, I knocked at the door; a voice responded, “Come in.” I did so and found myself in the bed room, which was also the living room and post office. The postmaster was out, his family in bed. I placed my letter on the table as directed and departed.

My next visit to the post office was in the day time, a week after, on the arrival of the weekly mail, which was quite an event. A “look-out” had been posted on the highest point in town to see if Mr. Clark, the mail carrier, a lone horseman, could be seen on the road; as there was no tree or houses to intervene he could be seen a long distance. The “look-out” reporting that he was on the way, all right, I went with the crowd to the post office; on his arrival he was quickly relieved of the mail pouch by one of the bystanders and its contests were emptied on the floor. A ring was formed around the pile and each one who could grab a package became for the time being Uncle Sam’s deputy postmaster. The package would soon be opened and the name called of the party to whom the enclosed letter was addressed, accompanied with jocose comments and surmises to the writer and its contents, such as “Here, John, is one from your girl in Indiana,” and so on.

On one of the failures of the mail carrier to put in an appearance, to wait seven long days was too much for one of our citizens, Judge Layton (we were all Judges, Generals or Colonels those days). He was looking for a letter from his affianced, so he footed it to Albia and got his letter. Whether its contents paid him for his walk of nearly 60 miles, he never told us, but letters in those days were very precious and highly prized, especially from pretty girls.

Whilst we early settlers of the county were fully satisfied with the location which we had chosen, yet we could not but at time painfully realize our isolation, shut off from the balance of the earth outside our own county and state, with no railroad within 26 miles of the east side of the Mississippi river, and with no roads or bridges in the county, we were frequently shut off from intercourse with our neighbors for days. Our merchants in 1852 and 1853 obtained most of their supplies from Keokuk and those supplies would be hauled to Chariton with ox teams. At that time our roads in the county, if we might term them such, followed the windings of the old Indian and Mormon trails. No attention was given to their improvement; the settlers were too few and the task too heavy. If the travelers came across a bad place, the remedy was simple --- go around it; nothing to hinder, with vacant land on each side.

As improvements were made, new farms opened up, the roads followed the fences; then, when bad places would be encountered, and there were many of them, a few rails were filched from the fence and thrown in the mud hole, forming our first bridges, which we called “corduroy.”

I well remember early in the 1850s traveling by Funk & Walkers stage line (principally Walker), trudging along by the side of the stage the greater part of the night, carrying a rail on my shoulder a good part of the time to help pry the old coach out of mud holes, working my passage, or rather the passage of my grip, which was safe in the coach. I presume many of you old settlers have had like experiences.

As the fences increased, the roads followed around them, became pretty long, and they became definitely located on the section lines as we have them today.

--- To be continued