An Iowa same-sex marriage milestone

For those who mark anniversaries, today is the 10th for Sean Fritz and Timothy McQuillan (above), married on this date, Aug. 31, during 2007 on the front lawn of the Rev. Mark Stringer (left), veteran minister of Des Moines' First Unitarian Church. Theirs was the first same-sex marriage to be recognized legally in Iowa.

The Rev. Mr. Stringer retired as minister earlier this year and, as of May 1, serves as executive director of the American Civil Liberties Union of Iowa. His "Iowa View" piece commemorating that marriage was published Tuesday in The Register. You'll find it here.

The marriage was possible because, on Aug. 30, 2007, Polk County District Court Judge Robert Hanson had ruled in Varnum v. Brien that denying marriage licenses to same-sex couples violated the liberty and equal protection clauses of Iowa's constitution. 

Iowa law requires a three-day waiting period between issue of license and marriage, but Fritz and McQuillan were granted a judicial waiver shortly after obtaining their license from the Polk County recorder, were married on the Stringer lawn, then rushed back to the recorder's office to record the marriage ahead of the anticipated stay on his ruling that Hanson issued later that morning.

Another Iowa couple, Terry Lowman and Mark Kassis, also obtained a license to marry and the ceremony was performed on Sept. 2 at the Unitarian Universalist Fellowship of Ames. They were not able to record the marriage, however, as a result of Judge Hanson's stay --- so for two years Fritz and McQuillan were the only same-sex couple to have been married legally in the state.

On April 3, 2009, the Iowa Supreme Court unanimously affirmed Hanson's 2007 district court ruling and marriage has been available to same-sex couples here since April 27 of that year.

So far as I know, our late and still lamented vicar at St. Andrew's, the Rev. Sue Palmer, was the first among Chariton clergy to perform a same-sex marriage.

There have been minor bumps along the road, of course. The Iowa Department of Public Health refused initially to list both same-sex parents on the birth and death records of their children. Courts put an end to that intransigence with rulings during 2012 and 2013.

And during November of 2012, three of the Iowa Supreme Court justices who had been party to the 2009 ruling in Varnum v. Brien were removed from office during that year's regular judicial retention vote as the result of a successful campaign against them by Christianist extremists.

 But public opinion has shifted as the years have passed. Data from 2014 suggested that at that time 53 percent of Iowans supported same-sex marriage, 14 percent were indifferent to the issue and only 33 percent were opposed.

I've known, or known of, quite a few gay and lesbian couples married during and after 2009, And since today is in a sense their anniversary, too, congratulations!

Floods, famine, sex & empathy ...

I've written before about a long-ago late-afternoon news meeting, held in the editor's office, in which we gathered to discuss how the news of the day would be displayed on the next morning's front page. This was at a time, still, when many people confronted the news of the day first on paper in the morning, then gathered around a television to view end-of-the-day reports.

Anyhow, the waters in Iowa were calm at the time but thousands had died and millions were homeless as the result of flooding in Bangladesh. Someone suggested that a report on that would be appropriate. The editor of the time replied, "Iowans don't care about brown people." Which I guess was (and probably still is) true.

Most of us have been transfixed this week by reports of flooding along the Gulf Coast, mostly in one America's most glittering cities --- Houston. And our hearts go out to those who live there and who now are homeless, at least temporarily, under threat or have lost loved ones.

But, as this NPR report states, more than a thousand people --- most if not all brown-skinned, largely Hindu, Muslim and Buddhist --- have died in flooding during recent weeks in Nepal, Bangladesh and India, Currently, Mumbai (formerly known as Bombay) and its millions of people are threatened.

Even without Texas flooding to divert us, most of us most likely would not have been paying attention --- these are, after all, brown-skinned people who live halfway around the world, speak languages we don't understand and do not fit neatly into our Sunday-go-to-meeting version of spirituality.

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You've got to be careful with empathy --- too much of it and you might decide to devote your life to feeding the hungry, making sure the thirsty have something to drink, ensuring that every Iowan has a winter coat and mittens and that every homeless person in Bangladesh has dry shelter, visiting the sick and engaging in other acts of mercy. 

But there are little ways to practice empathy without interfering too much with comfort levels.

Just for the moment, instead of focusing on what Houston did wrong to facilitate this disaster, think about how you'd feel --- poor or rich --- if flood waters were rising into the ground floor of your home. That's hard to do when sitting on a hilltop in Chariton.

Next time you're in a check-out line at Hy-Vee and spot someone with an Iowa Electronic Benetits Transfer Card in hand, focus on how you'd feel if your family needed "food stamps" in order to eat rather than on the demeanor, physical characteristics and dress of your neighbor and what he or she has chosen to purchase using "your" money.

Or say you're feeling queasy after lunch and, hypochondriac that you are, decide you're experiencing the initial phase of a terminal illness. Think about how you'd react if you didn't have health insurance or Medicare, had been told there was some sort of stigma attached to Medicaid --- and just couldn't afford to go to the doctor if the symptoms worsened.

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As the flood waters were rising in Texas, down in Tennessee the Council on Biblical Manhood and Womanhood --- an outfit that leans Southern Baptist --- released what's being called the "Nashville Statement," described as a "Christian manifesto" on  human sexuality --- from an evangelical perspective at least.

As might be expected, same-sex marriage was condemned and LGBTQ people put in their place --- outside the fold (unless we repent and go straight). The statement suggests that it's unchristian even to agree to disagree on matters involving gay, lesbian and transgender people. You can read the statement here, even sign your name to it if you like.

But here's where a little empathy can be a dangerous thing again. Before you sign, try to imagine how you'd feel if you were LGBTQ --- or what you'd do if one of your kids asked to talk to you some evening and during that conversation said, "Mom and Dad, I'm gay."

One of the worst things that can happen to a gay kid is to be born into a conservative Christian family --- but it does happen.

Chariton and a prince of quackery, Part 2

I wrote yesterday about the the career in medical quackery forged from Texas to North Dakota with excursions east into Missouri during the years 1900-1922 by Orrin Robertson, Missouri native, son of Texas and holder of two degrees from the State University of Iowa. That post is here, entitled "Chariton, 7 sacred oils & the king of quacks."

If not the king, Orrin at the least was a prince.

We left Robertson during 1922 in Wichita, Kansas. After six years as a fugitive he had been arrested while operating a "sanitarium" in Williston, North Dakota, and extradited finally to Kansas for trial on three indictments for bankruptcy fraud dating from 1916. Maneuvering by his Kansas City attorney had quashed the indictments, however, and Orrin now was a free man.

Two years later, he appeared on a hilltop in south Chariton, and it's not clear how or why he got there. Harry O. Penick, youngest son of one of early Chariton's most distinguished families, may have had a role, but there's no way to prove that. In later years, however, Harry did recruit an associate to join Robertson's staff.

And then there's the fact that upon arrival in Chariton, Orrin leased as the location for his newest sanitarium the old Penick Homestead,  a large house located at the intersection of South Main Street and Woodlawn Avenue --- a site now occupied by a small hilltop home embraced by the "L" formed by the parking lots of the Southgate Apartments.

The photo at the top (courtesy Lucas County Genealogical Society) shows the homestead after it had been outfitted for use as Robertson's Vita-O-Pathic Non-Surgical Sanitarium. Orrin was a great believer in fresh air, so many of his patients were housed year-around in the small cabins scattered across the south lawn. While all of his patients were well cared for by a large staff, living conditions were intentionally spartan.

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The old house at South Main and Woodlawn had been built during the 1860s by William C. and Martha Penick not long after their 1862 move from Eddyville to open in partnership with Edwin Manning, of Keosauqua, first a mercantile establishment under the name Manning & Penick, then --- in 1879 --- what became Chariton National Bank.

The Penicks prospered mightily, but instead of building anew just expanded and remodeled their original home. This postcard view dates from about 1900. The couple had eight children, several of whom became prominent residents of Chariton.

Martha died in the family home during 1909. William C. Penick, who died at the age of 86 on Jan. 22, 1914, was the last family member to live in what was known by this time as the Penick Homestead. 

By 1914, several of the Penick children had moved into fine new homes in the Penick-developed Spring Lake Subdivision, but the old homestead wasn't sold. At the time it was leased to Robertson 10 years later, it was owned jointly by Harry O. Penick, the youngest son, and his sister, Ida (Mrs. Frank Q.) Stuart, then living in Chicago.

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There's every indication that Dr. Robertson, age 66 when he arrived in Chariton, operated his Chariton sanitarium by following the model he had established in Kansas, Missouri and North Dakota. His ethics and medical practices never were challenged in the Chariton newspapers, but there are some indications that he was not in any sense endorsed by Chariton's more conventional medical community.

On May 24, 1924, citing aspersions cast upon his character by unnamed Chariton physicians, he published the entire text of his homeopathic doctor of medicine degree from the State University of Iowa in The Herald-Patriot, throwing in for good measure mention of the more than 30 other certificates and diplomas he possessed.

His advertisement addressed to those suffering from cancer, published in The Herald-Patriot of May 29, is classic Orrin Robertson. I can almost see Dr. Albert Lee Yocom Jr., an authentic Iowa pioneer in the treatment of cancer, fuming in his office at the brand new Yocom Hospital, just east of the square.

None-the-less, Dr. Robertson --- known for his flamboyant dress and tall, distinguished figure --- settled in and prospered. Newspaper reports during the next several years are peppered with reports of patients arriving at the sanitarium for treatment --- and with occasional reports of the deaths of patients receiving treatment there.

There's no indication that any of Orrin's therapies, including the Seven Sacred Oils he continued to prescribe for gallstones, actively killed anyone. On the other hand, by discouraging his patients from seeking qualified medical help, he probably did. He advertised, for example, that appendicitis could be cured without surgery. Without surgery, however, appendix rupture and kill. And in an era when sophisticated chemotherapy was unavailable and radiation therapy was in its infancy, surgery in most cases was the only hope cancer patients had.

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By November of 1928, Robertson's business had grown to the point where he needed more room than the Penick Homestead's hilltop provided. So he leased the Bates House hotel just west of the square and moved his operation there.

The Bates House had fallen upon hard times after construction of the new Hotel Charitone and, owned by a Kansas City investor, was struggling to keep its old and slightly shabby rooms filled. Built during 1874, the structure was more than 50 years old by now. Roscoe Pedigo, who had been managing the hotel, returned to farming and auctioneering. Mrs. Pedigo remained to operate the hotel kitchen and dining room for sanitarium patients.

The sanitarium continued to flourish in its new location and, during 1930, Harry Penick recruited in Louisiana a "Prof. Howard Holmes" who moved to Chariton to work as Orrin's assistant.

It's not clear why the sanitarium folded during early 1931 --- there seem to have been no newspaper accounts of its demise. We do know that Orrin and an associate, Dr. Amel Nicholson, still were around during February of that year. After that, the newspaper record goes silent.

Almost two years later, during the early morning of Dec. 8, 1932, the old Penick Homestead burst into flames and burned to the ground.

Harry O. Penick, between wives after a divorce from his affluent Louisiana-born spouse, reportedly had been living in the house that fall with two other men. His permanent home for a number of years had been Seattle, where he was affiliated with a bank in which his former wife had been a major shareholder. All three men reportedly had moved out before the old home burned.

This was the fourth Lucas County property in which Harry had a stake that had burned under largely unexplained circumstances during the previous 30 years. The fine home he built at the east end of Auburn Avenue for his first wife had burned during August of 1902, just after her unexpected death. The elaborate cottage he built as a replacement in the Spring Lake subdivision and as a home for his second wife, burned to the ground during May of 1905. The "homeless" couple then pulled up stakes and returned to Dixie Plantation, her home in Louisiana. Slab Castle, his rural retreat along the Chariton River in Benton Township, burned during 1924, just after Harry had sold it (he later repurchased the property, then the site of a more modest dwelling). And now the Penick Homestead.

Fire had plagued him in Washington, too. During 1928, he and his second wife had purchased the River Bend Ranch near Kent and built upon it a home that was described as the "show place of the Kent Valley." It burned to the ground for unexplained reasons during November of that year while Harry was alone in the house.

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Orrin Robertson reportedly moved back to Wichita after leaving Chariton during 1931 and died there two years later at the age of 75. The Leader of Oct. 31, 1933, carried this brief report: "Dr. Orrin Robertson, former Chariton physician, died last week in Wichita, Kans. Dr. Robertson a few years ago conducted a sanitarium at the Bates House here and at a home in south Chariton. He went from her to Wichita where he was in charge of a sanitarium at the time of his death."

Dr. Robertson's remains were returned to Texas and buried near those of his parents in Fairview Cemetery at Gainesville, Cooke County.

Chariton, 7 sacred oils & the king of quacks, Part 1

I suppose it's time I finally got around to writing something about Chariton's six-year enchantment, 1924-1931, with a gentleman I like to call the Midwest's king of quackery, although there most likely are other contenders for that title.

The good doctor, name now forgotten, turned up years ago in Lucas County's 1978 history described as a "Chickasaw Indian, tall and muscular," who operated a "sanitarium" here during those years --- and caught my attention. "Few, if any, remember his name," the paragraph about him stated. But a bottle that had once contained "Healy and Bigalow's Kickapoo Indian Oil" was found near the former sanitarium site and some concluded that he must have been "Dr. Bigalow."

In fact, he was Orrin Robertson, no more an Indian than my Great-aunt Maude, but among the most accomplished pseudo-medical shysters of his generation.

As a graduate of the State University of Iowa's short-lived Homeopathic Medical Department --- not to be confused with the University of Iowa College of Medicine --- the "doctor" had some medical qualifications. The fact that he also claimed to hold a degree from the "Temple of Moomntaj-Lyumbia, Ka Lama Zurija, India" suggests a somewhat eccentric approach to the field.
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Homeopathy, today, is considered alternative medicine, but during the late 19th and early 20th centuries, many Americans fell in love with it. So much so, that the U of I established a Homeopathic Medical Department in 1876 and turned it into a full-fledged College of Homeopathic Medicine during 1900, complete with its own hospital at the intersection of Jefferson and Dubuque streets in Iowa City. The decline began in 1910 and the college closed in 1919. Now, the university seems a bit ashamed of itself about all that.

Most of the homeopathic graduates were honorable men. Dr. Robertson was, however, far, far over the top.

Here's his biography from Volume 4 of Edgar R. Harlan's 1931 A Narrative History of The People of Iowa. Robertson paid to have the biography inserted; no independent reporting was involved. The multi-volume work was published during the year Robertson made his final move --- from Chariton to Wichita, Kansas, where he died two years later, age 73.

"ORRIN ROBERTSON, originator and founder of the Vita-O-Pathic Non-Surgical Sanitarium of Chariton, who enjoys a large following of patients and friends, is a man of intellectual gifts, and life long habits of study have brought him in contact with the deepest sources of philosophy, religion and the science of medicine. He was born in Cass County, Missouri, May 28, 1858, son of  Jefferson and Martha Robertson. Doctor Robertson has received thirty-one diplomas from various institutions of learning both in America and in Europe. He holds degrees in law and medicine from the University of Iowa. He studied and qualified for the ministry and spent two years in missionary work in old Mexico. For four years he was an instructor in the New York College of Magnetics, holds a diploma in osteopathy, is a fellow of the Eastern Section of Theosophy, is a Doctor of Spiritual Science, Doctor of Philosophy, and in the ministry was identified with the Chirothesian Church of Faith at Los Angeles. He is a member of the Society of Oriental Mystics.

"For some years he was on the lecture platform, devoting most of his attention to topics along new thought lines. He has conducted several sanitaria similar to the one he established at Chariton. He has written extensively on medical and health subjects, and in his practice has held to the central ideas expressed in the slogan "Eat right - Breathe right - Think right."

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As the biography states, Robertson was born May 28, 1858, in Cass County, Missouri, but  moved soon thereafter with his family to McKinney Texas --- now suburban Dallas --- where the Robertsons put down farming roots.

Heaven only knows how or why Robertson ended up in Iowa City, but he did and earned a law degree there from the University of Iowa during 1882.

He then returned to Texas, but rather than practicing law entered the newspaper business. He edited the Ballinger Eagle and, during 1884, founded the McKinney Democrat, which he edited until April of 1885 when he resigned, reportedly because of ill health.

His newspaper career was not without interest and he was known for fiery editorials and a short temper. The Dallas Weekly Herald reported on June 19, 1884, for example, that "Orrin Robertson, editor of the McKinney Democrat, and Dr. Hoskins, jailer, were arrested yesterday upon indictment by the grand jury. Robertson is charged with assault and carrying a pistol; Hoskins with aggravated assault. The difficulty originated in an article reflecting on the management of the jail."

It's not clear what Robertson got up to after his retirement from newspaper work, but during 1892, in partnership with others, he incorporated the Texas Health College in Coryell County. This seems to have been a diploma mill and most likely a home base for other chicanery.

A little later in the early 1890s, he returned to Iowa City, enrolled in the Homeopathic Medical Department's course of study and was awarded his homeopathic Doctor of Medicine degree during March of 1895.

He apparently returned thereafter to Texas, but it's not clear exactly what he was doing there --- practicing medicine homeopathically, perhaps, certainly continuing the work of the Texas Health College.

Orrin and his various scams were regular features in state medical journals across the United States from the late 1890s through the late 1920s. The Texas Medical Journal for the period July 1897-June 1898 seemed to derive a certain grim pleasure in publishing the following dispatch:

"The Journal is in receipt of a letter from an esteemed correspondent in Fannin county, advising that the notorious Orrin Robertson of Texas Health College (the Mound City myth) fame (or in-fame) was arrested on board of a freight train by City Marshall Bruce Lane, who guarded him until 2 p.m., when the sheriff of Hunt county arrived and took him to Greenville, where he is wanted for infanticide."

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During 1901, Robertson established what may have been the first of his "Anthropological Non-Surgical Sanitariums" in Quenemo, Kansas. Eventually, the campus there included three main buildings capable of housing and serving up to 300 patients. Patients anxious for cures of disorders ranging from gallstones and appendicitis to cancer --- without surgery --- flocked in from across the country and paid dearly. If nothing else, Robertson was an effective marketer.

For gallstones, the sanitarium prescribed treatment with Dr. Robertson’s Seven Sacred Oils. These oils reportedly "were obtained from seven different climates and intended for use on seven different zones of the body, to be administered at seven-minute intervals. This grouping of sevens was integral to Robertson’s successful treatment," according to an Osage (Kansas) County News article published online during October of 2016.

"The campus was not only for those seeking relief from their ailments," according to the News, "but also housed the American University of Anthropology. The university would award diplomas in the degrees offered to paying students. The institution circulated a monthly Journal of Anthropology. This publication would discuss the science used within the sanitarium and answer concerns raised by its opponents."

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Robertson left Quenemo behind after a few years, however, and launched new treatment facilities in Kansas City; Excelsior Springs, Missouri; Agra, Oklahoma; and finally at Arkansas City, Kansas.

He became immensely prosperous --- and endured at least three costly and acrimonious divorces. One of his former wives, who held on to a house in Kansas City reportedly valued at $50,000 and once one of the city's finest, reportedly was asked by a judge if she had married Dr. Robertson for love. "No," she replied --- "for the house and lot."

Robertson also began to speculate in oil during these early 20th century years --- and during 1916 while practicing at Arkansas City declared bankruptcy. 

When accused by bankruptcy adjudicators of hiding half a million dollars or more worth of assets, he simply vanished --- reportedly taking with him a youthful, pretty school teacher who had been a sanitarium patient. He was nearing 60 at the time.

Six years later, during April of 1922, Robertson was located and arrested by federal authorities at Williston, North Dakota, where he was operating yet another sanitarium, and taken to Fargo to await extradition to Kansas. Once in Kansas, he was jailed to await trial for bankruptcy fraud. There reportedly were three indictments against him.

Robertson hired a skillful Kansas City lawyer, however, who picked apart the technicalities of indictments against him and, during September, a Kansas judge declared them invalid. The good doctor now was a free man, although such of his hidden assets as receivers had been able to find, carefully managed while in receivership and substantially increased in value, were disbursed among his creditors.

Two years later, he washed up quite unexpectedly on the south shore of Chariton.

To be continued ...

Before Piper's, it was Stanley's

This is another of the photos added to the historical society collection recently, courtesy of Miriam Hibbs. It's related to the shot posted yesterday, "A look at Piper's --- in 1911," because it shows the interior of the historic grocery store prior to 1908, while Fred C. Stanley presided there.

Here's the chronology: Fred C. Stanley purchased the Stanley Grocery business from his brother, Frank, during 1892, when it was located in the two-story frame Dungan building at the intersection of North Grand and Braden; in 1894, Lizzie Eikenberry built the current brick Piper's building on the site of the old Dungan building with a store room for Fred on the first floor and suites of offices for attorneys upstairs; in 1908, Fred sold the business to Joe L. Piper and moved to Minneapolis.

The men in the photograph are not identified, although one of them surely must be Mr. Stanley. Identifications would help date the photo more precisely.

Initially, I thought the photograph must have been taken in the old building, but that's just not the case. I was confused because Piper's currently has an elaborate pressed metal ceiling and the north end of the store room looks nothing like this today.

This photograph is taken, looking from front to back of the store. The heating stove is vented into a chimney just north of the store's east door and just beyond, back of what now is the meat case, is a freight elevator used to transport stock to and from the basement. You can see the big wheels of the coffee grinder in front of the stove and freight elevator. The lanterns appear to be kerosene.

The back wall is broken by tall windows on either side of a doubled entrance door, so the shot most likely was taken before new owners of the building, the I.O.O.F. lodge, made the first of several additions to the north end of the building.

We know that before the 1906 addition was made, a small frame building was located just outside the back door where produce --- eggs, cream, butter, fresh fruits and vegetables in season etc. --- was purchased from farmers for sale in the store.

I'm guessing that the photo was taken very soon after Fred had moved his stock into the new store room during the latter half of 1894. The pinkish tinge was a trademark of Rose Studio, then located above the Mallory Block just down Braden Avenue to the west. Most likely the shot was removed from a heavy card with the Rose insignia before Miriam's mother pasted it into her scrapbook.  A mishap during the removal process would explain the fact the image has been torn in half, then pasted neatly back together.

Whatever the case, it's a fascinating survival. No grocery carts on wheels back in those days. You walked into a store where attendants were posted behind the counters and you asked for what you wanted. Self-service would not come along for many years. And the helpful smiles were behind the counters, not in the aisles.

A look at Piper's --- back in 1911

Miriam Hibbs, several days ago, donated to the historical society this interesting postcard view, dated 1911,  of one of Chariton's best known commercial buildings, Piper's, on the northeast corner of the square. 

It had been kept in a family scrapbook primarily because her father, Albert Westling --- a very young man at the time ---  is one of the four clerks standing in front.

That's most likely Joe L. Piper himself in the white apron at far left, although he's not identified. All the clerks are identified, however. They are (from left) Pete West, R. Findley, Albert Westling and Frank Tinder. I think that's the Piper's delivery wagon on the right.

It's an interesting photo for all sorts of reasons, among them because it's possible to read a little history in its signage. 

Joe L. Piper had purchased the grocery business from Fred C. Stanley during early December, 1908, and by 1911 had placed his name above the storefront and on the awning. The painted sign along the east wall of the building still read "Fred C. Stanley" however.

The Piper's building itself was relatively new and already had its first addition in place by 1911, when this photograph was taken.

Fred Stanley's brother, Frank, had opened Stanley Grocery store during 1890 in the two-story wood frame building that previously stood here. That structure had been constructed during the 1860s by Chariton attorney Warren S. Dungan, whose law offices were upstairs. Rental of the store room at street level generated extra income for the pioneer lawyer and legislator. Frank Stanley sold the business to his brother, Fred, during March of 1892, then sadly died at age 30 a year later.

During January of 1894, when Dungan moved temporarily to Des Moines to serve as Iowa's lieutenant governor, he sold the old building to Lizzie Eikenberry, widow of Chariton entrepreneur Daniel Eikenberry and a very astute businessperson in her own right.

Mrs. Eikenberry, now Fred Stanley's landlady, began almost immediately to plan a new brick building for that location. 

During March of 1894, in order not to disrupt the Stanley grocery business, the old frame structure was moved sideways into North Grand Street, where business continued as usual until July, when the new building was complete and Fred moved in.

Lizzie Eikenberry died during 1901, age only 49, and in 1904 her heirs sold the new brick building as well as two rattletrap old frame buildings to the west to Chariton's I.O.O.F. Lodge. The lodge got to work immediately on its grand new I.O.O.F. building, which still stands on the site of the old frame structures.

Two years later, in 1906, the lodge made an improvement to the Stanley Grocery building --- a two-story addition to the north that provided a storeroom and basement room below for use by the grocery and an extra rental space on the second floor.

Time has obscured the distinction between the original Stanley/Piper's building and its first addition, but in this photo, the brick of the addition shows up lighter than the brick of the original, making clear where one ended and the other began.

Fred Stanley sold his grocery business to Joe L. Piper during December of 1908 and moved soon thereafter to Minneapolis with his family. The I.O.O.F. lodge retained ownership of the building until 1913, when Piper purchased it, too --- uniting business and building under one ownership.

And so it remains, with Jill Kerns as as owner now of both business (still Piper's) and building.

The grand old building has had great good fortune in terms of ownership. When the second floor front began to crack, Jill had it seamlessly repaired and restored. And during the recent upper-level housing initiative, two fine new apartments were created in the old second-floor spaces.

And then of course there's all that candy that continues to flow from the Piper's kitchen.

Crying over spilled brick ...

Milk actually was the commodity cited in the old admonition, "No use crying over spilled ...." --- spoken now and then by my late mother after one disaster or another (and by me, too). But who can help but lament the fall of a landmark, which happened on the south side of the square early Wednesday.

Known when it was built as the Gasser Block after George F. Gasser, the baker and grocer who commissioned in it 1875, it was the oldest building on the south side of the square, occupied most recently by the Sportsman Bar. The building had been vacant for a number of years, its owners incapacitated, without funds and in nursing homes.

More about the history of the building may be found here in a "Chariton's Square Deal" post I published during 2012.

It became evident last winter and in the early spring that a portion of the alley wall north of the exterior stair was bulging outward. During April, a large area of that wall blew out at ground level, destabilizing the northeast corner of the building. What happened this week probably was inevitable. Those old walls were three bricks thick and wonderfully constructed, but very heavy, and without visible means of support, eventually crumbled and collapsed.

It's hard to say what caused the problem initially. Several of us sidewalk superintendents speculated that the basement wall had failed, but just a few weeks ago brave souls actually entered the basement and discovered its walls to be sound.

The building is constructed of what's known as "soft" brick, manufactured locally. George B. Routt was the brick-maker as well as the chief mason for the building. His kilns were located on the Chariton River bottom just southwest of town. And there are some indications in old newspapers that he had a few problems keeping up with demand. 

The Chariton Leader reported in its edition of Oct. 23, 1875: "The workers on Gasser's fine new building on the South Side were compelled to stop work for the want of more brick this week. Work will be resumed as soon as Routt gets his brick kiln burned."

There's nothing the matter with these old bricks and, if properly cared for, they'll remain in service for centuries. But neither the simple recipes used to form them nor the heat generated by wood-fired kilns could produce anything to match the rock-hard bricks manufactured by high quality operations today.

The key is periodic and appropriate tuckpointing, using an equivalent of the original lime-based mortar that allows the bricks to expand and contract and to expel absorbed moisture. Replacing old soft mortar with hard cement mortar that neither expands nor contracts and rendering --- covering brick with cement or other substances that trap moisture behind them --- both can be deadly.

A part of the northeast alley-side wall of the Gasser Block had been rendered with cement many years ago and that may have contributed to the collapse, especially as the concrete began to fall away and large amounts of moisture penetrated behind it. Who knows. It's unlikely there'll be an autopsy.

It seems likely that the city now will acquire title to lot upon which the building stands and have it demolished and carted away. The owners can't afford to do that either.

I think we should lament the end of a fine old building, but the useful questions is, "What do we do now with the fine commercial lot that will be available once the Gasser Block is only a memory?"

And, by the way, if you know the owners of one or more of the fine remaining brick buildings located on the square or elsewhere in town, say "thanks" the next time to see them for their part in maintaining our collective built heritage.

The Blacks, typhoid & Spanish American War loss

Chariton grocer Charles N. Black and his wife, Amanda, still reeling from the loss during the previous five years of three of their adult children, sold the business during 1903 and moved back to the Sandyville neighborhood in Warren County. The couple had lived in that vicinity with their large family until 1891, when they moved to Lucas County and established a business that flourished.

They left those three children behind in the Chariton Cemetery, buried in a row behind an impressive family stone in the southeast quadrant of the original burial ground. Two, William T. and Walter E.,  both of whom died of typhoid fever, constitute the only Lucas County losses during the Spanish American War. 

Both were soldiers of Company H, 50th Iowa Volunteer Infantry, an Iowa National Guard company based in Chariton before and after the war but nationalized for service in 1898. From May until September of that year, the company was stationed at Camp Cuba Libre at Jacksonville, Florida. The company's third loss was Charles Blandford of Ogden, who also died at Camp Libre of typhoid, a disease most often contracted from a contaminated water supply.

Two years later, typhoid also claimed the life of the brothers' younger sister, Mabel Ann, who --- perhaps motivated in part by the loss of her brothers --- had trained as a nurse in Iowa City and returned home to Chariton to practice.

Combined, it was a stunning loss from a disease rarely encountered in developed nations today because of vastly improved sanitation and better understanding of its causes and treatment.

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I wrote earlier in the week about the death of Quartermaster Sergeant William Thomas Black in a post entitled "The Men of Company H. say farewell to Sgt. Tom" because a photograph of his funeral cortege in Jacksonville has been added recently to the Lucas County Historical Society collection.

Tom, born Feb. 21, 1873, was the eldest of the Black children, age 25 at the time of his death at Camp Libre on July 19, 1898. An aspiring journalist, he had worked as a clerk in his parents' store, attended college and had gone to work for Chariton newspapers. 

He seems to have been a young man of considerable promise, eulogized in The Chariton Democrat of July 22 as "Handsome, earnest, brilliant, genial Tom. None knew him but to love him. One of the most gentlemanly soldiers in Company H, a man who would have made an unsullied citizen --- he is our sacrifice to the honor of the nation and progress of humanity. No nobler sacrifice has been offered to the inevitable in this cruel war."

Funeral services for Sergeant Tom were held in Chariton on Friday, July 22, and he was the first to be buried on a newly acquired family lot in the Chariton Cemetery.

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Tom's younger brother, Walter E. (born Dec. 29, 1881), a trumpeter, also was a soldier in Company H and he, along with Sgt. Orrie Hixon, had accompanied Tom's remains home to Chariton. He was only 17 and had needed his parents' permission in order to serve.

A few weeks after returning to Camp Cuba Libre after a week's furlough in Chariton, Walter, too, was diagnosed with typhoid fever and hospitalized. 

On Sept. 12, after it became clear their services no longer were needed, the men of Company H were ordered home to Iowa. Walter traveled by hospital car, then was brought to the home of his parents where he died on Sept. 28, 1898.

He was eulogized by The Democrat as "a young man of exemplary habits, honest in business, faithful to himself and his God in life, and loving and kind to his parents and sisters."

Funeral services were held on Friday, Sept. 30, at First Presbyterian Church, where, "amid a bank of beautiful flowers and wrapped in the stars and stripes, the remains were viewed by hundreds of friends. 

"Afterwards the cortege slowly wended its way to the Chariton cemetery. The Chariton and Russell band headed the procession, playing the funeral march. Then came Company H with bowed heads and slow and measured tread, then the funeral car guarded by a military escort of six pall bearers.

"The mourning relatives and friends followed, forming a long line. At the cemetery the military salute was given, "taps" were sounded and the remains of Walter Black were lowered to the grave beside his brother Tom, who was buried just ten weeks previous."

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Later that fall, perhaps motivated in part by the deaths of her brothers, their sister, Mabel Ann (born August 18, 1879), enrolled in a nurse training program in Iowa City and while a student there, met and became engaged to a physician, Dr. J.R. Gardner.

She then returned to Chariton as a private practice nurse and began to plan her wedding.

During late November of 1900, however, she too was diagnosed with typhoid fever and four weeks later, on Dec. 30, died at her parents' home on North 7th Street.

"Her pleasant disposition and happy, joyous ways carried sunshine wherever she went. In the sick room her gentle touch was like that of a ministering angel. She had not a thought that was not a gentle one, not one that did not hold all the world in its kindliness," her pastor, the Rev. A.C. Ormond, said during funeral services, also at First Presbyterian.

Her remains then were taken to the Chariton Cemetery on Jan. 2, 1901, for burial beside those of her brothers. Six sisters survived.

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After leaving Chariton during 1903, Charles N. Black lived on until Feb. 21, 1916, when he died at his home near Sandyville at the age of  73. His wife, Amanda, followed him to the grave on April 16, 1924, age 69.

The senior Blacks chose to be buried in the cemetery at Sandyville rather than in Chariton, however.

But some years later, during 1941, their youngest daughter, Elizabeth (Black) Divoll (born Dec. 27, 1894 after the family had moved to Chariton), whose home was in Colorado, died while visiting her sister in Des Moines on Nov. 6, 1941. Her remains were brought to Chariton and buried near those of her three siblings.

Lucas County's somewhat battered supervisors

This poor old cabinet card obviously has had a hard life. From the looks of things (nail holes near the top) it was tacked up somewhere and on display for a considerable length of time.

Nonetheless, we're glad to have it in the historical society collection --- there may be other copies out there, but this is the only one we've seen. It came to the society during 1967 from Inda (Van Arsdale) Post, then living in Florida, daughter of Peter Van Derveer Van Arsdale (far left).

These three gentlemen served together as Lucas County supervisors from 1890-1894. They are (from left) Van Arsdale, who farmed on Chariton's eastern edge in Lincoln Township; Hiason M. Finch, a Pleasant Township farmer; and Armsted Mason Wheeler, a Liberty Township farmer remembered by some today because the bridge in his old neighborhood across Whitebreast Creek still is called by some "Wheeler Bridge."

The group portrait probably was taken during 1894 to celebrate completion of the new (and current) Lucas County Courthouse. Construction began in late 1892, was largely complete by the end of 1893 and the structure was dedicated on May 22, 1894.

A project of this scale rarely proceeds without major bumps, but these guys navigated the county over all of them and emerged triumphant --- only to be for the most part forgotten today.

The photograph was taken at Rose Studio, located across Braden Avenue from the courthouse on the second floor of the Mallory Block, a building long since torn down and replaced.

I'm trying to envision Larry Davis, Dennis Smith and Steve Laing dressed in vintage regalia and in a similar pose today. Think about it.

The men of Company H say farewell to Sgt. Tom ...

This wonderful old photograph of Quartermaster Sergeant William T. Black's funeral cortege, taken during July of 1898 in Jacksonville, Florida, came home to Chariton Saturday morning with Corwin "Corky" and Janean Stuart. They delivered a box of papers collected by the late Judge William C. "Bill" Stuart to the museum to be archived. The photograph and another related to Lucas County's Company H, Iowa National Guard, were a bonus.

Although their service is largely forgotten now, the men of Company H --- more than 40 of them --- departed Chariton by train during late April, 1898, fully expecting to see combat in what now is known as the Spanish American War.

Mustered during May at Camp McKinley in Des Moines --- better known as the Iowa State Fairgrounds --- they were shipped off to Florida with hundreds of other Iowa troops late that month, still expecting to face enemy fire. That did not happen, however.

Instead, the unit and others from Iowa were diverted from their original destination, Tampa, to Jacksonville and put to work developing a new Army camp christened Camp Cuba Libre in anticipation of a lengthy war requiring extensive infrastructure.

The site of the new camp was not wisely chosen and was subject to flooding. Nor was the Army adept at providing adequate sanitation or effective medical care for the troops. As a result, there was considerable sickness. 

It was typhoid fever that killed Quartermaster Sergeant William T. Black, age 25, early on the morning of Tuesday, July 19, 1898. One of the most popular men in the company, he was eulogized three days later in The Chariton Democrat of July 22 as "Handsome, earnest, brilliant, genial Tom. None knew him but to love him. One of the most gentlemanly soldiers in Company H, a man who would have made an unsullied citizen --- he is our sacrifice to the honor of the nation and progress of humanity. No nobler sacrifice has been offered to the inevitable in this cruel war."

Tom's remains were removed to the Clark undertaking establishment in Jacksonville later on Tuesday and funeral services for his military family were scheduled for the next day. "The services were very impressive," reported Maude Whitlock, wife of company commander Capt. George E. Whitlock. "Chaplain Hoyt read the Episcopal services."

Then, once the casket had been placed in a shipping case, "an escort of honor of 16 men with guns, six corporals as pallbearers and the entire company following made their way to the depot, where the journey to Iowa was commenced."

That moment, as the cortege to the depot was about to begin, is captured in this photograph. The hearse is at far left; and I'm guessing that Undertaker Clark is immediately behind the remains.

Tom's remains were escorted to Chariton by his younger brother, Walter N., also a member of Company H., and Sergeant Orrie Hixon.

They arrived in Chariton from Jacksonville aboard the No. 3 on Friday morning and were escorted to the home of Tom's parents on North 7th Street where funeral services were held at 4 o'clock that afternoon. The U.S. flag at the courthouse flew at half-staff all day in his memory.

When the services were over, the remains were accompanied to the Chariton Cemetery for burial by a procession headed by the Myers Martial Band that included veterans of Company H led by former sergeant O.A. Hougland, dozens of fellow Odd Fellows in formation preceding the hearse, and carriages containing relatives and friends following.

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The old photograph of the Florida cortege has had a hard life, but still is clear and sharp. The only person in it identified is the young man at far left, Edwin Young, a friend of Tom who succeeded him as Company H quartermaster sergeant.

Although we don't know for sure, it seems likely that this photo and its mate were collected by Ed Young, then passed to his son Frank H. Young. Frank Young may have passed it on to Bill Stuart, knowing his intense interest in Lucas County history. Judge Stuart had written "for historical society" on the envelope and on Saturday it reached its intended destination thanks to his son and daughter-in-law.

Here's the second photo the envelope contained, also members of Company H, this one taken at Camp Cuba Libre during the summer of 1898. None of the men are identified, however.

Sound advice from Rabbi Kaufman

The headline, "Iowa faith healers offer words to buoy your spirit," was what caught my attention after turning to the online edition of Sunday's Des Moines Register. "Faith healers," you say? Best see what that's all about.

As it turns out, whoever posted the promotional headline on the online cover had misinterpreted the headline on the actual story, a column by some guy named Daniel P. Finney, which read: "In a nation awash in hatred and despair, these Iowa faith leaders offer words of hope." 

Are we really awash in hatred and despair? There's a lot of unrest, emotional and otherwise, but most folks I know are trying to figure out how to watch the eclipse today without frying their eyeballs.

Anyhow, six "faith leaders" were quoted, five of them from Des Moines. The Church of Christ preacher suggested "don't watch the news" and trust Jesus. The bishop of the Catholic Diocese of Des Moines recommended prayer and personal reflection. The two United Methodist preachers recommended, respectively, woodworking and love (OK, that's an over-simplification).

I appreciated the advice from Imam Tahah Tawil of Cedar Rapids' Mother Mosque of America --- "We need to use our intellect and skills of communication to avoid conflict. We must prove ourselves to be trustworthy stewards of God's house. Extremists, unfortunately, advocate violence, anger and bigotry. We need to talk to people and ask them, 'Why do you hate us? How do you come to these ideas?' We must spread the ideas of peace and understanding even among those who say they hate us. Earth belongs to God. Whether you are from Syria, Kosovo or Timbuktu, this our shared home."

But I really liked the offering of Rabbi David Kaufman of Temple B'nai Jeshurun, Des Moines' Reform congregation: "Judaism teaches us, even commands us, to see the world as it is and to strive to change it, to make peace where there is strife, to feed the hungry, to house the homeless. Seeing that ugliness still exists in our world isn’t a rejection of what we’ve fought for, it is the very reason we fight. You make peace with enemies. You fix problems. We live in a world in which our ideals sometimes get run over by reality. On occasion, we feel that we, ourselves, have been run over. Sometimes, it even feels like reality backs up and runs over us and our ideals repeatedly before it moves on. But there is good in the world. There is light and hope. Our task is to increase them, rather than focusing on shade. Remember, the first commandment is 'Let there be light!' "

Then I turned to the web page of Temple B'nai Jeshurun --- a Des Moines congregation that has a number of historic links to Chariton --- and found the illustration above. That fairly well sums it up.

About those Iowa Confederate monuments

Davis County raid monument south of Bloomfield.

A few references have appeared here and there during the last week to Confederate-related monuments in Iowa. There actually are two --- and both were erected early in the 21st century. Neither is likely to stir controversy, but it is interesting to note that both were sponsored or co-sponsored by the Iowa Division, Sons of Confederate Veterans, organized during 1996 by a few older white Iowans, quite a number of them re-enactors, who could claim an ancestor who fought for the Confederacy.

If you read the introduction to the group on its website, you'll discover that its members, while hardly rabble-rousers, do subscribe to and actively promote the myth of the glorious cause that sprang up in the South during the 19th and early 20th century: "The preservation of liberty and freedom was the motivating factor in the South's decision to fight the Second American Revolution. The tenacity with which Confederate soldiers fought underscored their belief in the rights guaranteed by the Constitution. These attributes are the underpinning of our democratic society and represent the foundation on which this nation was built. Today, the Sons of Confederate Veterans is preserving the history and legacy of these heroes, so future generations can understand the motives that animated the Southern Cause."

Reputable historians would disagree and suggest that some mention of slavery might be appropriate, but that's beyond the scope of this post.

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The closest actual memorial to the Confederate dead is a 2005 obelisk with a carefully worded inscription erected by the United Daughters of the Confederacy in the Confederate Cemetery on Rock Island --- in Illinois, actually, but just off the Iowa coast. 

This cemetery contains the remains of some 2,000 Confederate prisoners of war who died while incarcerated at a Union camp on the island where conditions were so unhealthy that it's sometimes called the "Andersonville of the North."

The inscription reads, "In memory of the Confederate veterans who died at the Rock Island Confederate Prison Camp. May they never be forgotten. Let no man asperse the memory of our sacred dead. They were men who died for a cause they believed was worth fighting for and made the ultimate sacrifice."

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One memorial sometimes cited as Confederate --- a bronze plaque in Mallory Cemetery near Toolesboro in Louisa County --- actually isn't. The plaque, erected in 1994 by Jefferson Township trustees and the  Louisa County Cemetery Commission, deals with unmarked mass graves reportedly located there, one containing victims of an 1859 "plague" at the ghost town of Burris City and the other, the remains of "Confederate prisoners-of-war who died while being transported to the federal prison on Rock Island" that were brought ashore at the Toolesboro landing and brought to Mallory Cemetery for burial.

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One of two actual Confederate monuments, erected by the Iowa Sons in cooperation with Texas Sons and a chapter of the Military Order of Stars and Bars, consists of a plaque on a boulder along the Des Moines River at Bentonsport. It notes that Confederate Gen. Lawrence Sullivan Ross was born at Bentonsport during 1838. The inscription claims Ross as a "native son" of Iowa despite the fact he moved with his family to Texas when only months old and never set foot in the Hawkeye state again. Although historical significance seems a trifle overstated, there's no controversy here.

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The largest of the Iowa monuments is located four miles south of Bloomfield in Davis County and commemorates what is described on one plaque as the "Confederate invasion of Iowa" and on another, as the "furthermost north of any Confederate incursion during the Civil War." The latter inscription should include the modifier "in Iowa" since Confederate forces most certainly penetrated farther north east of the Mississippi.

The three plaques mounted on three boulders were donated by the Iowa Sons of the Confederacy, Iowa Sons of Union Veterans and the Davis County Civil War Guerrilla Raid Society.

There's no particular reason to quarrel with the monument, although it might have been appropriate, since it is located in Davis County, to name the three Davis Countyans brutally murdered during the raid.

The 12-hour spree on Oct. 24, 1864, was led by bushwhacker James Jackson, a former Texas Ranger and an especially nasty piece of work widely known for lynching freed slaves. He had risen through the ranks of other guerrilla organizations, including John Hunt Morgan's operation in Kentucky and  Clifton Holtzclaw's Missouri raiders.

By the fall of 1864, Jackson had his own band of a dozen bushwhackers who launched a circuit raid perhaps intended to destabilize the Missouri-Iowa border region during October, as Confederate Gen. Sterling Price was attempting to "retake" Missouri south of the Missouri River. The raid, which was launched at and ended near Macon, Missouri, reached the Iowa border on the 24th when the bushwhackers, dressed in Union uniforms, crossed into Davis County.

Dozens of rural homes were terrorized and robbed and a number of prisoners taken, but it was the brutality of Jackson himself as he cold-bloodedly killed three Davis County men that perhaps should be remembered.

The killing commenced near the home of Thomas Hardy, age 49. Hardy was not at home when the bushwhackers robbed his house, but they encountered him nearby driving toward his farm with a companion aboard a wagon pulled by a team of horses. The bushwackers demanded his horses, but Hardy demanded payment. "I'll pay you for them," Jackson reportedly replied, then fired a revolver at Hardy, reportedly striking him near the right eye. The shot knocked Hardy off the wagon, but did not kill him. He asked for mercy. Jackson then dismounted, pulled a smaller pistol from his belt and fired another shot into the man's head. When that failed to do the job, Jackson fired another revolver shot into the man's head, killing him. The leader then rifled the dead man's pickets, taking whatever cash he found, and rode away.

Somewhat later, the raiders rode up to the home of Eleazar Small, age 30, who had served honorably as a corporal in Company A, 3rd Iowa Volunteer Cavalry.  Because the riders were wearing Union uniforms, Small assumed that they were friends and approached them. By the time he discovered his mistake it was too late. Jackson drew his revolver and shot him in the face, then fired additional shots into his neck and chest.  Jackson reportedly dismounted then, took what cash he found in the dead man's pockets and rode away.

Capt. Philip Bence, 45, Co. F, 30th Iowa Volunteer Infantry, was on furlough with his family when the raiders rode up to his home near Springville later in the day. He was in uniform when the bushwhackers approached. Rather than killing him immediately, Jackson robbed Bence and forced  him to turn over his uniform and change into other clothing. Bence reportedly asked Jackson not to kill him in the presence of his wife and Jackson spared him for the time being, but marched him away from his home with other prisoners.

As nightfall neared, Jackson realized that he was not equipped to deal overnight with prisoners. Perhaps because Bemce was the ranking Union man among the prisoners, Jackson took aim and shot him off the horse he was riding double with another prisoner. As Capt. Bence lay on the ground, raising himself onto an elbow, Jackson fired another shot, this one fatal, into his head.

The other prisoners then were released on foot. They reached Springville about midnight. The bushwhackers fled into Missouri and, although pursued, never were located.

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Jackson's story ended the following June. On June 13, 1865, near Columbia, Missouri, he surrendered  to Union forces under white flag, swore allegiance to the United States and was paroled. Missouri Unionist forces, recalling his brutality, were not inclined to let him get away with a free pass, however. Despite the parole, he was captured while heading for Illlinois and either shot or hanged in Monroe County, Missouri.

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For those interested in reading more about the Davis County raid, a detailed report compiled by Col. S.A. Moore and based upon eye-witness testimony, was published in Annals of Iowa during 1922. You'll find it in PDF version here.

The photos here were taken from an excellent web site entitled "Iowa Civil War Monuments," developed and maintained by Iowa's Sons of Union Veterans of the Civil War. You'll find that site, which includes comprehensive listings by county of the monuments, here.

In honor of a young man worthy of remembering

The young man here with a big grin is Gerald Eugene "Gene" Storie, native son of Derby, just 21 when he died  in the line of duty in Germany while in service to his country back in 1945.

His buddy Leonard Supinski's camera didn't quite catch Gene's entire face when the snap was taken and if you look carefully, you'll see why. Someone is standing behind Gene, pinning his arms and forcing him to pose. The grin suggests he really didn't mind --- but resisted a little anyway.

PFC Storie's story is one of considerable poignance --- from beginning to end. I told some of it during October of 2015 in a post entitled Gold Stars and PFC Gerald E. Storie.

I used this photo then, one that can break hearts if you think about it --- so young, so proud, filled with so much potential. The snapshot was taken near the railroad tracks in Derby, maybe by the grandmother who raised him, when  Gene was 19 or 20, not long before he shipped out to the battlefields of Europe. Was the depot nearby? Was he getting ready to board a train that would take him far from home?

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I've been thinking quite a bit during the last few days about what those   young men who put their lives on the line during World War II --- and died --- to defeat the Nazi horror would make of Charlottesville and its aftermath,  including America's 21st century reincarnations of a devil these guys knew first-hand.

Up in Brainerd, Minnesota. Jeff Supinski had been digging through a box of World War II memorabilia left behind by his grandfather, Leonard --- including snapshots of many of the young men he served with in Europe.

Among them, was the snapshot of Eugene, partly identified by the note at left on the back: "Storie, driver for truck, drowned while swimming 7/14/45 at Schliersee."

Google turned up that October 2015 Lucas Countyan post about PFC Storie and the connection was made. Jeff very kindly shared scans of the snapshot with me.

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Gene's mother, Lucy Hilliard, was only 15 when he was born near Derby. The father was a young man from the neighborhood named Lloyd Storie, at 26 some 11 years her senior. They were not married.

Gene, whose birth was not recorded officially, was born at Derby on May 2, 1924. His biological father,  who otherwise had no role in his life, had married another woman the previous day in Albia and they moved elsewhere.

Lina Hilliard, the baby's grandmother, assumed the role of mother immediately and raised him thereafter --- the only mother he really knew.

Lucy, not too long after Gene's birth, married a farmer in the Weldon neighborhood named Roy Neal, then had four additional children in quick succession. The youngest was only 14 days old when Lucy herself died on Nov. 27, 1935, at the age of 27. Gene was 11 at the time. Three years later, his grandfather, J. Buckson "Buck" Hilliard, died.

Gene continued to make his home with his grandmother and maiden aunts at Derby and graduated from Derby High School with the class of 1942. 

He seems to have moved soon thereafter to the state of Washington where he worked for a time, but was back in Iowa and living at Derby with his grandmother by the summer of 1943 when, on July 13, he enlisted in the U.S. Army at Camp Dodge. He was called to active duty on August 3 and after more than a year of training and stateside assignments, he was deployed to the European Theater on Oct. 30, 1944.

Assigned to Battery A, 575th Anti-Aircraft Artillery Automotive Weapons Battalion, Eugene pushed with his unit during the final Allied offensive into Germany, was promoted to the rank of private first class and no doubt celebrated with his buddies when Germany surrendered.

Then --- on the evening of July 14, 1945, at Schliersee, Germany --- he drowned. I've not been able to find an account of exactly what happened, but the official record states that his death "occurred in the line of duty and was not the result of his own misconduct."

His remains were brought eventually to what is now the Lorraine American Cemetery at St. Avold, France, and interred with those of some 16,000 other Americans lost in the war. But his family was given the option of having his body repatriated to the United States and that mission was accomplished during 1948. 

PFC Gerald E. Storie was re-interred at the Keokuk National Cemetery --- Iowa's only national cemetery --- on Nov. 2, 1948 (Section D, Grave No. 129).

His grandmother lived on until 1960, when she died at the age of 87. His biological father, who contributed nothing to his honorable life other than a surname, died during 1979 in California.

It's our duty to remember Gene and others like him. Their lives of service and sacrifice bring honor to us whether we deserve it or not.

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Note: Much of the detail concerning Gene's service --- including the ins and outs of his parentage --- may be found in his Iowa World War II Bonus case file. In order for his grandmother to qualify for the $500 payment offered by the state to beneficiaries, she had to prove that she legally was his next of kin. At the time of Gene's death, no one --- including his second family --- was sure of Lloyd Storie's whereabouts.