"Pictures that hang on memory's wall"

977.38
Sh4p

..

-;

I

Tictures That Hang On Memory's Wall'

Mark Shepard Family
Mark Shepard, George, Mrs. Shepard, Fern.
Earl, Alvin, Ora, Edith, Edwin, circa

1893

Tictures That Hang On
Memory's Wair

'How dear to my heart are the scenes of my childhood.
When fond recollection presents them to view".

H. Fern Shepard

ST. LOUIS, 1965

977. 3^8 rn. Hi^i, ^c^yv

Opening a door to the "Room of Memories" we found a
retreat in which to tarry while in retrospect we again enjoyed
the pleasures and experiences of childhood.

There is no chronological sequence to the several eras we
have endeavored to bring into focus, nor is this in any sense
a Biography or a Family History.

Our Garden

Through the years I came to realize that the
passion for flowers that possessed me from eadiest
childhood must surely have been ''born in me". I
watched eagerly for the blossoms on each plant, shrub
and tree that grew in our yard and walked blocks to
search out flowers in other gardens. I harbored a mania
to gather armsful of flowers - basketsful - big bouquets.

Edith purchased flower seed for me and helped me
to plant it. The first real success was a row of sweet
peas. She "sent away" for rose bushes. The name of
the rose has long faded from memory but not the color
- a lovely pink.

Long after the row of sweet peas and the pink
rose, time came when I could go into the garden Ora
and Henry shared with Edith and me - where I could
gather armsful of flowers from early Spring through
each season of the year.

Our last family garden was the source of great
pleasure to all of us. To me it was something deeper
than mere pleasure. It was a spot where the
frustrations of the business world would fall away -
where mental weariness vanished in physical effort.
Beyond that, it was the fulfillment of a childhood
longing to work with Nature in an effort to create
things of beauty - not alone for my own gratification,

but to share with all who might find beauty in the
modest violet - the stately lily or a bank of roses.

It is December 11, 1886 - the day I came to join
our family living a short way up the path from "The
Mill" where Father was employed.

The things Mother told me about the days when I
was very young is the basis for my memory of those
very early years. She frequently told me of the care our
oldest brother, Alvin, took of me, relieving her for the
many tasks of caring for our large family. I seem to
recall Alvin taking me for a ride in the "wheel-barrow",
stopping for my first visit with the old white mule that
made his home in the Mill Barnyard. Mother said the
first word I learned to say was "Jack". He came to the
fence whenever anyone was in sight. Maybe he was
lonesome - just a lonely "old white mule".

When I was about three, we moved to the Parker
house - still within the shadow of "The Mill". I
remember being taken to the new home but don't
recall just how I got there. Brother Earl tells me he
pushed me down the path in my buggy. Our new
home was a larger house, shaded by tall pines and
maple trees. Here was a large garden and a big fruit
orchard.

The first unusual event I clearly recall occurred on
May 7, 1890. There seemed to be strange things astir
that morning. Finally, sister Edith told me there was a
surprise for me in the front room. Firmly holding on to

her hand I walked in - slowly approaching the couch
where I detected something all wrapped up in a
blanket. Sister carefully removed the cover,
announcing "you have a baby brother". That event
stands out in my memory most vividly. I wasn't quite
certain I wanted a baby brother. I seemed to sense
somehow that this baby would be pushing me aside
from the "center front" spot I had held as the more or
less spoiled "little sister". However, we became close
companions through all the years of childhood, sharing
in the usual experiences of growing up.

One thing I most clearly remember about this baby
brother is a dress Mother made for him. The long skirt
was a lovely piece of embroidery in a very special
design - the yoke and sleeves of a simpler pattern. A
long time later, my favorite doll appeared under the
Christmas Tree attired in the remnants of that very
dress.

I next remember George in his high-chair, sitting
between Mother and Father - his table place for a long
time.

A family "Portrait", taken by an itinerant
Photographer about 189^, is graphic evidence that the
family was fast growing up. George is now wearing a
kilt skirt with a white blouse - collar and cuffs ruffle
trimmed. Mother put plenty of tucks in my new
gingham dress - assurance that I could wear it next
vear.

My First Day At School

It is September - 1892. Mother instructed brother
Earl to see that I reached School safely and on time. I
recall how bravely I tried to keep step with him as we
proceeded up the street but found just keeping within
sight of him was the very best I could do.

Get me there he did - and on time. I was
presented at the door of the "Primary Room". Well do
I remember the day. Miss Mary Pence, (Mrs. L. A.
Richardson), was the Teacher. I still hear her say,
"Good morning, children".

She quickly found something for each Beginner to
do. I was called to the front of the room and told
Louise Miller would help me write on the blackboard.
Louise presented me with a piece of chalk and, holding
my hand firmly in hers, guided my feeble efforts to
acquire some small degree of skill in the Art of
Penmanship.

My stay in Room-1 was limited to three days. The
Room seemed to be fairly "bursting at the seams" -
after due consideration, five of us were transferred to
Room-2. The new Teacher? None other than our own
sister Edith!

Today I Am Six Years Old

December IL 1892

When we were children, no particular celebration
was arranged to honor our Birthdays.

Mother made certain we had the correct number
of pennies to drop in the "Birthday Box" when the
Sunday School Superintendent inquired "who had a
Birthday this week?"

This day - my Sixth Birthday - was different.
Cherished through the years and still among the
treasures in our China Cabinet is a small cup and
saucer, designed in pink and white. On the saucer a
pair of birds watch over a nest of eggs - on the cup a
small scroll, held by sprays of roses, reads:

''For A Good Child"

a gift from my brother Ed.

The Last Year of Our Public
School Education

Completing the Ninth Grade meant the end of our
Public School Education. This last year, for me,
opened many avenues of learning I had not previously
enjoyed.

A completely fresh interest was aroused,
particularly in History and Literature. What had been a
rather tiresome lot of words suddenly came alive as a
background for the Political and Cultural life of our
own day. Works of early American Poets and Essayists
took on a new meaning and even a glimpse into the
words of Shakespeare began to stimulate our
imagination and thinking.

The final class held on that last day of School was
in Literature and "Portia", in the Court Room Scene of
"The Merchant of Venice", declared:

"The quality of mercy is not strained;
It droppeth as the gentle rain from Heaven
Upon the place beneath: It is twice bless'd;
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes".

In After Years

Soon after leaving School we became aware that
our education had only begun. We began to realize
that there was a world outside the narrow sphere in
which we lived - a world that would demand a wider
knowledge than w^e had gained.

A few of our former classmates would gain this
knowledge in Schools of Higher Education - others
would find it in practical experience.

For our generation like each one before, there
were mountaintop experiences and there were
disappointments, disillusion and regret, but there was
also ambition - faith in ourselves and an ever
broadening vision.

Having picked up a few thoughts from out the
long ago - walked along lanes of yester years - visited a
while with those who shared our youth and who
remain endeared forever in memory, we close the door
to the "Room of Memories", grateful to those who
patiently endeavored to guide our oft times faltering
progress along those paths.

The host of memories that reflect the tempo of our
adult years is a thing apart from our youth.

"If we could select our memories - could choose to
keep from the past only the translucent moments, we
would string them to wear as amulents against the
pressures of the future.

But memory does not allow us to choose - we
reach for a shining moment and are pricked by the
sharp edge of a broken dream. We find a rose pressed
long ago in a book and its thorns are as sharp as the
day we put them there."

- Selected -

He who "Holds the Whole World in His Hands"
knows each shining moment and every broken dream.

From the many strands of golden sunlight and the
threads of darkened shadows, the "Master Weaver" will
create the Tapestry of our Lives when day is done.

H.F.S.

1965

The Mill was "home base" for many of the
activities George and I shared as children.

The fact that Father was Engineer in control of
the mysteries of the Engine Room left no doubt in our

minds that we held proprietary rights to go wherever
fancy took us. We wandered at will from cellar to roof,
each following his own interest.

I ventured fearlessly into the Office, guarded by
the watchful eye of Louis Brandes - sat perched on the
high stool at his desk - helped turn the wheel on the
Letter Press where, with wet press cloths and tissue
sheets, he made copies of important correspondence -
no typewriters or carbon paper were even thought of. I
watched as he manipulated the huge scale that weighed
each farmer's load of wheat that came in when
threshing was in progress.

Characteristic with his gentle manner. Father
never seemed annoyed as we followed him around in
the Engine Room. Even as children we seemed to
realize that here was the very pulsebeat of all we knew
as "THE MILL". The iron-doored furnace fed by great
shovels of coal heated the boilers to create steam - the
big fly-wheei moved round and round and in some
manner, beyond our comprehension, set in motion the
"engine" and Father with his longnosed oil cans kept it
all in working order.

A favorite haunt of mine was the corner reserved
for the flour packers. It was such fun to watch them fit
the sack to a machine that fed the flour - release it at
the right minute - quickly sew up the sack and send it
away to the warehouse ready for "shipping out".
Should the right one be handling the truck, I stood a

pretty good chance of a ride back from the warehouse.

Curiosity overtook me one day. As I watched Joe
testing the flour on a little metal slide, I asked him
what was in that bottle that he always sprinkled over
the flour. Very confidentially he whispered "pigeon
milk" - with no indication that he may have thought -
"that'll teach her not to ask questions".

To George and me no Lake was any bigger than
our "Mill Pond" where we fished with bent pin hooks.
Looking under loose boards and stones for fishing
worms was not too bad, but it took a lot of
self-discipline and courage to get that worm on the
hook. They told us there were lots of fish in that pond
but we were never able to prove it. But there were
other things - big green frogs and little brown toads
and sometimes a turtle. Tadpoles swam, or "wiggled"
along the edge of the water. We caught them in the
empty worm can and carefully carried them home.
Somehow they never did turn into "frogs" as they told
us they would.

The "Cooper Shop", where the flour barrels were
made, was another favorite spot. The rhythmic
"rat-a-tat-tat" of the coopers' hammers and the
pungent, acrid odor of charred wood as they "fired"
each barrel, comes back clear as when, on a summer
afternoon I sat at the open door, fascinated by the
uniform movements of each cooper.

10

The Pasture Behind The Barn

It is raining - a hard, pouring, summer rain. Water
will be running in the pasture branch.

I hurry down to see if my effort to build a rock
dam across the branch has been effective in creating
the Waterfall I had planned.

No builder cares to dwell upon his failures, so we
draw the curtain against that episode.

Long years later a glimpse of that branch behind
the old barn and my fruitless, childish effort to create a
waterfall flashed before me as I looked in wonder upon
tons of water falling from the crest of a lofty mountain
- water tumbling over giant rocks on its way to a swift
flowing river or some quiet valley stream.

11

The Sweet Briar Rose

A rose grew on the bank of that pasture branch -
a sweet briar rose. Its single, delicate pink flowers shed
a fragrance unlike any other.

In later years, as I worked among scores of roses
created by renowned rosarians, I searched in vain for
that certain fragrance.

A half-century later, in a Wild Rose that grew
among the rocks along the path to our Cabin at
"Columbine Lodge", Blanche and I found that same
fragrance - the fragrance of the Sweet Briar Rose that
flourished in the old pasture back home.

12

The Big Storm

Mother was deep in preparation of food for the
Annual School Picnic to be held the next day.

A strange, ominous sort of feeling prevaded the
atmosphere, made more evident by the slow, mournful
tolling of the Church Bell. Little Helenschen Kircheis,
one of George's Schoolmates had passed away.

Suddenly great thunderheads rolled in from the
Southwest; bolts of lightning rent the heavens; winds of
terrific force left shambles in its course; rain fell in
torrents.

"The Great Tornado of '96" had struck the St.
Louis area. Its force, considerably lessened, spread over
our town and the country side. Debris from the heavily
stricken area tumbled through the air, dropping as far
as thirty to forty miles away from St. Louis. Wearing
apparel hung from trees and was caught in wire fences
along open fields. Paper was strewn abroad for miles
around.

There had been storms before and there have been
storms of tornado intensity since, but within our
experience, none to equal the one on that late day in
May - 1896.

13

We were stirred by mixed emotions - the
frightening storm and the echo of the tolling bell but,
in the nature of all children, we began to think of
tomorrow and The School Picnic.

14

A Cold Winter's Saturday Morning

Fresh snow fell all through the night. The roads
were just right for sleigh riding.

Earl rushed in with "am taking some of the girls
out in the sleigh — help me get Old Nell's harness from
upstairs and I'll give you a ride". That harness never
came down as fast before.

Always prepared for any emergency, Mother had
bricks warming in the cook stove oven all morning.
Quickly they were wrapped in an old blanket - arranged
among the lap robes and we were off.

Music of the sleigh bells - the rhythmic sound of
"Old Nell's" hoofs against the crystal snow is another
strain of the "Symphony of Memories".

15

Sunday School and the Church

I

The MARINE CHRISTIAN CHURCH - which ']

had its beginning in a rural School House early in (

1860. i

Sunday School and The Church were an
important part of our childhood. My earliest
recollection of Sunday School is sitting in the front
Pew where our feet barely touched the floor. Here we i

learned to sing:

"Jesus loves me this I know
For the Bible tells me so."

"I've two little hands
To work for Jesus,
Two little lips His praise
To tell."

Moving on to the next Class we were singing "Jesus
wants me for a sunbeam."

Through our early years with much patience our
Teachers worked earnestly to teach us such
fundamental Bible truths as our youthful minds could
understand. Here gradually we learned "The
Lord's Prayer" and "The Golden Rule". Eventually we
could repeat "The Ten Commandments" - the
"Twenty-third Psalm" and "The Beatitudes".

16

Never erased from memory is the Church as I
knew it in childhood and early youth - the various
individuals who were the Church itself - its
organization and its place in the Community.

By some magic, could we remove the curtain of
time that separates that era from our present day, I
would know just where to find each faithful member
seated. Echoes of the Hymns sung - the sound of
voices much loved - remain vibrant in memory.

The long, dramatic Prayers of one or another of
the Deacons and the lengthy Discourses of some of the
Men of the Pulpit were beyond the conception of the
younger congregation, but we could later look back on
it as the foundation of some understanding of Christian
principles.

Through my early adult life, I was privileged to sit
under the teaching of a number of outstanding Bible
Teachers but later, when confused by the stress and
tension of the business world and the pressures of daily
living, frequently my mind laid hold of the simple
truths learned in the Church back home - the basic
truth that it is by FAITH that we are saved for Eternity
and it is by Faith we live - "Faith - the substance of
things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen".
(Hebrews 11:1)

There was a pleasant Social interest in the life of
the little Church. Sunday School Picnics and Nut

17

Gathering Parties in Mr. Jeffress woods; Ice Cream
Socials with plenty of lemonade and mountains of cake;
Strawberry Festivals on someone's lawn or in the
Village Park. An exciting event was the day Mother
entertained the "Ladies Aid". There were days of
preparation; the family sized dining table was rolled
into the Sitting Room; the best linen cloth was put into
service and "company" dishes were on the table. It is a
fair assumption that "Pressed Chicken" was the "piece
de resistance" with fresh home-made bread and rolls -
peach pickles and pear preserves and always cake for
dessert. There was plenty of food for we children at the
"second table".

18

Christmas When We Were Children

Christmas really began when sister Edith made
plans to go to the "City" for shopping. A trip to the
City meant a ride in Nick Ulrich's "hack" to St. Jacob
- then via train into St. Louis. The family was astir
early that morning, listening for Nick's call "All
aboard". I do not recall just how Nick announced
himself. Mother told us a Driver of the much earlier
years came along the Village streets blowing a "bugle".
Nick carried not only those who wished to "catch" the
train at St. Jacob, but he was also "Mail Carrier" and
"Express Agent" as well. Sister's return in late evening
was awaited anxiously but most of her packages
disappeared very mysteriously.

The Sunday School Christmas Program was the
high light of Christmas Eve. A huge evergreen tree
brought in from the woods filled a corner just off from
the Pulpit. It was trimmed with yards and yards of
tinsel. Hand strung ropes of popcorn festooned its
branches that blossomed with gay ornaments ....
always an angel at the very top. The breathless
moment came when the Tree was lighted. This part of
the Program was given over to the men of the Church.
They carefully lighted each taper - watched to see that
none came too near to the easily ignited branches.
Long sticks, topped with wet sponges, were kept in
readiness to prevent even one spark to flare into ever
so small a flame.

19

The Birth of the Christ Child in a lowly manger -

the Shepherds awakened by the Angel Chorus - the ,

Wise Men who followed the Star, told in Song and i

Story was, of course, the theme of the Program. -\

Strains of "Silent Night" still float through the starlit |

skies on each Christmas Eve. !

20

At Home

There was no mantle from which to hang our
Christmas Stockings but the back of Father's rocking
chair served quite well. The excitement of Christmas
Morning! No single word describes it.

Many of our first toys were hand made by Mother
or Father or some other member of the family. If a
doll "handed down" through the years had in some way
lost a leg, Father carved a new pair out of wood -
painted the "stockings" flesh-colored and the shoes
black. If a hand was missing, Mother fashioned new
ones from an old kid glove, stitching the fingers. There
was a cupboard for my dishes - Alvin's scroll saw cut a
design in each door. One of George's gifts that
delighted me as much as it did him was a Tool Chest
with real enough tools that "worked". Am sure Mother
kept an eye on me for fear I would remodel all the
furniture.

As we grew older, there was a little Engine with a
boiler that held a few tablespoons of water - heated by
an alcohol lamp, this created steam. The fly-wheel
turned round and round as fly-wheels should and there
was a whistle. George says, "trouble with the little
engine was, if we blew the whistle, it took so much
steam the fly-wheel slowed down to a stop".

21

Many of the gifts we found under our Christmas
Tree arrived in those mysterious packages sister Edith
brought home from the City. We cannot forget the
Dolls. There were "Rosie" - "Violet" and "Pansy", as
well as George's "Lily Doll" and "Hans Peter". Poor
"Hans Peter" - he was left out under the raspberry
bushes one night - it rained and his red underwear
faded on his nice tan overalls.

"Rosie" - "Violet" - "Lily Doll" and Nancy's fair
haired doll that looks like a twin to George's "Lilly", lie
in my bureau drawer, awaiting that long promised day
when I will endeavor to restore them to some degree of
their original charm. I may sew up the tears that fairly
weep sawdust - find a wig for "Violet" and make them
some pretty clothes, but who is there to love them as
we did in that far away land of childhood.

and the Paper Dolls - there was the one that

had many "take off and put on" costumes — hats
included. There were the "Pattern Books" Miss
Barbara, the Village Dressmaker, gave me when their
styles became slightly out moded. These provided hours
of delight in cutting out and creating whole families of
"paper dolls". And who would ever forget the "Scrap
Books" with all their delightful, colorful pictures!

With Spring came "Kite Flying Time". George and
I frequently fashioned our own kites. He was usually
able to come up with the two sticks to make the frame
- (think probably Father had something to do with

22

that). Then came a search for just the right paper to
glue to the frame. The paste was a bit of flour from
Mother's flour bin and some water in an old teacup.
The tail usually came out of Mother's scrap bag and
the twine was hoarded from one "flight" to another.
Like Space Ships of today - the flight was not always
successful - either the wind died down before we got
our craft into the air or an unexpected gust sent it
spinning into the top of some big tree. Well, we just
tried another day.

But we were the envy of the entire neighborhood
when Edith or Mother brought us a "Bird Kite" from a
shopping tour in Edwardsville. A Bird Kite? Well - it
was a Japanese creation of colorful paper, shaped like
wings of some big bird - a real "sensation" when it
went into flight.

23

'Sam - The Peddler

yy

"Old Ringo" frantically announced the approach of
a stranger. A glance down the street and I hurried to
tell Mother "Sam - the Peddler" was coming.

His annual visits created a certain air of
excitement. George and I watched in eager anticipation
while he carefully opened his Pack. The back porch
became his Salesroom. No Variety Store today arouses
our interest as did the array of merchandise Sam had
in that big Pack.

There seemed to be everything anyone could want
. . . -skillets, big stew pans and little ones, with lids to
fit them all . . . knives and forks - spoons, ladles and
egg beaters, strainers and can openers - cake pans and
pie tins - tin cups and dust pans. Now - what would
Mother buy? After due consideration, her choice was a
flour sifter and some new pie tins.

Sam was pleased with his sale. Brother and I
watched while he carefully replaced each article to
assure proper balance when he again strapped the huge
pack to his back.

He was more than a Peddler. As he moved along
the country roads he was an anticipated visitor. He
carried with him more than his pack of wares - he

24

brought news from each farm house to the neighbor
down the road. As he traveled through villages along
the way he found food and lodging and to all who
listened he had many tales of his adventures along the
road.

25

'The Armenian Lady

"The Armenian Lady" - another Traveling
Merchant with her bag of treasures. It was thought
she, too, came by for a visit with old friends. What she
had to sell was incidental until she had enjoyed
whatever Mother might have for her refreshment and
she had rested from her long walk along dusty roads.

She brought things to delight every one. Yards of
lace and pretty embroidery to trim a new dress or a
dainty pinafore. There were buttons and thread -
needles and pins - hooks and eyes - combs and hair
pins. Ribbons of gay colors - lace table cloths - tidies -
towels and handkerchiefs - pin cushions and pretty
needle books - thimbles and knitting needles. The sale
completed, she settled back for a visit. Delighted to
have found an attentive ear, her thoughts wandered
back to her homeland. She told of the valley where she
had lived - the luscious grapes and fruit bearing trees
that drew on the hillsides - a picture drawn in words as
she told of life as she had known it as a child ... A
place which, in the limited vision of youth, seemed to
me lost in the far away distance.

and the call "Umbrellas to mend". Many a

family umbrella continued long in service because the
"Umbrella Man" had come by to replace a broken rib
and repair the handle.

26

As Sam-The Peddler - The Armenian Lady and
their many counterparts faded from the scene, a bit of
color that had enriched life in homes along the country
roads became only a memory . . . another facet of our
"Americana" was added to the tales of yesteryears.

27

The Village Blacksmith

Just a short way up the street was a Shop both
George and I frequented during our early teens.

Fred Stuckwish was not only the "Village
Blacksmith" - he was our neighbor and a friend.

Standing at the open door of his shop on a
summer afternoon I watched the orange colored sparks
fly from the red hot horseshoes he was shaping on the
anvil.

Fred was never too busy to answer our questions -
foolish as they may have seemed. Strange and
interesting tools lay all about his anvil - others hung
against the open forge - long handled tongs for holding
the metal as he carefully turned it in the hot coals of
the forge.

There were plowshares to be heated - hammered
and shaped to properly cut into the unplowed fields.
There were mower blades to be sharpened by the
proper use of an emery file - wagon wheels and buggy
wheels, their tires to be reset. Horses were brought in
for shoes to be fashioned and fitted, whether for travel
on the open road or work in the fields about the farm.

The high light of the afternoon came when Fred

28

called, "come pump the bellows for me". Thrilled and
excited, I watched closely as he adjusted the
smoldering coals. The slowly intensified heat fired the
metal to the proper degree for shaping by skillful use of
the big hammers against the anvil.

The glow of that open fire has not faded.
Hammers striking the anvil created rhythmic sounds
that have reverberated in memory - a strange, lingering
strain of music.

29

The First Flowers of Springtime

No sooner had Winter given place to the warm
sunshine and balmy air of Spring than, in sheltered
corners of the yard, "Violets" could be found. Barely
rising above the brown earth, their soft blue petals
seemed to reflect the azure hue of Springtime skies.
The dainty, fragile "Spring Beauties" appeared here and
there in grassy places. Soft gray "catkins" popped up on
branches of the "Pussy Willow".

In the woods near by, along what we knew as
"Blanke's Lake", wild flowers wakened to the warm
breezes of Spring. Ferns unfurled their delicate fronds
and the white and yellow "Wild Violets" nestled among
them. "Blue Bells" and "Dutchman's Breeches" -
gold-crested white "Blood Root" - "Jack-in-the-Pulpit"
and the fragrant "May Apple", with myriads of less
familiar natives of the woods, soon covered the hillside.
To be included in an Annual Excursion into the woods
at Springtime was a true delight.

Suddenly the whole garden came into bloom - the
bright yellow "Jonquils" and the sweet-scented white
"Narcissus" that grew under the grape vines. In rapid
succession came blossoms on the "White Lilac" close
by the front fence and the red bush "Honeysuckle" and
huge "Snowball" along the walk to the orchard. Soon
the orchard itself was a big bouquet - birds returned for

30

nesting and each morning came the music of their
mating songs.

Around Mrs. Eaton's red brick walk, "Blue Flags"
(dwarf iris), marched as if on parade -
"Johnny-jump-ups" bloomed in profusion in Grandma
Retzbach's garden - a bank of "Lilies of the Valley"
edged the walk around the Baumgardner house. Too
timid to beg entrance to the Pfister garden, I peered
through the fence for a glimpse of the brown and
yellow "Primroses" that few gardners could boast of.

Mrs. Doggett's flowers knew no season. All winter
long her south windows were a display of beauty -
colorful and gay. I was practically speechless when she
asked me to see a rare Lily that was in blossom and
her real live Orange Tree - in bloom and bearing tiny
ripe oranges.

That visit with dear Mrs. Doggett, among her
lovely flowers and that sure enough Orange Tree,
stirred my emotions far more than when, long, long
years later, I first visited the famous "Jewel Box" in
Forest Park.

31

It Is spring!

Spring - evidenced by a general upheaval in every
well organized household. Carpets hung on the line to
be dusted, beaten, swept or cleaned according to each
housekeeper's own special method. Feather beds,
pillows - wool blankets and winter quilts were well
aired, always on a sunny, balmy sort of a day. Every
window was washed and the screens brought down
from the attic. Curtains were washed and ironed -
special care given to the lace "parlor" curtains which
had to be carefully pinned on "stretchers" and placed
to dry.

In the midst of all this, a corner of Mother's mind
was given to plans for the traditional Fourth of July
dinner - fried chicken, fresh peas and new potatoes,
with home-made ice cream.

The "weatherman" would determine whether the
garden would produce the new potatoes and fresh peas,
and the fried chicken would depend on the whims and
fancies of one or another of the old hens scratching
around in the orchard.

Mother shopped carefully among the neighbors for
a "sure to hatch" setting of eggs to be turned over to
the care of the first hen who indicated she was ready to
take on the responsibility of raising a family.

32

I thought I was for sure heing initiated into the
business of raising chickens when Mother permitted me
to "mark" the eggs to be placed under the prospective
mother hen. This, I was told, was done to tell them
apart from a fresh egg some other hen might sneak in
and deposit in the nest. This identification was
accomplished with the stopper from the bluing bottle -
the design created was immaterial.

The calendar was marked to a date three weeks
hence. As this date approached the eggs were carefully
watched. This inspection was to determine if by chance
some frisky little rooster might be pecking at his shell -
demanding an exit. On their first appearance, these
wee chicks were a sorry looking sight, but they
improved quickly when put in a soft lined basket and
placed behind the warm kitchen stove. Within a few
days the entire flock was ready to take up life under
the shelter of their mother's wing and learn to peck
away at food provided for them in their protected
shelter.

Somehow, as I eat chicken today, I have a feeling
that it just isn't chicken at all. It is something
scientifically created with never a mother's wing to
nestle under - no mother to talk to it in her "cluck,
cluck" language - to scratch for it or lead it oflf to the
far reaches of the orchard where the biggest and
choicest worms and bugs were to be found.

We listen in vain for the crow of the old rooster
and the cackle of the hens but bow to change and the
path of progress as we order chicken for dinner.

33

Memorial - ''Decoration Day

Looking back sixty years or more to "Decoration
Day", May 30th, one of the very special Holidays of
the year.

August 12, 1862, Company G of the 117th Illinois
Regiment, was organized at Marine, 111., with
volunteers from Highland, Alhambra, St. Jacob and
Marine. When mustered out at Camp Butler,
Springfield, 111., on August 6, 1865, a goodly number
returned to the area in and around Marine. Many
identified themselves with "The Grand Army of The
Republic" - the "G.A.R." and despite the passing of
years, remained united in interests as well as memories.

The Community came to regard these men with a
feeling of respect and they gradually became known as
"The Old Soldiers". Through the years interest was
shown in paying homage to them on "Decoration Day"
with a Program Celebration in the Village Park.
Decorating the grave of each departed Comrade
became a time honored part of the Celebration.

When w^e were children. Mother assumed
considerable responsibility in seeing there was a
plentiful supply of fiowers. Early in the morning Earl
was dispatched to the Boosinger farm to bring in the

34

special flowers Mrs. Boosinger took pride in gathering
from her garden. My assignment, accomplished more
or less in fear and trembling, was to rap at Miss Louise
Keown's gate. Miss Keown was the Village recluse who
lived alone behind a high board fence and a firmly
locked gate. This, however, was the one occasion when
she welcomed me and shared freely the flowers from
the garden and blossoms from a vine that sheltered her
doorway. It seemed that tucked away in her strange
mind she held a peculiar fondness for our Mother.

The Program began in early afternoon. Escorted
by the Village Band, the Veterans were seated on the
platform. Flower girls, teen-age daughters of the
Veterans, were near by. School children in full
attendance were there to sing "America" - "The Star
Spangled Banner" and perhaps "Tenting on The Old
Camp Ground". A Village clergyman reverently opened
the Program and the Chairman of the day extended
welcome to every one. Perhaps one of the school
children would recite a popular war-time poem. "The
Blue and The Gray" was a favorite. Then came the
Address of the afternoon - usually by a Lawyer from
the County Seat-or some Political aspirant.

A parade from the Park to the lower edge of town
was led by the Band, followed by the Veterans and the
twelve Flower Girls, dressed in white and carrying flag
trimmed baskets of flowers. Arriving at the Cemetery,
the "Firing Squad" fired the Salute of Honor. The
Flower Girls, proudly carrying our baskets, moved

35

about the graves of departed Comrades, placing flowers
on each grave - a tribute to their memory.

The Memorial Day came when Father - the last
survivor of the Marine Civil War Veterans - took his
place on the platform with Veterans of World War -
One .... loyal always to the memory of his Comrades
of "Company G" and 'The Grand Army of The
Republic". Father passed away in December- 1932.

36

Fourth Of July

Echoes of the traditional "ANVIL SALUTE" broke
the early morning quiet. IT IS THE FOURTH OF
JULY. Flags, large and small, waved triumphantly
frorh practically every doorway or gatepost.

Many nickel and dime "allowance" found its way
to Mrs. Frey's Novelty Shop. The "pop-pop-pop" of
"fire crackers" and "torpedos" and the excited outbursts
of children up and down the streets kept anxious
mothers dashing in and out of doors to see whether
her John or Mary had really been a victim to some
misdirected "cracker".

Plans carefully laid through days of preparation
began to unfold. "The Turnverein", (Turners' Society),
staged a time honored Celebration for the Village and
all The Countryside. At the appointed hour the Village
Band led the Parade to Turners' Park.

Events of the day as a "Picnic" seem to have left
little impression on me, but I do most vividly recall
Father, with me by the hand, edging our way through
a group gathered around a deep pit where what I
remember Father said was "half a beef" was secured to
some contraption that permitted it to be turned over
and over above a bed of fire. Men with a sort of "mop"
arrangement on a long stick were swabbing this huge
piece of meat with something they mixed up in a

37

bucket. Whether, in the course of the day, we were
served any of this gigantic "barbecue" I don't seem to
remember.

No Fourth of July Celebration was complete
without "Fireworks" and this was no exception. The
seat of operation for what proved to be a most thrilling
and exciting event was arranged in an open field across
the Lake. There were "rockets" - huge "stars",

"fountains" and "flower pots" a great display of the

so-called "Pyrotechnic Art", but to us just "Fireworks"
that called forth a loud chorus of "ha's and ho's" from
children and grown-ups alike.

All this - and that big piece of meat cooking over
a fire burning deep down in a hole in the ground!

38

"The Maples

Earl spent summer vacations on the farm of Mr.
Jefifress, whose home, "The Maples", was one of the
show places of the countryside.

Brother often worked in the garden, a well
landscaped area just oflf the south lawn. He told us
wonderful stories of all that grew in that garden. I was
quite certain "Shaw's Garden", a place in the "City" I
had heard of, couldn't possibly surpass it in variety nor
beauty. There was a true enough ''Magnolia Tree" in
that garden! And a ''Green Rose" - the petals of the
blossoms were green!

One lovely summer afternoon Mr. Jeffress, aided
by his Housekeeper, Miss Keller, entertained the
"Ladies' Aid". Mother took me with her. The garden
was at its best. I recall Miss Keller guiding me along its
many paths, and sure enough - there was that "Green
Rose".

And the food! A long table was laden with all the
delicacies one in his standing would take pride in
serving guests. Such cakes! None of the "puny" one or
two layer variety we now think sufficient, but four and
five layer creations. There was a "Watermelon Gake" I
have never quite forgotten. It was a loaf cake - the
center tinted "watermelon pink" with a scattering of

39

raisins to indicate seeds and then a lesser portion of
white to represent the rind. What child would not
marvel at so great a departure from the ordinary?

We did not visit the Pond where fish were trained
to come to the water's edge for food at specific times
during the day. However, Edith and Ora, on another
occasion, were treated to the pleasure of a stroll along
the path to the Pond. The hospitality of their Host
faded somewhat during the following days while they
struggled to recover from the misery of having been
attacked by chiggers.

The well wooded areas of Mr. Jeffress' farm were
always open to the young people for picnics during the
summer and in the Fall the big hickory and walnut
trees yielded bushels of nuts for the gathering.

40

The Railroad Comes to Marine

No where can I find records of the year the
Railroad was built into our town. A bit of calculation
places the date early in the 1890's. George says he was
too young to remember and my own recollection of all
that went into this great event is a bit vague.
Somehow, I do remember all the excitement of new
families moving into town.

There were Surveyors and men to lay the tracks.
Bridge Builders constructed a span across "Silver
Creek" - a fete that created as much interest,
speculation and comment as we now hear when a new
Bridge is thrown across the Mississippi.

In short, our quiet Village fairly teemed with
excitement. Social life quickened and several of the
new "Railroad Men" found wives among the charming
young ladies of town.

The Western Union Office was moved from a desk
in the rear of Richardson's Drug Store to the newly
constructed Railroad Depot - now well equipped to
handle Telegrams for the entire Community as well as
take "Train Orders".

This I recall quite clearly - when service between
Marine and St. Louis was finally established, the

41

townspeople were Guests of the Railroad on a Sunday
Trip to St. Louis and return. Excitement ran high!
How many of our family were included in this trip I do
not recall, but I was one of them.

The coming of the Railroad was the beginning of a
completely new era for our Village and the entire
Community.

Eventfully - Marine - became a Station on the
Map of the Illinois Central Railroad - St. Louis to
Chicago Division.

42

The Train Whistle

Sound of the whistle on the "Vandalia Train"
seems to echo and re-echo through the country side as
it moved through St. Jacob into the distance beyond.
No words seem to truly express thoughts stirred by that
memory. Sometimes it was a strange sort of sound;
Sometimes there seemed to be something gay about it,
as if it would urge those who listened to travel along to
"Far away places with strange sounding names".

Thumbing through my Scrap-book, I chanced
upon words of another who in memory still hears that
sound. His artistry of words blends the sound of the
train whistle into a symphony of voices of yesteryears -
a symphony that will never be complete - each year
adding other strains as the music of our Nation goes
on

(Clipped from Editorial Page of Globe Democrat)

"Train Whistle" - Remember the far-reaching,
lonesome sound of the whistle in the days when
steam engines came puffing and clattering into the
small villages?

Train whistles have sounded far across the level
prairies; they have sent their message along fertile
river valleys; their lonesome, high pitched
whoo-whoo-who-who has echoed among hills and

43

mountains. There was something famihar and yet
strangely mysterious about the long-drawn call in
the darkness of night as the train rushed along like
a jeweled snake.

Men and boys gathered in small gray depots across
the nation to wait for a train to come in with the
milk cans and the egg crates and the thin sound of
the whistle was pleasant to hear.
A train whistle is primarily a practical thing. It
blows for the country-side crossings and to herald
the train's arrival at a depot. But before the era of
the Diesel with its brassy blast, a train whistle was
more than a utilitarian warning. It spoke of
conquest of frontiers; it told of mountain passes
and vast plains compassed by man. Time marches
on; new techniques serve man - but there are those
who remember the days when the train whistle
sounding across the hills was a part of American
life."

Wonder if he who wrote these words ever sat with
passengers around the Depot's "potbellied" stove on a
cold winter's morning, waiting for the "Fast" train for
the City. If the Station Agent was not on hand, did he
"flag" down the train with a lighted newspaper when
the light of the Engine came into sight. Wonder if he
was ever one of a group gathered at the Station on a
Sunday evening to visit a while with friends returning
to the City after a weekend with home-folks. Did he
ever get oE the 10:30 PM "Special" and walk alone
across town only here and there a faint light shining
through a shaded window.

44

We needed no lateh-key when we reached home -
the folks were still up - waiting eagerly for news of all
that happened since our last visit home.

45

The End of The School Year

For the lower grades the closing days of May were
filled with excitement. Hours were spent in preparing
for the "Annual School Entertainment", as each room
planned a Program to be given in the Turner Hall.

This Program provided an opportunity to present
pupils especially talented in Music - Expression -
Dramatics and the like. The less talented provided the
always important background.

The great night finally arrived. Excitement ran
high - each Teacher was anxious that her Pupils'
performance would be a credit to each of them and to
her effort in training them.

The Hall was filled with proud parents and
admiring friends. The occasion was always one of
Community interest and appreciation.

46

The School Picnic

Then came the last event of the year - the School
Picnic. A parade, lead by the Village Band, marched
down Main Street. Each room closely followed a leader
carrying a flower trimmed banner which bore the
Room number and in bold lettering some well learned
motto or maxim. The Picnic grounds was Turner's
Park, about a mile from town.

The usual picnic games were arranged and
properly supervised and there were swings hung from
the high trees - lucky was the girl with either a father
or a big brother to push her swing higher and higher
while she "squealed" louder and louder. A big thrill was
a ride on the boat that was rowed back and forth
across the small lake at the foot of the hill.

A high light of the day was the Picnic Dinner
spread on long tables under the deep shade - food of
every description and in an unbelie\able abundance.

Then there was the Band Stand which served also
as the Refreshment Stand. A dime was the usual
amount allotted us for some special treat. I still see the
assortment of candy displayed and remember what a
problem it was to decide just how best to in\est my
dime.

47

As the day wore on, patience and endurance of
both Teachers and mothers was at low ebb - the
exuberant spirit of the children faded. The School
Picnic came to an end and with it the end of the
School Year.

48

A Sunday Afternoon Drive

We had no two-seated "Surrey with Fringe on
Top". When George and I were children. Father
arranged an extra seat in the buggy for us - the
dash-board served as a back for our improvised seat
and we sat facing Mother and Father as wc rode along.

A particular drive I recall took us north of town.
Mother called our attention to the farm on which she
grew up. Her family and several of their kin and
near-kin had "migrated" from points in Western Ohio
to the vicinity of Marine, Illinois, in 1854, having come
via the Ohio River from Cincinnati to Cairo, 111. and
up the Mississippi River from Cairo to St. Louis.

Much of the area surrounding their farm had not
yet been put into cultivation and she told us how as a
young girl she rode "bare-back" across miles of verdant
prairies.

Near by her home was the Keown property on
which during the late 1850's or early 1860's a brick
home was built - quite imposing in both size and st>le
of architecture. While there were many large,
substantially built brick and frame houses built early in
the settlement of the area, most of them were
constructed along much less aesthetic lines.

49

Mother frequently told us of when her father
worked as a mason in the construction of this home. A
story that came down through the years told of how
Laura, one of the small children, was seriously injured
when a piece of slate fell from the roof, striking the
child on her head. The part of the story that always
amazed me as a child was that "the Doctors put a
silver plate in her head". I kept wondering how she
could live carrying a silver plate around in her head -
but she did - and lived to be a beautiful young lady.
This story flashes through my mind when walking
through the cemetery I chance to notice the stone
marked, "Laura Keown Moore".

Through the years, the Keown place became sort
of a rendezvous for friends of their young people. I
recall how much brother Ed enjoyed riding horseback
with Daisy and Page across their open fields.

Mrs. Keown had a marked "patrician" air about
her. As I think of her seated in her accustomed place
at Church, dressed in a black silk dress and wearing a
black velvet bonnet, I think of nothing more descriptive
of her appearance than that she looked like pictures of
an "English Dowager".

When I was about twelve or thirteen years old,
Annie and Nellie Evans, grandchildren of the family,
invited their schoolmates to a party one lovely summer
afternoon - Aunt Daisy, home for a visit, was their
Hostess. All starched and be-ribboned, dressed in our

50

very best, we were more or less breathless with
excitement.

All of the original family had long since passed
away or had sought business adventures elsewhere -
with the exception of one son, a bachelor. Much of
the splendor of the original furnishings and general
decor had faded somewhat, but that mattered not. To
me, it was still that more or less "Fairyland Manor"
and the home of Mother's old friend, Mrs. Keown.

As the party progressed, I remember some of the
guests engaged themselves in discussing whose
petticoats were starched the "stifiest". Any well dressed
young lady wore no less than three and often another
under their summer frocks.

I seemed to be more interested in that big front
door that opened into a spacious Reception Hall, out
of which rose a wide, winding stairway to the second
floor. I wondered if the children had been allowed to
slide down that nice wide bannister rail.

To one side of the hall opened "Double Parlors",
separated by folding doors, each room equipped with a
huge fireplace. On the rear wall of the "Back Parlor"
hung a mirror, reaching from floor to ceiling - the likes
of which I, of course, had never seen. Refreshments
were served in the Dining Room, equally spacious as
the other rooms. And, we were told, the Ball Room
was on the third floor.

51

After many, many years, within perhaps the past
decade or two, oil wells have been drilled on the
property and it has finally come into the possession of
a gentleman and his wife who have spent time, energy
and much expense in an effort to restore the house
without destroying any of the original structural lines.

So the house Grandfather Weist helped to build so
long, long ago, still stands, seemingly as a memorial to
one of the early settlers of Marine Township and
whose family participated in the educational and
cultural activities of the Village.

We continue our Sunday afternoon ride - on past
"The Maples", Mr. Jeffress' home, and the Seibert
School where the Marine Christian Church was
organized on April 7, 1860 - then on up to the cross
roads passed the Harrington farm, where once the
name Harrington stood for fast horses and racing.
Close by had been the home of the Eaves Family,
another of the early settlers. As I view TV "Westerns",
I recall stories Mother told us of how the Eaves boys
and their neighbors, the five Boyer brothers delighted
in racing into town on horseback, firing their guns in
all directions. Am sure these escapades predated the
Civil War as I also recall her telling of the death of one
or more of the Boyer boys on the Southern
Battlefields.

On down the road we came to the "Conn School
House", where Mother went to School. Along the road

52

toward town was the Stanton farm where Father lived
for a time on returning from service in the "Army of
the North".

As we rode along, Mother or Father pointed out
farms occupied during those early days h\' the Enos
family - the Buckles - the McCains - the Ellisons - the
Judds - the Sherwoods - the Barrs - the Crandalls - the
Briggs - the Boosingers and the Ryders. Close by the
edge of town was the Pence farm. These names and
many others became sort of a background of our
childhood. Many of these friends and neighbors were
as close to Mother's heart as her own family. Second
and third generations of these families became our
friends.

The "Mundis" home, located on "The Old
National Trail" had been a "Wayside Inn" in those very
early days. The National Trail was the route traveled
by many leaving the distant EAST for the new lands of
the great WEST.

During the summer of 1910, I had the exciting
experience of riding along a portion of the Old Trail
that passed by the doorway of our Mother's Birthplace
- picked wild berries in a nearby woods and helped
prepare dinner for the men who were threshing wheat
grown on Grandfather Weist's farm. Mother's brother
and his son were still operating the farm at that time.

53

The Old School House

We walk along Main Street - none of the many
changes quicken our feeling of regret as does the sight
of the Old School House.

Although the size of the building nor its
equipment, in any sense, qualified it as a modern
School Building, there is deep regret that it has not
been put to some worth while use rather than allowed
to fall into complete disuse and decay.

Memories centered about this School House are
too many to put into words - too much a part of the
various facets of our growth from childhood to the day
we gathered together all our books - our pencils and
our pens - closed our desk and, for the last time, took
our coat from the hook in the cloak room.

The belfry no longer houses the bell that rang out
the beginning of each school day and called us back to
class from recess and the dinner hour.

The tone of this bell may not have ranked high
among the many cast in that far away day, but we
would like to feel that somewhere it still calls children
to classes or sounds out the hour for Morning Prayers
or Evening Vespers.

54

The Turner Hall

The here and now is lost in a maze of nostalgia as
we pass the corner where once stood the "Turner
Hall".

The "Turners' Society" gave to the Village this
Building, well equipped as a Gymnasium, with Bowling
Alleys - a Stage with Foot Lights and varied sets of
painted Scenery - a Dance Floor and a Kitchen with a
Dining Area.

This "Hall" provided a background for all forms of
entertainment - was, so to speak, the center of the
Social life of the Village and, to a degree, its Cultural
life as well.

This was a time when practically all entertainment
was provided by home talent. There was, for that day
and time, a considerable talent in the Community. The
population had gradually become predominately
German and among the German people there has
always been a fondness for music as well as
considerable talent. I distinctly recall a large group of
German men, known as the "Maennerchor" who gave
numerous well received programs entirely in German.

I recall, while still quite young, the excitement
among the "Belles" and the "Beaus" when some special
"Ball" was being planned. "Little pitchers have big ears"

55

and I remember some of the conversations between
mothers regarding the "gowns" their daughters would
wear. Miss Barbara, the Village Dressmaker, was kept
quite busy making many of their "creations". I can still
see one Mrs. Schrieber had made for her daughter,
Tillie Fry. A trip to St. Louis for special shopping and
a great deal of planning went into this particular dress

- a pale green nun's veiling, (very light wool), "artfully"
designed and trimmed in pink velvet forget-me-nots
oh me!

Of course, I was too young to attend any of these
affairs, but was keenly interested in all the news and
"gossip" brought home by the older brothers and sisters

- and the songs they sang. I all but wept over "the
hearts that were broken" - "After the Ball is Over" and
that poor girl that was a "rich man's darling" but "Only
a Bird in a Gilded Cage". They were as real to me as

if they had lived down the street.

Time moved along and in our early teens we were
a part of the Audience at each Program given by "The
Marine Literary Society". To be selected to "Recite" at
one of these Programs marked one with distinction.
Earl's favorite number was "Asleep at the Switch"
which he gave with all the expression required to
properly narrate this great tragedy. Ora's favorite was
"Kate Shelly". Just what Kate did to bring honor to her
name I fail to recall but am certain it was something
most heroic. However, Ora's most frequent
appearances were with one or more of the several

56

singing groups. Henry and Ora, with Mr. & Mrs.
Bishop, (School Principal), were a Quartette frequently
on Program. Edith's knowledge was shown in "Essays",
usually with some Historical interest.

There were, of course. Debating Teams -
Affirmative and Negative speakers chosen from among
the Society's members. Discussions of various subjects
presented quite "heated" arguments and the Judges
were put to the test of showing "Fair" judgment in
deciding the winning side.

Again time moved on and after leaving School, for
a period of perhaps ten years, a Group known as the
Marine Dramatic Club, under the management of
brother Earl, "produced" two home talent "dramas" a
year.

Is it at all strange that the feeling of nostalgia
should enshroud us as we find not one stick or stone of
what was once the center of entertainment and much
pleasure to all who lived in this small town.

57