Number 200

This is my 200th official piece. I have written others and posted a few of them, too, but this is the 200th week in a row that I have posted my writing. I set out the first year to write about the first twelve years of my life. I don’t remember much before 1950 so it is really the decade between 1950 and 1960. That was the first fifty-two stories. Then I wrote one each week for a year about the 60s. That was followed by fifty-two about the 70s and now this one is the forty-forth of the 80s.

When I get these done I’ll move on to the 90s. After that I may take a break for while. More on that later. The more recent they are more sensitive I need to be. When I write about experiences in education I can expect to touch on some pretty sensitive issues.

The more recent the more I remember so the more I can write about. I kept a lot of notes as a principal as well as a journal. There is a wealth of stuff to write about!

My original intent was to tell stories about my youth that might be of interest to our children and grandchildren and beyond. Now retelling the stories of my life are as much for me as for anyone. Some are interesting and others are dreadfully boring but need to be told. Some are not really stories but musings from my journal.

I have discovered that it is impossible to cover a decade of your life in fifty-two installments. I left out many things and did not elaborate on others. I think when I get through the 90s, which will be about a year and a half from now, that I will go back and revisit the decade and tell some of the things I left out.

My intent initially was not only to tell the stories but also to practice being a writer. I am really convinced that to be a successful writer you have to do a lot of writing to practice the skills. I don’t know if I have improved or not? Some of my stories have been published in the Mt. Pleasant paper. I haven’t sought to publish them beyond that.

One of the things I had hoped for was more response from readers. I have gotten very little of that. I don’t know if the writing is so bad that people don’t know what to say or nobody is reading it.

I know some of my recollections are not accurate and I have expected people to correct me on a few points but that hasn’t happened. I can see why journalists like even negative response about their writing because they at least know someone read it even if they didn’t agree with them.

Oh well! Response isn’t everything. I’ll keep writing and maybe seek a wider audience at some point. For now the process has been fascinating for me.

Storytelling

I think I have always been a storyteller. For that matter I think everyone is a storyteller and many just don’t realize it. Some are more truthful than others. Some tell for the sake of the story and others endeavor to tell the truth. The former are entertainers and the latter are historians.

My Mom laughed about my storytelling abilities when I was younger. I could mix the truth with fiction with great skill. That is not to say that I lied all of the time because I didn’t. I was basically an honest kid but could twist the truth from time to time. Often I didn’t expect people to take me seriously.

As a teacher, sometimes people did take me seriously when I never expected that they would. The school district had purchased a small but powerful telescope for us in the classroom. In fourth grade we had a science unit on the earth, moon and the planets. I used the telescope a few times with good success.

I don’t remember exactly what the particular phenomenon was but do recall that the moon was supposed to be brighter or closer than usual for some reason. I decided to invite students and families to an evening event at Manning where we would look at the moon with and without the telescope.

I prepared a note to go home with the kids and then tried to pitch the event with the students. There were lots of questions about what the moon would look like and what details we might see. Someone asked if we would be able to see the flag the astronauts planted there several years earlier. In my zeal I said, “Sure! Not only that but we will be able to see the footprints they left on the moon.”

That evening during supper at our house I got a call from Jake Iles, the father of one of my students. He was trying to unravel the tale his son had come home from school and told him. “What’s this about the moon tonight” he said. I explained that families were invited to come to the school and take a look at the moon that evening. “I understand that part but what’s this about seeing the astronauts footprints.” He was dead serious!

I burst out laughing! Then I had to explain that I had in fact said that but never expected the kids to believe me much less go home and tell their parents. I think Jake was only slightly amused. He knew it couldn’t be possible but his son was adamant that was what I had said. He did show up that evening with his son and took a look at the moon through the telescope. By then he was joking about it himself.

I learned to be a little more cautious about what I said realizing that people will believe just about anything under the right circumstances, even when the tale is so far fetched that you think no one could possibly believe it. My story “Grandpa’s Catfish” is a good example. I will tell it in a future piece.

Professionals

Teachers have demanded to be treated as professionals over the years. For the most part I have supported and actually fought for that kind of recognition. I have hated axioms like: “Those who can do. Those who can’t teach.” I think they are unfair and misrepresent the truth. I have heard things like “if education was run like a business things would be a lot different.” Given businesses track record over the years, especially recently, I don’t think we want education to emulate it.

There are, of course, plenty of areas where we can improve. One that I wrote about at length in one of the 80s journals was my frustration with teachers who didn’t want to take any professional development classes or graduate courses. They complained loudly about continuing education and claimed that it was a waste of time. If they did take a class they wanted it to be easy, quick and cheap. They don’t want to do any work. I could hardly believe it when I heard things like that from teachers. I always wondered what they would say if their students acted like that. I wondered what sort of educators could fell that way about education.

I taught a whole language class at the elementary school in Crawfordsville. I remember at the first session the room being full of teachers. There were to male teachers in the group from Morning Sun or Wapello. I can’t remember which?

My practice was to outline the course and my expectations at the first session. I thought folks should know what to expect. I did that this time. It included that each person would have a project; there would be lots of group work and reading.

During the break the two guys came up and said they were dropping the course. They were disgusted that they would actually have to do something during the class. They told me they expected me to lecture and all they had to do was sit there and listen. One of them even said, “I’ve paid the money! Teach me! I don’t want to do anything. Just tell me what I need to know.”

That kind of attitude is a crime against education and goes against all we know about learning. I felt it was unethical, unprofessional and deceptive since they were going to get paid more after completing the class. I can only imagine what kind of teachers these guys were. Others in the class told me the guys were lazy and had bad reputations as teachers. I knew the type from personal experience.

The boldness of the two guys startled me. They didn’t take the class and I was not a bit sorry to see them walk out. Educators, in order to be professionals, need to eagerly, aggressively pursue continuing education. If teachers were paid better they might take more classes, but they should be making enough that they don’t take a course just for the money. Unfortunately, nothing much has changed since I wrote about this twenty years ago.

More from the Journal

Simple words
Spark thoughts
That strike the mind
With a clamor,
And churn the heart.

Sometimes I kept more than one journal. One was a study journal for my Ph.D. comprehensive exams. Another was a journal about my teaching. Another one was about my life in general and there was one for the “Journaling Your Faith” class I was facilitating at church. Crazy! Things kept spilling into the wrong journals. Sometimes I wrote about family things in the teaching journal and teaching things in the family journal. It was impossible to keep things separate and a poem could pop up anywhere.

Catapulted back to my youth
What sight or scent or sound

Triggered the flight
I do not know.

Was it the taste of springtime in the air
Or the sight of new life growing all around?

Or was it muffled music
Carried on the wind?

I can’t be sure by what it was prompted.

But for a moment
Thought transcended time.

I wanted to see a face, talk to a friend
But I was back before I realized I was gone.

My recommendation would be to keep one journal and use it for everything. It may be a little harder to find things but it is much easier not to have to worry about which journal you are writing.

Angie graduated from Mt. Pleasant High School in the spring of 1986. We had a family gathering on our Patio to celebrate the event. It was fun and we were very proud of Angie. She was off to Iowa Wesleyan that fall.

I took my Ph. D. comprehensive exams that summer. There were in three exams. One was a general exam of education. The second was in reading because that was my area of emphasis and the last one was in school administration because we have to have one in a cognate area. I had three hours to answer the questions in each area so the entire exam was spread over two days. You study for these things by reading everything you possibly can for about two years and hope they ask you questions you know something about.

I was just amazed that I had made it this far. I wasn’t sure I was going to get through high school and now I was knocking on the door for a Ph. D. Many who do make it this far, through their comps, never finished the dissertation. I was bound and determined that wasn’t going to happen to me.

When I went to defend my answers the committee welcomed me into the room and then sent me out for their deliberations. In a few minutes they asked me back into the room. I thought that was a bad sign but they surprised me by saying, “We have no questions. Let’s talk about what you might do for your dissertation.” I was thrilled!

In May of 1986 I wrote: “I think journaling had a profound affect on my growth. Through journaling I’ve made connections I would have never made and discoveries have evolved that may not have happened otherwise. Journaling isn’t for everybody, but it sure is for me. Besides the growth and discovery gained from the journaling they are priceless records of life experiences.”

Mt. Pleasant SIWP

With some support from Jim Davis I organized and directed a Southeast Iowa Writing Project institute in Mt. Pleasant. It was held in the cafeteria of the high school. I had dreams of it being packed with local teachers. The truth is I had to beg people to take it even though they got four hours of graduate credit and a stipend to participate.

I was disappointed and confused about the reluctance of teachers to participate. Perhaps I had come out too strong or something. Teachers who I thought would embrace the idea were not even interested. I am afraid some just didn’t want to admit that it might be good for them and their students. Teachers are an interesting group that are sometimes turned off if innovation comes from a colleague, but will readily accept it if they perceive it is from the outside. I was the morning instructor in this institute and many didn’t feel I had anything to offer them that they didn’t already know.

Karen Pelz was the afternoon instructor for the class. She had 20 years of experience at the university level. We met at a training session in the spring. She was a kind and gentle person and we got along well. Her job was to respond to the participant writing. My job was to get the participants to look at research and professional opinion and their own practice.

Twenty-one teachers signed up to participate in the institute. Thirteen of them were from the Mt. Pleasant district or a local pre-school. The rest were from Burlington, Winfield Mt. Union, WACO, Fairfield, Wapello, Iowa Wesleyan College and Central Lee.

Use of facilities, computers, and copy machines had to be arranged. I note in my journal that the secondary administrators were uncooperative. The high school English teachers were the same way. None of them participated. I thought they would have embraced it and realized that their students would benefit. Part of it, I think, was that they just didn’t think they could learn anything from an elementary teacher.

Just a few days before the institute we were informed that computer lab would be off limits for us even though the room sat empty during the entire three-week institute. The high school principal and the computer teacher just decided they didn’t want us to use it. Maybe they thought if they made it difficult for us we would go away. They moved the class from the school library to the school cafeteria. One was a comfortable learning environment amd the other was very uncomfortable. To this day I am not sure who was behind the whole thing but do know there were jokes about it among the administrators.

It had something to do with jealousy and not wanting others to be successful or receive any kind of recognition. I have since heard it described as the “tall poppy syndrome” in Australia. In a poppy field if one poppy grows a lot taller than all the others it is chopped off so the field looks uniform. In education if one of the teachers excels above the others some try to “cut them off” so the others don’t look bad. A strange practice for educators!

Journal Entry

The teaching journal I kept for the SWIP III is fascinating reading for me. I am continually amazed as I read the entries. Each one is a story. Some were beginnings and some were endings. The following is a part of a journal entry from January 15, 1985.

In language, of course, we have been doing a lot of writing and nothing else. I have done some grammar, punctuation, and capitalization instruction a long with the writing but not much. There isn’t a single person in my room (including the teacher) who can’t communicate better now than at the beginning of the school year. We have done some additional work together on sentence parts. This was done as a whole class activity. (I don’t know if that is better or worse.)

In spelling we have used writing in an attempt to help the student take ownership of their work by using the word in a self composed sentence. My students do better on the final spelling test when they have used the word in a sentence.

In science and social studies we have used writing in note taking summarizing, writing about units or chapters before we read them, and writing questions prior to reading.

Keeping the log (this journal) has helped make me aware of what my students are doing during various times of the day. It has helped me in that I have worried that maybe the students were off task. I have discoved that they usually are on task. I have discovered that they are doing many different but acceptable activities. I have discovered the students are developing study and time management skills as the year progresses. I have discovered that checking on the students from time to time puts the student in the position of thinking about what he is doing and he should be doing.

Using the conference form and taking notes on the conferences I have with the students I have learned a great deal about the students and seem to be right on top of what they are doing in writing. I like that. It is also very useful to refer as the writing and the school year progresses.

I am not sure where all of this journal writing is taking me. I have used my journal to plan. I have used it to describe what I have done. And, I have used my journal to celebrate my victories and vent my frustrations. I haven’t written in my journal enough and I have written in it too much. As I talk to myself I sort out my confusion but sometimes raise new questions. Sometimes solutions jump out of my journal, but as often, new problems jump in.

That’s a taste of what is in that journal. I am taken back to the time it was written as I read it and realize what a time of discovery it was for me. All of us come to teaching from different places. Some grow and change over time and some stay pretty much the same. I remember someone describing the latter as teachers who have twenty years of the one experience. I know some of those people.

SIWP III

During the 1984-1985 school year I took the Level III Southeast Iowa Writing Project. The course lasted the entire year and we met every two weeks except over the holidays. We met at the AEA office in Coralville. Anne Weir and Sandy Moore and I took the class together. It was good to have someone to ride with and take turns driving.

The course was designed around our journaling. We actually kept two journals. We would journal in one for two weeks and then turn it in and journal in the other for two weeks. We would exchange journals with Jim Davis, the instructor at each class session. He always responded to the comments we made in the journal and the first thing we wanted to do when we got them back was read the comments. They were always positive and supportive.

I wrote about my teaching almost everyday day that year. It was the most intense learning experience I have ever had. I think I grew tremendously as a teacher that year. It seemed as though one idea after another kept exploding inside my head. I wrote about what I planned to do in my classroom and then afterwards wrote about how it went and what I would do different next time. It was a period of intense reflective practice. I am convinced to this day that reflective practice is unparalleled in value to growing as a teacher.

Very early that year I wrote about having my students write to the local city council thanking them for the recent swimming pool renovations. I gave the kids the basic format for the letter and asked them to tell the council what they liked best about the pool. The pieces were so well received that they were read aloud at the council meeting and the newspaper did a story about them. The students were energized by the experience.

Another project we started that fall was having the students write letters to the high school football team. I delivered the letters to the local radio station. At half time during the games they picked two or three letters to read. The students were thrilled. I learned that writers need an audience and if that audience responds like the city council or the radio station did the writer feels empowered and anxious to write again.

It’s all about audience and reason to write. The job of the teacher is to help the student find both. With an audience and a reason the motivation is within the writer. It may sound simple but it is a profound truth for teachers. Most of them do it backwards. Rather than giving the student an audience and helping them find a reason they try to motivate them with the threat of a bad grade. It just doesn’t work for most kids and never has.

My reason for writing my journal was to help me better understand where I was going in my classroom, what I was really trying to do and why I was trying to do it. Jim Davis created a non-threatening environment and I wanted that for my students.

Expectations and Opportunities

With additional education comes higher expectations and opportunities. Spending a lot of money and time in classes should have its rewards. I never really had a sense of where it would take me but was optimistic about the opportunities.

Initially, there were more opportunities to do in-service for other teachers. Unfortunately, those things didn’t pay well. Additional education did move me along on the district salary schedule.

I did some writing in-services in the district. They weren’t as well received as I had hoped. Sometimes your colleagues are reluctant to give you credit for knowing something maybe they didn’t. Some were just jealous. Most were complimentary but there were a few who were downright nasty.

In-services I did outside the district were usually much better received. It was satisfying to get positive feedback about my efforts from other people in the profession.

I went to talk about the writing/reading connections at a meeting of the Tri-Area Reading Council. The meeting was held at the Winfield Mt. Union High School. I was on the agenda with another person. I knew the other person from graduate school and I knew he had a tremendous jealousy streak.

He was to give a brief overview of some things he was doing with his students and then I was to be the featured speaker. For some reason he did not want me to talk. He was prone to exaggeration and drew his time out to well over an hour. Most of the people in the meeting realized what he was doing was deliberate.

When he finally finished people were ready to go home. I gave a brief overview of what I had planned to say. I got several apologies from members of the group. Several joked with me about it for several years after that. The group did invite to speak to them a few years later. I did. It was a dinner held in Crawfordville and the offender was not invited.

In the fall of 1984 Great River Area Education Agency had an opening for a Language Arts consultant. I wanted to continue teaching 4th grade but they called me repeatedly and asked me to apply. I offered to do some contract consultant work for them but they decided they needed a full time person. I finally did apply and was interviewed. Not long after that they offered me the job.

It would have been a great opportunity except for some problems. Wanting me to move to Burlington was one of them. We liked Mt. Pleasant and didn’t like the idea of moving the girls. Some of the things they were doing I didn’t agree with and couldn’t see myself compromising. And lastly, and probably most importantly, they could only pay me what amounted to about a thousand dollars less than I was making in Mt. Pleasant and their benefits weren’t as good.

I was honored to be offered the job and sometimes, have wondered what would have transpired had I taken that job. As things turned out I am confident I made the right decision.

SIWP II

I took the second level of the Southeast Iowa Writing Project (SIWP) during the summer of 1984. It was in EPB on campus at The University of Iowa. The two-week course was taught by Cleo Martin and Jim Davis. As with Level I of the project it was a great learning experience for me.

Taking the course in the academic environment of the university was stimulating. It was additionally stimulating to be right across the hall from the famed Iowa Writers’ Workshop that had produced award-winning writers from across the globe.

Jim Davis had taught in the SIWP Level I that I took and was extremely knowledgeable about learning and the teaching of writing. He led the half of the class that focused on research and best practice. We had stimulating discussions and challenged each other on a daily basis.

Cleo led the afternoon sessions. She was an extraordinary person. Eventually she served on my dissertation committee. I’ll tell that story later. At the time she was head of the Rhetoric Department at the University. Generally, most people are a little intimidated by English teachers and even more intimidated by university level professors who are also department chairs.

That wasn’t the case with Cleo. She was one of the most gentle, kind people I have ever known. She was widely popular with project participants for years. She shared her gentleness and wisdom with hundreds of Iowa teachers and, I am sure, had a major roll in shaping language arts education in the state. Even more, she had a personal impact on many teachers and inspired them to seek additional education and improve their teaching skills.

If I took anything from participation in the institutes of the project it was a sense of calmness and gentleness in dealing with the writing of others. The structure of the project was to spend the mornings talking about what we were doing in our classrooms and research and professional opinion about teaching in general and writing in particular.

That process was affirming in many ways and disconcerting in others. Affirming because many of the things I was doing with kids were supported by research and disconcerting in the sense that some things weren’t. It’s dissonance that causes one to seek out better ways to teach. Without it there is no motivation to change.

In the afternoon we were in the position we put our students in all the times. We were to write and share our writing with the group. That can be an intimidating experience for even the most accomplished writer in the group. Sharing your writing with colleagues makes you feel very vulnerable.

That is where Cleo’s skill came into play. She provided written response in green ink to all papers. Teachers who had used a red pen to carve up student papers didn’t miss the symbolism of the color. Her comments were always positive and encouraging. It set the tone for the afternoon sharing. We all tried to take that approach back to our classrooms.

Winter '83-'84

The winter of 1983-84 was a particularly hard one. I wrote in my journal in December that we had gone several days with the temperature never getting above minus 7 or 8 below zero. During the nights it was 20-30 below zero. We thought it was never going to warm up. I remember deer hunting in that weather. We must have been crazy to be out in that!

It was so cold that Christmas that our family had a hard time getting together for the holidays. Loretta’s family traveled all the way from Kansas later that week. We met with my sisters and their families at my parent’s house. We did make it to Columbus Junction to gather with Becky’s side of the family on Christmas day. I wrote about the huge drifts along the side of the road.

The Area Education Agency was starting an annual young writers’ conference and asked me to help develop it. It was to be patterned after the model of the one in AEA #10. I had presented at it a few times so I guess they thought I would know something about it. Kids from all over the area got to come to the conference for a half-day, share their writing, go to a couple sessions led by presenters. Becky designed the cover for the first conference booklet and button and they were used for several years after that.

That January I started taking a course at Iowa called Consultation, Theory and Practice. Stu Ehly, Dick Duston, and XXX taught the course. It was a fascinating demonstration of team teaching. I didn’t really belong in the class but needed something to continue work towards administrative certification. The students in the class were psychology graduate students, pre-med students or law students. I definitely felt out of place. The course met on Tuesday nights in Iowa City and two full Saturdays. I wasn’t too excited about giving up so much of a couple weekends for it.

I must have had the “deer in the headlights” look because another person in the class kind of took me under her wing until I settled in. The instructors were friendly and supportive and that made the class doable for me.

I was also teaching an adult night writing class that semester. I had taught it a few times before. It was offered through the community college and held at Mt. Pleasant High School. They needed a dozen people in the class the class to offer it. The focus was on journaling and writing stories and poetry. I enjoyed the classes but had to spend a lot of time responding to the student writing. The class ended up being canceled because only two people showed up. I was disappointed because we needed the money, but I was already very busy so I was a little relieved to not have to worry about it.

That Valentines Day I sent Becky a singing valentine. I think she was working at the college at the time. She later scolded me for doing it but I thought it was a romantic thing to do. I think she was embarrassed.

Busy!

When I read my journals from the 80s I can’t get over how busy we were. The same is true when I read my Dads journals. In November of 1983 my Dad turned 75. He didn’t slow down much. It seems like he was always going somewhere, visiting someone, or working on some kind of project. My mother was the same way. They were very active people in those days.

In my Dad’s entries in his journal of 1983 he writes about Mom going off on a Questers day trip while Dad made copies of some Egli family history for other people and visited with old friends on one of his regular walks downtown.

The next day, Dad writes about winterizing his roses, raking leaves and then walking over to our house. While he was there picking up a book he helped Heather with a science project (she was 10 at the time), and then going back home and cleaning up his basement. His final note for that day says he climbed on the roof and checked the coating and then worked on an eve spout on the west side of the house.

At about the same time I am writing about serving on the pastor search committee. We had meeting with another candidate at Ruth Looker’s house. It ends up being the person we select but, of course, I did not know that at that time. I had a student teacher so that gave me some time to write about some things I wanted to do in my classroom and the AEA Young Writers’ Conference. Like Dad, I write about winterizing our house and putting on storm windows. I write about working on the course syllabus for a class I will be teaching in the spring and about a class I am taking in Iowa City.

The class is in school administration and I find it very boring. I had been taking classes I was really interested in and wasn’t used to taking required classes taught by poor instructors. No wonder so many people made fun of the school administration courses. The courses were easy and the teachers were bad. Most of them had “good ol’ boy” personalities.

My students wrote a letter to MARS candy company requesting they produce blue M&Ms. We got a letter back saying it wasn’t possible. We decided to start a petition for blue M&Ms. I sent letters out to schools all over the country encouraging them to join us in the effort. Schools wrote back saying they had sent in copies of the petition with lots of signatures. Mark Twain Elementary of Iowa City said they sent in 40 signatures. Central School of Forest City said they sent in 83 names and wrote that they were very excited about the project.

I still have copies of the petition and some notes about the project. I guess we were ahead of our time on this one. Today there are blue M&Ms and other new colors, too. Maybe we were part of making that happen?

Back to My Journals

My 1982-83 journal is just packed with ideas and thoughts about all sorts of things. As I go back and read it now I am amazed at its contents. It was a big year for me!

In July of 1983 I earned a Masters Degree in Elementary Education with an emphasis in reading. I received it on July 29th. It was the fulfillment of a dream and I didn’t really ever think it would actually happen. I took the comps that summer and finished up the last few classes. I agonized over the comps particularly but was elated when I received notification on July 11, that I had passed.

In the spring of that year someone suggested that I should enter the Ph.D. program at Iowa. They said that it was the time to do it because you only had to fill out a change of objective form and get department approval. I didn’t think I would ever get a Ph.D. but thought it would be cool to say I was in a program.

This was also the year I moved from Harlan to Manning Elementary. Manning was leased from the Catholic Church and housed only 4th grade classes. We first heard about the move at a school board meeting early in March. I knew at the time it would probably mean a move for me and I was Ok with it, although a little mystified at what the reasons for the change were.

As the move to Manning rolled out there was a lot of controversy. Some of the people being moved to that building were bitter enemies. Even before any of us got to Manning there were rumors about disagreements. As it turns out one of the agitators went to the junior high so that may relieve some of the problems.

Early that summer I was also pushing hard to be able to use a word processor full time in my classroom. At least one other teacher had one and I thought it would be of great value with student writing. I was obviously frustrated about it.

I grew more excited about the move and the new school year as it got closer. I had planned to take a computer course at Iowa that fall but dropped it when the teacher required that all of the work we did be on University computers. There was no way to do that but drive up from Mt. Pleasant often and that wasn’t an option. I ended up taking a school administration class instead.

My ongoing effort to improve my teaching skills and provide outlets for student writing fills this journal. I mention the effort to get the local radio station to read student fan letters during the half time of football games. They did it for a while but I had forgotten all about it until I read this journal. I was working hard in those days getting my own stuff published, too.

The 1982-83 journal ends on a very sad note. A close friend had taken his own life. It was very upsetting to me!

SW Rides XII

There are at least five other structures in Salem that are somehow linked to the Underground Railroad. I am not sure where they all are but my Dad knew most of them and talked of a tunnel that used to run from one to the other. In many ways the entire community was planned and developed around the idea of providing an escape route for runaway slaves.

Dad tells stories of more recent events in the community. Unfortunately, I didn’t write them down and don’t remember many of the details. I marveled at his memory. He spent his whole life talking to people, taking notes, and researching historical documents.

Leaving Salem we could go west to Hillsboro or head east towards Salem Stub. Let’s go to Hillsboro first. Hillsboro is in a forgotten corner of the county. Many of the residents are a little edgy about that.

It’s original name as Washington. Then in 1844 it was changed to Hillsborough. In 1887 it was changed to the present Hillsboro. It’s not hilly so it is hard telling where that name came from?

The Hoaglins are from the Hillsboro area. Dad worked for the Hoaglins who owned a department store in Mt. Pleasant in the 1940s and 50s. Dad had great admiration for the family.

In the Hillsboro City Park there is a stone marker that tells the story of the military roads that intersected there. The roads date back to 1839. There apparently was also a very elegant opera house in Hillsboro at one time but there is little record of it. I have a feeling Hillsboro has a lot of stories to tell. I wish I knew more of them.

We turn around and head back through Salem. Salem had the first electrical distribution system in Iowa. It was home of the respected Whittier College. Nearby is Fish Creek Bridge. It was built in 1894 and is on the National Register because there a few left that are structured like it.

We head east towards Salem Stub. We pass the Cammack farm where we have fished many times in their ponds. This is where Angie caught a big bass when she was about five years old. It is also where Dad caught a big catfish one time. We can’t help but talk about it as we drive past.

We get to Salem Stub, which is really only a gas station on Highway 218. Where it’s name came from I am not sure. We turn left and head back towards Mt. Pleasant. Just after we cross the Skunk River we turn left and get on old Highway 218. This is near where Webster Mill was located. We have visited the site a few times. There is still a house there. It was also where travelers forded the river when traveling south.

From there it is on towards home. We enter town on south Main and Dad drops me off at our West Clay house and he heads home to his house on West Madison.

So, that’s more or less, the southwest trip. There is a lot more to tell but that will have to wait for another time. I’ll write about the rides to the southeast and northeast later.

SW Rides XI

Let’s head back towards Salem. Salem, Iowa is one of a string of Salem’s across the country. I don’t know how many there are but it seems like almost every state has a Salem. It is a Quaker community founded by a man named Aaron Street, about 1835.

The town is rich with history and the stories abound. I can’t possibly do it justice. It seemed like every time we passed through the community Dad had a new story to tell. I will tell you some of them as we pass through.

Growing up the guys from Salem were considered to be pretty tough. No one you would really want to mess with any of them. I don’t know why they had that reputation and I never tested it. It’s interesting, though, that it is a community that was built on Quaker principles including pacifism and temperance.

Salem is probably best known for its role as a stop on the Underground Railroad. Quakers were adamantly opposed to slavery and were willing to take grave risks to help slaves escape from their southern owners.

There were several houses in the community that had secret places, trap doors, tunnels, etc. to hide runaway slaves. Most of those places are gone now but one or two of the houses survive. The best known is probably the Lewelling Quaker Shrine.

Henderson Lewelling once owned the house. He built the house with the full intent of providing a hiding place for runaway slaves. It has been recognized in the National Record of Historic Places. It is open to the public and we have visited there several times. During a routine renovation a second tunnel-hiding place was found in the house.

For years there was a quilt hanging on the wall in the house. It was embroidered with the names of those who created it. My Grandparents names are on it. It was, of course, made long after the civil war but was still a great source of pride for me.

Many stories have been told about things that have happened at the house. One story is about how two runaway slaves who had passed through Salem and were later overtaken by some men who said they were their masters. On their way back to Missouri through Salem the locals demanded to know by what authority they were taking the two men. Just as the trial was about to begin the two men took “leg bail” which was term used for running away. They weren’t quickly found and the slave hunters were forced to return to Missouri without them. Two hundred dollars was offered for the runaways.

The runaway slaves eventually revealed themselves to the local Quakers who then set out to take them further north to safer territory. Unfortunately, they were overtaken by other slave hunters who at gunpoint took the two slaves back to Missouri. The three Quaker men who aided the runaways were fined $500. in the territorial court. That was a hefty amount in those days and likely took several years for the men to pay.

SW Rides X

If we go strait east Franklin Avenue is about a mile down the road. We can turn on Erickson and head south. There is a pond near that intersection that we have fished with success many times. That is the place where once, when I was a kid, Mom took a nap in the grass while we were fishing. A little bunny came along and woke her up. We took it home for a while. My Mom secretly released it back into the wild after a few days. I wasn’t very happy with her!

On the way south on Erickson is the Cedar Friends Church and then the cemetery where many of my ancestors rest. We go south but turn left when we get to the church and head up the dirt road that leads to Franklin Avenue. As I have said before my Dad just couldn’t resist a dirt road.

When we reach Franklin we turn south. The old Mendenhall farmstead is on our right. All of the buildings are gone except for the shed my uncle built on the east side of the road.

My Dad talks about his memories of the farm. He talks about Herb Beards father who was killed by a bull on the farm just east of there. We both shudder at the thought of being attacked by a bull.

We move on past the old Cooper place and head for Salem. Salem is worthy of a book or two all by itself and I’ll get to it soon enough. First, we are going to turn west just as we get to town. This is the old stagecoach road to Glascow. Most of the roads in Henry County run east and west or north and south, but his one runs diagonally off to the northwest.

A few miles west this road crosses the Big Cedar. Today, we will travel just a half-mile west of what was, before the bridge, called Bales ford. There are two stops we need to make before turning back toward Salem. One is the Savage woods and the other is the Stone House.

The woods were developed with the encouragement of Myra Savage who lived nearby. She is an incredible story herself. She lived on a farm by herself and had more dogs than I could count. She was an earthy woman full of wisdom about the earth and life in general. During the 1970s she worked with Maynard Bittle, a junior high science teacher, to develop the woods as an outdoor classroom. I had some interesting times there and enjoyed Myra’s visits to the site to check up on what we were doing.

The Savage’s own the Stone House, too. It wasn’t always in their family. It does seem to have always been a place of fascination for my family

It was built in 1888 or 89 by Leonard Farr. It is said that he built it for his wife but she refused to live there. The stone used to build the house came from a location just west of the house. The walls at the basement level are nearly a yard thick and taper as they go up. It is built into the side of a hill and is three stories tall. It’s worth a visit if you haven’t been there!

SW Rides IX

As we drive past Kirk’s pond Dad talks about the families that live in the area. He did that kind of thing all the time. He seemed to know who owned each piece of land almost everywhere we went. I was amazed by his ability to do that. He not only seemed to know each family but also knew something unique about each one of them.

The Mills family owns a lot of land in this area. Hallowell’s own the land on the east side of the road here. Clayton Avenue tees at 275th Street. We turn left here and head east towards Franklin Avenue. A right turn would have taken us down to and then across Big Cedar. My Grandmother, Elsie Van Doren, grew up in a house just across the creek there.

Before we go very far Dad says, “Denova.” There is nothing really there but a fencerow with a few trees and the faint sign of the old K-line railroad bed and a farmhouse. Dad looks around as if he sees it how it must have been years ago.

This community was originally called Bangall. Sometime around 1890 the name was changed to Denova. I have no idea where the name came from. We still have letters Grandma wrote Grandpa when they were courting. Several of the letters have Denova written at the top as part of the return address. The post office was discontinued in 1905.

Besides a post office, Denova had several other buildings. One of the buildings was Maple Grove No 6 School. I assume that this is where my Grandmother went to school when she was a child. I wonder about the kids who went to school there. Richard Breazeale told me he went to school there and remembered the railroad track west of there.

There were several houses there. An old map of the community shows three on the south side of the road and at least one on the north side near the school. There are some others nearby. The community also had a blacksmith shop and a store.

What made the community, though, was the railroad. Denova had it’s own depot. That brought people there to board the train to ride to Salem or Mt. Pleasant. My mother tells of when she was a child, seeing the train smoke puffing along the track about a mile west of her house. I think she may even have ridden the train a few times.

A few trees mark the old railroad right of way on the north side of the road. There was a siding there. On the south side there was another siding and stockyards. Now I can’t see any indication of what must have been there.

My Dad talks about the Lamm family that lived in this community years ago. One of them had a huckster wagon and traveled around selling items to families. It’s just about two miles from my Grandpa’s farm. It is much closer as the crow flies.

SW Rides VIII

So far I have given the reader a taste of what Gibson Park has to offer. There is more, much more! It’s a rich area with lots of wildlife. This area was flooded when the Illinois lobe of the Wisconsin Glacier pushed across the Mississippi from about where Clinton is now down to near Ft. Madison.

A large lake formed and it drained right over the top of this area and then southeast near where Salem, Iowa, is now, to the bed of the Mississippi River. Some say that lasted as many as a hundred thousand years. Others say maybe only about ten thousand years. Either way it was about twelve thousand years ago and it lasted a long time by human measures.

A lot of water for a long time meant many things were picked up and then buried some place along the way. Dad knew about this so when the Big Cedar was re-channeled here he walked up and down the banks looking for anything interesting. Just below the bridge on the west side is where he found the single vertebra of a mammoth elephant. We found several other smaller bones and tusk splinters in that general area.

In time the bank was covered with eroded dirt from above and became overgrown. One family who lived nearby did find several bones and mammoth teeth right in that area, too. Dad and I, eventually, had to settle for looking at the riffle down stream from the bridge if the water was low enough and hoped we might find something that washed out of the bank.

We turn around at the bridge and go back to the dirt road that leads to the place where bugs walk on water. The road is called Clayton Avenue and we are careful not to go that way if we have had a lot of rain recently. It quickly becomes impassable and isn’t maintained by the county.

Down the road a quarter of a mile is an old bridge that crosses the little stream where the bugs walk on water. If the conditions are right we might get out and look for fossils. Other times we keep on going. In a short time the road turns left and starts a slow right turn climb up the hill. It’s steep and rocky. Sometimes we have to stop and get out to move a rock or tree limb out of the way.

On top of sand hill we come to a spot that is special to me. This is the place where I found my first whole arrowhead. I have written about that in another piece. The soil is very sandy here and my piece is really the only good one we have found here. Some of Dad’s friends, though, have told us they had success here.

We move on down the road and around the corner to Kirk’s pond. We have fished it a few times with success, although once Dad caught a big snake on his fishing line here. We didn’t fish there much after that. Kirk’s pond was a place of legends when I was in high school. There were all sorts of stories of beer drinking and skinny dipping parties there. I don’t know if the stories were true and never attended one myself.

SW Rides VII

Starting down county gravel (260th Street) evokes many memories. It’s gravel so you hear the roar of the road under the car and hear an occasional piece of gravel kick up and hit the under belly of the car. A cloud of dusk chases us down the road.

It’s not long before we go down a hill. There are woods on both sides of the road here. I have been in them many times while hunting. The old right of way for the K-line passes right through the middle, crosses the road and heads south towards Denova. Dad talks about the K-line as we pass. He misses the days of the old railroad and the steam driven locomotives.

About a mile down the road we come to Gibson Park. It is named after Isaac Gibson who lived there. He was an early Quaker reformer in the 1870s who was involved in starting the Bureau of Indian Affairs, orphan homes and White’s Institute.

This park area has been a special place for our family. I am not sure why but we seem to be drawn to this area. It is the place where bugs walk on water. My mother and father took our girls here several times when they were young and the girls were fascinated with the bugs that could walk on the surface of the water. That was in a small stream on the south side of the park.

The streambed is full of fossils from the Mississippian bedrock that is exposed at the surface here. It is the only place in Southeast Iowa that this is the case and one of the few places in Iowa. It is listed in the Iowa Geological Survey. My father was, no doubt hunting fossils there when they took our daughters there. I took my student fossil hunting there, too. On the north side of the road in the park there is a shelter and a large mowed area up to the oxbow lake.

This is where we had our annua fourth grade outdoor day while I was a teacher. Both Mom and Dad were often part of the program that led small groups on adventures. Dad shared his arrowheads and Mom her apple dolls or she took the kids on bird walks in the woods. The kids would pack a lunch and spend the entire day out here.

I also took summer science students fishing here because there was easy and safe access to the water. The county re-channeled Big Cedar here, moving the main channel west of here and leaving a small lake where Big Creek used to be.

Leaving the mowed area of the park we can go back the way we came on 260th Street, go south on the road (Clayton Avenue) that crosses the creek where bugs walk on water, or we can head west. A few hundred yards down the road west is the new bridge over the newer channel of Big Creek. I think this work was done in the 1950s. I am not sure why, but I suspect it was because the area often flooded and was impassible in high water.

SW Rides VI

But lets back up. Today we don’t go straight when we get to Franklin. We turn left and head up the hill. The old way up the hill from the wagon bridge is still there. It was part of the Red Ball Route. It was a highway that passed through the county years ago. Big red circles along the road marked the route. About half the way up on the concrete barrier Dad repainted the red ball. He did it several other places in the county just as a way of recognizing the old route. Once when he could no longer walk so well he had me walk up the hill to see if his handy work was still there. It was and I imagine it still is. Walk up behind the shelter house near the south end or the dam and you’ll see the old road. Follow it up the hill. This is the way we went to Grandpa’s before the new bridge was built. About half way up on the left you will see the red ball. The old road is called Nature Center Drive because it leads up the hill to that place.

Most people take the newer road, Franklin, up the hill and turn left on Fremont and then left again on Nature Center Drive. If you turn right you go into the upper part of the park. Going straight takes you down the hill past the red ball sign and to the old bridge. Turning left a short ways down takes you to the old cemetery. It is a very interesting place to visit. My cousin, Terry, is buried there. He would have loved it!

The nature center is on the way into the park. It is a great facility! Mom and Dad volunteered there many Sunday afternoon greeting visitors. It has recently been remodeled and cousin, Steve Mendenhall, did the beautiful mural inside.

This park might be one of Henry County’s best-kept secrets. There are some seldom-used campsites there. I camped there as a scout several times and explored the steep bluff with family and friends. I remember an old well at the top of the hill near the parking lot. We used to pump the water out and drink it. It was fresh and cool!

One loop through the park and we head back out towards Franklin. On the way Dad talks about the Red Ball Route that came up the hill on the old road which is just a overgrown path now used by park staff.

At Franklin we turn left, south, towards Salem. We go past the Oldt farm on the right and the Mertins place on the right. After a short distance we turn right on County Highway H46. I am not sure why they call these gravel roads highways but they do.

Gibson Park is a couple miles down this road. I have been all over this territory hunting deer and at one time or another I think Dad and I have stepped on almost every inch of this ground.

SW Rides V

Oakland Mills had a gristmill, woolen mill, sawmill, and a river ford. It is the location of one of Iowa’s first state parks and is a popular camping area. It is even to this day known far and wide as a great place to catch catfish. My grandfather fished there regularly and I did, too. The present Oakland Mills dam was built in the 20s and the powerhouse used to be on the south side of the river.

There is a marker where the Oakland Mills store used to be. I remember it but think it was torn down after the flood of 1963. Dad was instrumental in having a marker placed there. You can see it today if you go to visit.

On the West side of County Highway H46 (Franklin Avenue) is another area we often drive through. There is a campground and boat ramp there. When we have canoed down the river this is typically where we got out. For years there was a center pier from the old railroad bridge out in the middle of the river. It is gone now.

Today, on the west end of the campground there is an observation tower built in memory of my cousin and dear friend, Terry Ross. Terry developed the wetlands up stream from there and you get a beautiful view. Up on the platform level of that tower is a comfortable bench with a marker in memory of my father. He would have loved it. Terry died too young, 53, in the spring of 2001 and Dad died at age 93 late that fall.

We make a pass through the campground and then back out to the road and then turn right and head across the bridge. On the other side we turn left and head for the area by the dam. There is parking there and we sometimes get out and walk up and talk to the fellows fishing off the dam. We have fished here many times. I wrote about fishing on the pier that extends out from the dam one time. We have also fished along the bank below the dam.

When we get back to Franklin Avenue we can go straight on 255 St. to 250 St. If we go that way we would come to Pleasant Point. Not much there but a church and a building that used to be a dairy. If we turn right at the T we could go by the old Wilson Place that has an Indian Mound overlooking the river, then on past the old maids place and on down to where Ketchem’s bridge crossed the river. The bridge has been closed for years.

If we turn left at Pleasant Point we could take 250th St. to Clayton Avenue and then follow it around past Red Lynn’s place down across Big Cedar and out to Highway 34. I have hunted and fished the Pleasant Point area many times.

Instead of taking Clayton we could stay on 250th Street and go by the Rockwell farm. Ron Marshall and I used to hunt rabbits there every fall. Dad and I hunted arrowheads in the fields there and we put canoes in Big Creek several times for floats to the Skunk or on down to Oakland.