WORLD WAR...AND THE GREAT DEPRESSION

All was not gloom and doom during the depression years. In the early years of the depression Steamboat Rock had a ball team that consisted of Harold Luiken, Harry Luiken, John Eilers, John Cramer, Tony Luiken, Ernie Eckhoff, Carl Sentman, Willard Hartman, Russell Holmes, Frank Smith, Carl Luiken, and Ralph Berryhill. 

Steamboat Rock had the first lighted ball field in Hardin County. The lights were built in 1931 with poles cut from Leverton’s timber. Money was raised for the lights, even though this was in the depression. 

The team had two pitchers, Harold Luiken and Frank Smith. Harold threw a straight fast ball, and Frank tossed a slow bending ball. When an opposing team began to hit Harold’s fast ball, Frank would come in with his slow curve or vise-versa. In 1933 this combination gave them a winning record of 23 and 2. 

In her book, Mildred Dunn Lepper’s recalled how the seasons and holidays were celebrated. They are wonderfully written to give us a feeling of the times she lived in. 

”Winters brought fun to young folks in our little town. There were plenty of hills, and if you were lucky enough to have a sled, you could go coasting. If you had no sled, you could try your luck attempting to coast on a shovel or a big tray if your mom would let you use one. If you had none of these, you could perhaps ride along on a friend’s sled. The big boys made bob sleds they called “easterns”, and if you were in the right place at the right time, maybe they would pack you on with four or five others. We sometimes rode from the top of Grieves’ hill on down across the ice on the river. In time, I managed to save enough to buy a little sled of my own, Dan Patch was its name. Now I could go like the wind, “belly buster”. Roots hill was another favorite sledding place, but it has long since grown over with trees and brush. It was right west of George and Lydia Potgeter’s home. My mother said that in her young days, there was a hotel or boarding house run by people named Root, and that was why the hill got its name, just as Grieves’ hill took the name of Harry and “Linnie” Grieves. Their daughter, Lucy, and I were classmates.” 

“Another winter sport, especially for little ones, was lying on your back on a snow bank and by waving your arms up and down, you made angels in the snow. Of course there were snowmen, snow forts and snowball fights. It was not until I was a teenager that I learned to ice skate. That was not too hard, for I had learned to roller skate. Our roller skates had been brought along in the trunk with our other belongings.” 

“The woods around Steamboat Rock came to life in early spring and any child fortunate enough to grow up there, learned where to find the first wild flowers. Peeping up from under the shelter of moss covered fallen tree trunks and branches were little pink spring beauties, snow white anemones, hepaticas and dog tooth violets In time for May baskets, we could find Dutchman’s breeches, bloodroot, blue bells, bleeding hearts, purple violets and more. It was fun to make May baskets to hang on our friends’ houses, usually on the door knob, and we started making them long before the first of May There were not many little boxes to use in those days as there are now, no pretty plastic containers such as what strawberries now are sold in, cottage cheese containers and the like. We used scraps of wall paper or other pretty paper we had saved. These were cut, folded and pasted into cornucopias, triangles and squares, and filled with flowers and sometimes pop corn for an extra treat. On the evening of May day, we crept up to a friend’s door, hung the basket, knocked and ran and hid as we shouted, “May Basket!” to the top of our lungs. The lucky recipient tried to catch the donor, and a jolly chase ensued, ending in hugs or whacks, depending upon the degree of friendship between the two.” 

“The last of May marked the end of our school year, and this, like the beginning, was both joyous and a little sad. The teacher had kept our best work we had done throughout the year, and there was an exhibit the last day. Parents and others interested could come view what had been accomplished. It provided incentives to do the best we could. Pity the careless sluggard who would not, and the slow learner who could not pass the grade. It seemed to me that would be a disgrace I could never survive.” 

“Sometimes there was an end-ofschool program. Memorial Day came either on or right after the close of school, and that was a big day, too. I wore my white embroidered dress, if I had not grown too big for it. In that case, I inherited my sister’s old one, and if she was lucky, she had a new one. One thing was certain, I always grew taller, not wider. With a new hair ribbon and sash to match, perhaps sent by the aunts in Chicago, I felt quite elegant. All of the children marched to the cemetery, following the town band and carrying little flags and bouquets of flowers which we placed on each soldier’s grave. There were metal markers stuck into the ground at the head of each grave, indicating which war that hero served in. It was a very important ceremony to take part in. Riding in the parade were several old “boys in blue”, as these veterans of the Civil War were called. My mother’s father, Jerome Seabury, had fought three years in that war, and although I was an infant when he died in 1909, I felt close to him because of the stories our mother told us that he had told his daughters. He had been an excellent singer, and mother often sang those old war songs to us, such as “Tenting on the Old Camp Ground”, “Marching Through Georgia”, Shouting the Battle Cry of Freedom”. He had served in the cavalry and was on Sherman’s march to the sea. Toward the end of his service, he was thrown from his horse and suffered an injury from which he never entirely recovered. He spent some time in the hospital in Nashville, Tennessee.” 

“The Civil War veterans were getting to be so feeble, they rode in a car in the parade. I cannot recall having seen a soldier of the Spanish-American War, but there may have been one or two in Steamboat Rock. The khaki-clad young men who returned from the big World War had uniforms that were very different from those worn in previous conflicts. Their trousers were like riding pants and they wore leggings made of strips of matching cloth wrapped around from their shoe tops to their knees. Spats also were worn. The coats came to below the hips and fit in tighter at the waist, and the collar of the coat stood straight up, buttoned with brass buttons from collar to the bottom. Their hats were like Smokey the Bear wears now. Of course Smokey’s hat was copied after the soldier’s hats. The highway patrolmen wear the same kind now. There were also caps that folded flat. They used to call them overseas caps, and veterans of World War II wear that kind today In the first World War, the color khaki, or olive drab, was chosen, we were told, instead of blue because it was more of an earth color a blend of green and brown. The men in the Navy wore navy blue or white as they do today. To this day I feel a thrill when the parade goes by on Memorial Day, and memories of parades long ago flash through my mind. How many, many bouquets my dear Aunt Essie furnished for those parades in Steamboat Rock.” 

“Another special day was Easter. Bunnies, chicks and eggs loomed high in my earliest recollections. Easter of course came before Memorial Day, and that was the first spring day to don the white embroidered dress, all freshly starched and ironed after a long winters rest in some trunk. In our Easter bonnets, if not newly made ones, then the old ones perked up with new flowers and ribbons, and hopefully wearing a new pair of Mary Jane slippers, my sister and I proudly stepped out to church on Easter morning. Learning the deep meaning of Easter was to be a gradual process.” 

“The deep meanings in life take a lifetime to absorb, so it is fitting that our childhood memories be happy and light.” 

“Of course it was our mother who filled and hid our Easter nests, even though I was sure it was Mr. Rabbit. One wonderful Sunday in Excelsior Springs my birthday came on Easter. I think it may have been my eighth. Beside my nest was a box of twelve marshmallow bunnies! Oh what bliss! I can see that box now, nestled in the grass out by the wood shed. I cannot remember, but I hope I shared them with my brother and sister!” 

“Children’s Day was another special day at church. It comes in late spring and we always had a program in Sunday School with recitations and songs. The Children’s Day I remember most vividly was when I was about twelve years old and we were attending the Congregational Church in Steamboat Rock. It was in the same building that is now the Presbyterian Church, but has been changed and enlarged. Another girl and I were to take up the offering. As I had never had this privilege, I was quite excited about it. Dorothy put my hair up on rags the night before. Putting one’s hair up on rags is a custom long past, long before electric curling irons or permanent waves were invented. The locks of hair were dampened and separated into strands all around the head. Each strand was rolled up on a rag strip and tied securely in a knot, until all were tied. This was not too painful to sleep on, in anticipation of having beautiful curls the next day In the morning she unrolled them all and brushed each strand around her finger. I would not believe that was my image in the mirror! How proud I was to pass the offering box on its long handle! Oh, woe was me! When I was walking down the center aisle, right over the hot air register in the floor, I bumped the box in such a way, that the coins rolled out in every direction, but most of them went through the little squares in the register! I was old enough to have heard that wise saying about “pride going before a fall,” but oh, how I hated being reminded of it. Why must life’s lessons be so hard?” 

“Until I was about thirteen, I had little use for shoes in the summertime. The same was true of my chums. What joy was ours, walking through the dewy grass at morning play; feeling the cool mud oozing between our toes after a morning shower! Of course this pleasure was not without its dangers. I remember well when I was swinging, and dragged my foot, top side down, over the ground. A sharp pain and rush of blood sent me crying for mother. There was a large gash which left a nasty scar I shall keep always’ Mother did not take us to the doctor unless it was extremely necessary in those days. She dressed the wound as best she could. This happened in Excelsior Springs before I started to school. Mama’s courage saw us through all the childhood diseases – mumps, measles, whooping cough, chicken pox, colds and even the Spanish influenza. We had them all. The only thing we were vaccinated for was small pox. Since I was the youngest, I had childhood diseases the “lightest”, or so my mother said. I can not remember any of them except some colds. We were a fairly healthy lot, fortunately.” 

“By the time we lived in Steamboat Rock, I was old enough to be trusted to go wading in the “safe” places in the Iowa river. Since my mother had spent her early childhood in that town, she, too, had waded in that river, and knew the shallow places. Our favorite spot was in the “riffles” down at Tower Rock. The first time I viewed this special place, I was accompanied by my newly found friend, Alice Potgeter. She knew the safe as well as the deep and dangerous places, for she had lived in a big house near the river all her life.” 

“To get to Tower Rock from where she lived on the west side of the river, we crossed the bridge and followed the road east, up Grieves’ hill, then a little farther on to Root hill, which led south, over the Elk Creek bridge. There we turned west and followed a path that took us to the top of the big Steamboat shaped rock along the east side of the river. We could make our way through the brambles consisting of scrub oak, bitter sweet and wild grape vines, until we climbed down over a stony abutment leading to a large open space below. What a fairyland! Even though I had seen beautiful Crater Lake in all its glory, this sight still awed me! To our left was a high rocky cliff, which Alice told me was Tower Rock. Little trees of many kinds sprang up from the crevices in the rocks. Seeds falling from tall pines, oaks and birches above had found nourishment enough to take root in the forbidding rocks below. Ferns and wild flowers, too, had found a footing and added their beauty to the mossy bank. At the foot of Tower Rock, and as far up as anyone could reach, countless sets of initials had been carved in the bare, vertical base. There was history there, for the dates went back to the late 1800’s. Occasionally a carved heart joined the initials of two lovers.” 

“A cold spring bubbled up at the foot of the cliff and we kneeled down for a drink of the delicious, icy water. Long legged water spiders darted over the top of the water and kept us at the spring watching for a while. We sent little leaf boats sailing down the tiny, dear brook that flowed from the spring on down to the river. This whole area from the rock to the river edge consisted of fine damp sand that felt delightful to our bare feet, and was fun to make tracks in. We made castles that day and many at other times.” 

“The place known as the “riffles” was where the river spread out wide and shallow, and in those days, the water was clear enough to see the rocks over which the water was rapidly flowing, after making its way slowly through the narrow, deep place farther upstream, below the big steamboat shaped stone formation that gave the town it’s name. It was dark there and quiet, and Alice told me it was very dangerous, so we could not wade there.” 

“At the shallow places, we could watch minnows that congregated in still small pools at the water’s edge. There were many clam shells shining among the stones in the river bottom. Alice picked up a live clam with its shell partly open, and when she stuck a little stick inside, Mr. Clam quickly clamped down on the stick, breaking it. I learned that the clam would be worse than a mouse trap had it been a finger instead of a stick!” 

“Tower Rock was going to be one of my favorite places, I was sure. The William Sharpshair family farm was at the top and on east of Tower Rock, and one could walk right past their place, coming or going. Later I came to be good friends with the older Sharpshair girls, Marie, Louise and Dorothy My mother told me that when she was a young girl in Steamboat Rock, her parents, Jerome and Mary Seabury and the elder Sharpshairs, William, Sr. and Honora, were acquainted, having come to the area not long after the end of the Civil War. My grandmother, Mary (Taylor) Seabury and Honora Sharpshair were near the same age, and became good friends. Grandma was born in Illinois in 1850; Honora in Ireland in 1848. Honora could remember about the terrible potato famine in her homeland. Her family came to America in 1865. The Sharpshairs had several daughters and a son, and the Seaburys, with their young daughters rode with the Sharpshairs in their team and wagon to the Hardin County fair in Eldora. That was something very special as mother remembered the trips so clearly, and spoke of those times often. These children all attended the school at Steamboat Rock, which was built in 1869 – the same building where I went to school upon arriving in 1918, only the children I went to school with were the grandchildren of the older Sharpshairs, William, Sr. and Honora, just as I was the grandchild of Jerome and Mary Seabury” 

“I used to think it would be fun to live by the river as the Potgeters and Sharpshairs did. I think I felt a twinge of envy living in the old restaurant where we had no yard at all. The Sharpshairs owned Tower Rock, and the Potgeters owned the elevator!”