July 30th, 2010

Donald Frederick Knight 's Story

Birth Year: 1912




Table of Contents







    Growing Up on the Mississippi River


    By Don Knight

     

    In as much as I think my life-growing up on the great Mississippi River-is somewhat different from most people, I want to put it in writing so my grandchildren and great grandchildren can some day read this and get some idea of what our life was really like. There are so many questions I wish I had asked my ancestors; but at that time, I did not even think to ask. Consequently many of those questions will never be answered.

    I was one of two Children, my brother being four and a half years older than me. My father died in 1914, when I was two and a half years old. My mother died in 1955, and my brother died in 1980. You can see from that what I write will be entirely from my own memory. I hope to keep this as accurate as I can.

     



    Chapter 1: Grandparents on my Father’s Side

     

    My grandfather, Kennedy R. Knight, was born October 3, 1854, and died March 9, 1901. My grand mother, Kitty Knight, was worn in 1857 and died in 1913. I don not have the information as to the exact day and month. Their son, my father, Roy E. Knight, was born November 18, 1881, and died November 19, 1914.

    I do not have very much information on my father's side of the family, since he died when I was only two and a half years of age. He was the only child of Kennedy and Kitty Knight. Kitty had a sister, who was Irene Frazier. They had an uncle, who was Mr. Comstock of the Comstock Lode in Nevada. Also, one of my ancestors settled the northern part of Illinois. They were descendants of the Pennsylvania Dutch, and that is about all that I know of the Knight side of the family. From what I have been Told, Grandma Knight was a very proud woman, feeling that what she had was the best. This was particularly true when it came to my brother Robert. He was her first grandson, and in her mind there was never another child as great as he was. She did not mind telling anyone how she felt! I was just another grandson. I know nothing about Grandpa Knight and Kitty's second Husband, Mr. Shank. I think they must have died even before my mother married my father.

     

    Chapter 2: Grandparents on My Mother’s Side

    My grandfather, William Langman, was born just outside Berlin, Germany, about 1855. My grand mother, Caroline Langman, Was born in Germany about the same time in what is now the American Sector, as far as I can determine. They met on a ship coming to the new land of America. After landing in the United States, they were married and started west. After five weeks crossing the Atlantic and more weeks going overland, they reached the town of Guttenburg in the state of Iowa on the west bank of the Mississippi River. It was a small town where most all of the people spoke the German language. It was a place where they felt at home, and I am sure it was the right place for them. How they crossed the eastern part of the United States I do not know. I have often wished I had asked them many more questions. I presume it was by wagon train, boat or perhaps both.

    Guttenburg lies quite high on the banks of the river and then tapers off to the west, where it becomes lowland or slough before it reaches the bluffs. This lowland would frequently flood in the spring when the river got high due to the runoff of melting snow. Slightly up from this lowland, before the bluffs got too steep, there was a row of homes practically the whole length of town. One of these homes belonged to my grandparents.

    In two or three places the roads were built up about six feet high across this lowland so that people could bet from the bluffs to the main part of town when the water was high. These high roads then ran into a road in front of the homes along the bluff. To the east of this road, in the low area, everyone planted their gardens. This proved very practical, as each spring the high water would bring in new soil, fish and crawfish. When the water receded, the people would wade in and throw out washtubs full of both fish and crawfish. After spending hours cleaning them, the crawfish would be eaten right away and the fish would be pickled and canned for food during the winter. I never cared much for pickled fish. My mother told me she would fix crawfish for me if I ever could get enough of them to make it worthwhile. I never did. Many years later, I got some in Houston, Texas, and I have had some a few times since. They are better-tasting than shrimp.

    Next to the road was the barn. It was not a very large barn but it was large enough. One part was for the chickens with and opening to an outside fenced area. Another area was for the cow. Still another area was for the feed. From the bar, the yard sloped at about a thirty degree angle up to the house. That distance being about 75 or 100 feet. There was a cement walk from the road to the house. From this walk to the fence line on the north was a beautiful strip of green grass about four feet wide. About two feet on the south side of this walk was also green grass. From there to the south fence line there were beautiful flowers. Just inside the fence along the road was another walk going to the barn. Just before the barn was the outhouse with a half moon on the door. It was a two-holer. On the side of the barn facing the road was a door so the cow would get in and out. Inside the barn were lots of small lizards from two to four inches long. My brother and I had many good times trying to catch them.

    The home consisted of a kitchen, dining room, and living room in that order on the first floor from north to south. There was a door at the rear of the dining room leading into another room, which was dug out of the side of the bluff. It was a room about ten by fifteen feet by eight feet high. There were shelves built up from the floor and against each wall, and these were filled with canned goods from the garden for consumption the following winter. Grandma also canned meat for the winter. Across the entire front of the house was a porch with a roof over it. At the south end of the porch next to the building was a rain barrel to catch the water off the roof. Then behind the rain barrel was a stairway build against the bluff leading up to the boardwalk across the back of the house at the second story level. From this walk you entered the upstairs bedrooms.

    About six feet from the front porch to the east of the house was the summer kitchen. The summer kitchen was a wood floor about twenty by twenty feet square. It had a roof over it, but the walls were just screen. When the weather was hot, all the cooking was done here, keeping a lot of heat out of the house. In this cooking area was the stove, table chair and work surfaces.

    On September 25,1880, my mother was born, the first of nine children. They named her Clara Bertha Langman. While she was still very young, my grandmother laid her on the blanket in the yard while she was working in the summer kitchen. Soon she heard my mother saying, "pretty, pretty." She looked out to see my mother reaching for a large diamondback rattlesnake. She picked her up, placed her out of danger, grabbed a hoe and cut off the snake's head!

    On the north end of Guttenburg, where it was quite flat, there was a tribe of Indians who made their living off the generosity of the people in town. My grandmother, of course, did all her own baking, consisting of coffee cake, bread, rolls, cakes, pies and so forth. When she baked, she always had to bake a little more than they needed because the Indians would come to the door begging. When Grandma would have to go over to town, she would leave my mother in charge and tell her "If the Indians come to the door, give them a loaf of bread," They would take the bread and leave satisfied.

    Later on, after the railroad was put through town, a bum came to the house to get something to eat. My grandmother never turned down anyone who was hungry, but this time, they had a big black dog. The dog met the bum at the gate by the road, took his one arm in his mouth, and escorted him up to the house. My grandmother said she would feed him, so he asked her to take the dog away. She replied, he only needed one hand to eat, so he was forced to do that. The dog did not let go until he was walking out of the gate. My grandmother was not bothered with bums very much after that.

    Each summer they had a large garden, it contained corn, potatoes, beans, peas and all the other staples that go into a garden. Besides those things, it also contained some of the more exotic things, such as kohlrabi, ground cherries and others. I love kohlrabi to this day and still plant it in my small garden.

    The photo on the following page is a picture of my grandparent's home. You can see the trees on the bluff behind the home. They also give you some idea of how steep the bluff was. Note the hand pump in the front yard.

    The German language was spoken by most everyone in the town of Guttenburg. At all the church services, there was not English spoken. Finally, the Lutheran Church would speak English on one Sunday and German the next. I do not know whether the schools taught English or not. I do know one of my younger cousins started school not knowing any English.

    I am quite sure if even the cow would have understood English. Every home along the bluff had a cow. Now, since a cow is quite a large animal, it requires a lot of food. From early spring until fall, a boy would start at the south end of the homes along the bluff picking up the cow at each home, driving them along until he had them all, then take them to an area where he would pasture them all day. He would then return them in the evening. Through the winter, of course, each family had to feed their won animal. The cow was very important to them, as it supplied them with their whipping cream, milk, butter and cheese.

    Grandmother Langman was a pretty woman, who, without a doubt, baked the best sugar cookies in Guttenburg! Every time I got there, the cookie jar was full. I am sure Grandma did not have an easy life trying to raise nine children without a whole lot of help, as Grandpa was a little on the lazy side and did not like work all that well. Thus, it was sometimes hard to keep clothing and shoes on the nine children.

    Grandpa was not a large man, average size, good looking, with a full mustache but never a beard. He could out-walk anyone I ever knew. I was small, but I had to run to keep up with him. He would kill a snake by stepping on its head with his heel. He missed one day and a blacksnake stared to wind around his leg. He finally broke its back and got it off his leg.

    This photo is a picture of Grandma and Grandpa Langman and my brother Bob. It was taken in their front yard with the main part of Guttenburg in the background. The lowland I was talking about can be seen in between.

    That fence next to Grandpa would have cobwebs in it in the morning, which would be covered with dew and glisten in the early morning sunlight. Note the scout uniform on my brother. I got it when it was mostly worn out.



    Chapter 3: My Parents

     

    Of the nine children in the Langman family, three died within one week when an epidemic swept through Guttenburg. My mother went through the eighth grade in school and was confirmed in the Missouri synod of the Lutheran Church. After leaving school, she moved to Dubuque, Iowa. Dubuque is the second oldest city west of the Mississippi. It is located at perhaps the most eastern part of the state of Iowa. She went to work as a housekeeper for a family living on Hill Street, somewhere between Third and Fifth Streets. She was expected to send a part of each paycheck home each time she was paid.

    Having been raised in a church where they spoke German all the time, she, along with 30 others, planned to build a Lutheran Church where everyone would speak English. Thus, St. Mark's Lutheran Church was born. At first, they met in a basement somewhere while the new church was being built at the corner of 12th and Locust Streets. I am sure it was a happy group when they moved in for their first service. Though they may not have been charter members, I remember the Ris, Brantmen, Foley, McClay, Bain and Norberg families and many more.

    My mother loved to dance, and one of the places they danced was an upstairs dance hall in West Dubuque.  Whenever there was a dance, they would have a contest to see who were the best dancers. During this contest, my mother and this friend would almost always win the contest. On the 28th day of April 1907, my mother and father, Clara B. Langman and Roy E. Knight, were married. My mother moved into the knight home at 91 College Avenue. On February 1, 1908 my brother, Robert William Knight, was born. At this time, Grandma knight decided that with young children around, we had to have a place for them to play. So they bought the lot next to our home for a yard where the children could play. The home sat about six feet higher than the street, with a wall of very large stone slabs between them. The wall was built in front of a neighboring home, our home and the adjoining yard. I guess it was inevitable that my brother Bob fell off that wall; He landed on the grass between the sidewalk and the wall and was not hurt, at least not very seriously.



    Chapter 4: My First Home in Dubuque

    On June 15, 1912, I was born. My mother named me Donald Frederick Knight. The Donald was after a friend of my brother, the Frederick after my Grandmother Knight. My brother's middle name, William, is after my Grandfather Landman.

    My fist memories were of the two big boxelder trees just south of the house and a yard full of flowers. In the summer, we had a hammock suspended between the trees, where we spent many restful moments. From the trees on out to the alley, which later became the driveway, was a beautiful yard with lilac bushes and many other beautiful flowers. This yard extended from the front wall to about the back tree. Then came our garden. Beyond that was a large grapevine. Beyond that was a space we later utilized for our rabbits. It was in these surroundings that I was born and raised.

    The address of the home today is 387 College Street. Our home was a wood structure with a very steep roof covered with wooden shingles. There was a large bay window in the front of living room overlooking the street and the front steps front the street. There was a clump of bluebells growing in between the two bay windows. I don't know why I remember those bluebells, but I do. From the corner of Allison Street and College Street, past two homes, one of which was ours, is a rock wall five feet high. On the south end of the lot where the house stands is an opening in the wall where the stops go up to the house. There are perhaps ten steps, then a landing, and then three or four more steps in a semi-circle, so they come out on the walk to both the front and back doors. There was a barn or shed behind the home, which must have housed the family horse, as I found a bit, collar and parts of a harness in it when I was very young. Later, we tore it down and built a shed onto the back of the house.

    On the south side of the house at the back was a small porch, perhaps five feet wide by twelve feet long. On it was a swing, which would seat two, and I remember spending many happy moments sitting there with my mother. On the wall was a very large thermometer. Later, when I was older and had a paper route, I remember on several occasions on Sunday morning glancing at that thermometer to see it showed thirty degrees below zero! When you entered the back door, to the left was the kitchen sink and across the room was the kitchen table. Inside the kitchen door was a stand with a dishpan and the bucket of water on it. In the bucket of water was a dipper to get the water from the bucket to the dishpan or to a glass for drinking. On the other side of this door was where the heating stove was place in the winter. To the right of the kitchen door was a large sideboard with a big clock on top of it. In the center of the room was the dining table. To the right was the door to the dining room and to the left of that door in the kitchen was the kitchen stove. On the far side of the kitchen to the right was the pantry. It was about five by eight feet. From the far end of the pantry was the door and steps to the cellar.

    The dining room had large doors to the living room. These were large double wooden sliding doors that slid back into the walls on either side. These doors play a large part in one of my fondest memories. I remember each Christmas Eve sitting at the kitchen table trying so hard to eat my dinner when my mind was strictly on the living room. Before finishing my meal, I would ask my mother "Can we go in now, Mom?" Until I finished my meal, her answer would be, "If you go in too soon and Santa hasn't left yet, he will leave and take everything with him." So I would wait and perhaps take another bite or two of my dinner. Finally, Mom would say, "I think it's safe to go now." Upon leaving the kitchen and entering the dining room, I would see these big sliding doors drawn from the walls and closing off the view to the living room. As big as they were, it did not take me long to push them open and behold one of the most beautiful sights in the world: our decorated Christmas tree with perhaps a half dozen candles burning on it. Shortly before I would leave the kitchen, my brother would leave the room and go in and light the candles. We would watch them burn for a couple of minutes and them put them out, so there was no chance for a fire. Perhaps the following evening we would light them again for a couple of minutes, and then generally wait for the next year when we could go through the whole routine again.

    On the north wall was a door into a hall going to the front door. Next to the door was a couch, which has always been my favorite piece of furniture. I will always remember it was a green mohair couch with the head end higher than the rest of the couch. Any time I was tired, sick or pouting, I did it on that couch. Through the double sliding doors was the living room. On the south side of the room was a large bay window with a regular size window on each side of it. On the far side of the living room, on the front of the house, was another large bay window, about the same size as the other one. To the left of the bay window was the wall where the large upright piano was placed. It stayed there, as it was far to heavy to move. Many happy evenings were spent around that piano. Against the other wall stood the old gramophone with the large horn and cylinder type records. The horn at the opening was about four feet across. At the east wall was a large opening, also into the hall at the front door. Just inside the door stood the elaborate hall tree with seat, mirror and necessary hangers.

    In the bay window sat a large beautiful fern at least three feet high, with the fronds touching the floor. Several chairs were also in the room. On the north side of the living room was a large opening to the hall, which ran from the front door to the door going into the dining room. When entering the front door at this point, there was the large hall tree and steps going to the second floor. Upstairs were three bedrooms. At the top of the steps was a hall running from the back bedroom to the front bedroom. The backroom was for my brother and me. The middle bedroom was rented out, and the front bedroom was for my mother. Years later, after my mother remarried, part of the front bedroom was made into a bathroom. It sure was nice to take a bath in an honest to goodness bathtub instead of a washtub! There was also quite a large attic. We seldom got into the attic, as it was necessary to put a chair on top of the stepladder so I could stand on the chair to reach the opening into the attic while my mother held the chair steady for me.

    Before the days of the bathroom, we ran the rainwater from the roof through a system of gutters, downspouts, elbows and cutoff to get the water into a cistern just outside the back door, from which we pumped our water for all uses including drinking water. This was our only water supply so we watched it closely. The home had a steep rise, making the building quite high. There were gutters on all the eaves running together, taking the rain water to the cistern just ten or twelve feet deep. There was a wood platform over this opening with a pump on top of the platform. From this pump was about an inch and a half pipe extending down toward the bottom of the cistern. The pump handle was fastened to a sprocket over which ran a chain. This chain went from the pump sprocket down through the water below the pipe, then up through the pipe/ Perhaps every three or four feet, There was a rubber piece fastened to the chain, which would just fit into the pipe.  The water would fill up the pipe from one rubber piece to the other, and as the chain or pump was turned, the water was brought up to the outlet on the pump. For the first couple of rains of the spring, the rainwater was directed out onto the lawn. This allowed the soot, ash and dirt to be washed off the roof. Then it was directed into the cistern, so we would have a water supply.

    Thirty or forty feet further out from the cistern was the outhouse. We had a two holer with a Sears Roebuck catalog. For cooking we had a big wood-burning range with water tank as well as warming oven. For heating we had a large hard-coal burner, which sat in one corner of the dining room-the corner between the hall and the living room. At one time when I was quite small, we rented out a couple of the upstairs bedrooms to one of my aunts and two or three nurses from Finley Hospital. We loved each and every one of them because the added income helped pay the expenses, and they were great people to be around. One or two of them played the piano, and many evenings ere spent listening to them play and singing along. Other evenings ere spent playing the gramophone. We had many boxes full of the old cylinder type records, including Casey Jones, Red Wing, "I Want a Girl Just Like the Girl that Married Dear Old Dad", "Girl in a Gilded Cage," and many others. Many times I have wished we would have kept that old gramophone instead of giving it away.

    Downtown Dubuque extended from Whisky Hill along the river to Eagle Point Park, or I should say to the base of the cliffs below the park, a distance of perhaps five to seven miles. In the main par to town, it probably extended back from the river about a mile. Then there were the bluffs, and a large part of the residential area was on the top of the bluffs. West Dubuque extended west another three or four miles. However, the hills were in various places going a lot of different directions. It was called "Little Rome" because it also was built on seven (more or less) hills. Our home was about a mile west of the top of the bluffs. Above our home and a block away was Finley Hospital.



    Chapter 5: The Death of My Father

     

    My father loved to hunt, fish, swim, etc. He was exceptionally good at each. He knew the Avery's probably before I was born. I'm sure he had many happy fishing experiences with them. When he married my mother, and y brother and I came along, he realized the necessity of a boat or our own. He purchased a double-deck launch, and we were able to go anywhere on the river we wanted to go. We then made trips to the Avery's at any time, and also to the town of Guttenburg, which was on the river about thirty-five miles north of Dubuque. One time, when my mother wanted to run the boat, she drove it onto a sand bar. My father had a good time kidding her as to how they were going to get home, before jumping out and pushing the boat back off the sand bar.

    I'm sure our boat was tied up at the Avery's dock many times in the next couple of years, and many happy days ere spent there. And I am exceedingly glad we had them for my mother's sake, even though I was too young to remember them. My mother's happy days were cut short when my father died. I was two and a half years old.

    For a year or so before he died, my father could not walk home from downtown without stopping several times to rest. The day he died, he left home in the morning for a hunting trip with friends somewhere in the vicinity of Zwingle, Iowa. He left home feeling fine. Soon after starting to hunt, he met up with one of his friends, sat on a log, laid his head in his friend's lap, and died. My father died the day before Thanksgiving. Soon thereafter, my mother asked the Avery's to sell our boat for her as we were without any income; and we certainly needed the money, more than we needed the boat. They sold the boat and also my father's shotgun. I have often wished I had his gun, but again, I'm sure my mother needed the money.

    Because my father had no insurance, what little money the family had would not last very long. When I reached five years of age, I entered kindergarten. This was a Lincoln School at the corner of Fifth and Nevada Streets. A year later when I went into first grade, my mother went to work in the laundry at Finley Hospital, which was close by behind our home, to help pay for expenses. My instructions were to report to my mother at the laundry as soon as I got home from school. I enjoyed this very much because, after reporting to her, I was allowed to go to the hospital kitchen where they would have a sandwich or piece of pie or something else waiting for me. This of course was great.

    After my father died, it was far too long a walk for me to walk to get to St. Mark's Lutheran Church. For this reason, we attended Grandview Methodist Church until I was a little older. Then, one day, my mother said it was time we went back to our own church. When winter came, my brother was working at a drug store, which was on the way to church and four or five blocks from home. On Sunday morning, my mother and I would walk through anywhere from 1-12 inches or more of snow to the drug store. There, my brother would join us, taking the lead, with my mother stepping in his footsteps with me trying to step in them, also. My brother had to take small steps so that I could reach them. We would attend Sunday school and church and then walk home again. Going to church was mostly downhill. Coming home was mostly uphill. My legs got quite tired coming home. Later on, my brother Bob and I would go home after Sunday school, and Mom would stay for church and then take the streetcar home. One Sunday, Bob and I and a friend of Bob's were walking home when we met a strange looking man. He stared at us as he passed, then turned and followed us. We reached a point where Bob's friend went one way and we went the other. He decided to follow us. We ran as fast as we could up one block and down another, crisscrossing our way home. When we got there, Bob loaded the twenty-two rifle and aimed through the window at the front steps. I often wondered what Bob would have done had he tried to come up those steps!

    St. Mark's was still a young church when I was growing up. As a young church, it naturally had money problems. To over come these, we did many things to get a little more money for the church. At one time, when we wanted to put on an ice cream social, we soldered wires to the side and bottom of many light bulbs and strung them over Twelfth Street between Locust and Bluff Streets after getting permission from the city to shut the street off for several hours. To save the cost of a maintenance man, one winter many of the men of the church took turns a week at a time firing the furnace of the church. There was one in the primary room and one in the main Sunday school room. St. Mark's survived and became one of the more notable churches of the city.



    Chapter 6: My Early Years in Dubuque

     

    My first memories were of going outside to play in the yard and learning to stay away from the wall where Bob had gotten hurt while playing on it. Then I recall meeting a boy from up the street named Gilbert Dell. Gilbert was just six days older than I was. We soon became the best of friends and spent much of our younger days together. Another of my early memories was the hammock, which was suspended between the two big trees. I loved to lie in the hammock when I became tired. Then Bob and I had lots of fun fighting over the hammock when we were not tired. I generally lost the fight, since he was bigger than I was.

    I also remember the shed at the back of the house. It was really more like a small barn. In there I found an old halter and bridle and other various parts of a harness, so I knew at one time we must have had a horse and buggy. I was sorry I never got to see the horse. Our neighbor next door also had a barn in back of their house. It was there quite some time after ours had been torn down. It was not kept very clean and became a good breeding place for rats. Now, It happened that to the south of us was a vacant lot where the owner would plant a garden each spring. When the produce began to ripen, the rats would wear a bath across our backyard, going from the neighbor's barn to the garden. Bob would bring out his single shot twenty-two rifle on the back porch and sit waiting for a rat to run across the yard. When one did, Bob would shoot at it. He became very proficient at hitting running rats! It was great sport.

    One day Bob made a rabbit cage out of the wooden box and an extended framework with some chicken wire around it. I did not know what he was making it for, nor did I care until he came home with two rabbits-one male (I do not remember its name) and one female, which he named Spot. It was a black and white spotted rabbit. I felt if he could have two rabbits, I should be able to have one. So after much fussing and fuming, Bob and my mother took me out to Bob's Friend and told me to pick out the one I wanted. I spotted a dark gray buck, who seemed to be saying, "Hey, how about me?" I picked him and named him Mitzy. Between us, we then had three rabbits.

    Not too long after, we had nine rabbits. Somehow the others seemed to know this was going to happen, so we built a small wooden box to go into the big box. We cut a hole in it so the rabbits could get into it and then put rags and anything we could find into the pen so Spot could build a nest in the small box. Some time after they were born, a little rabbit appeared in the pen one morning nibbling on the grass. By evening, all six of them were outside. When the rabbits had nibbled all the grass off, we would move the pen to another spot. Soon, we had to build a second pen-then, a third. Finally, we had five or six pens. We kept them somewhat under control by selling some and eating many. They were a great supply of meat for the table. Spot and Mitzy, however, never got to the dinner table. One of my jobs was going into that vacant lot next door and pulling dandelion greens for the rabbits to eat. At one time, we had around thirty-five rabbits, and that took a lot of pulling.

    Another thing I remember as a small child was the Sunday school picnic and parade. Once a year, I think it was in the spring, all the Protestant churches in Dubuque would get together and stage one of the largest parades put on by the city. Each church would build a float on a large, flatbed wagon, depicting some story from the pages of the Bible. The first one I can remember, our church, St. Mark's, built a float with a large cross on the back of the wagon. From the front of the float the seats were gradually tiered upwards toward the cross where the small children were seated. Each child was dressed pretty much the same and had a large paper daisy over their heads. The effect was quite beautiful. The float was pulled by a large team of workhorses, which also were appropriately decorated. Ahead of the float, the larger children marched; and ahead of them, two boys carried the quite large banner with "St. Mark's" in large letters on it. One year a friend of mine and I carried the banner and were very much rewarded when we saw ourselves in the Pathe News at a local theatre.

    Pathe News carried news events from all around the country and even the world. Our parade was news worthy enough to be shown all over the United States. There were two of the world's largest sash and door factories in Dubuque at that time, and they supplied the horses and wagons and drivers. Gasoline-driven vehicles were quite rare at that time. When the various sections reached the end of the parade route at the foot of Main Street, they would board streetcars, which would take them to Union Park for the picnic. Union Park laid in a valley north of the city. Streetcars ran to the park on regular schedules during the summer, as many people used the park and its facilities each day. The park contained a large and beautiful dance hall where Guy Lombardo, Jan Garber, Wayne King, Art Castle, Glen Miller and many more of the big bands would come to play for dances. It also had a large swimming pool, roller coaster, merry-go-round and many other forms of entertainment.

    On the hillsides of this valley were many pavilions consisting of a floor with a railing around it and a roof overhead. They were square and probably covered seven or eight hundred square feet. Each church was assigned one of these pavilions. Early in the morning before the parade, one power-driven streetcar pulling two flat cars would cover a given route throughout the city. Two boys from each church would accompany them to pick up all the baskets marked for their church and keep them together. Upon reaching the park, it was their job to see that all the baskets got to the right pavilion. In this way, everyone could take their baskets to the nearest pickup point and have it at the park at the proper pavilion when they got there. These baskets, of course, contained the food and so forth for the picnic. I had this job for several years. One of these years my friend and I were loading all our baskets in the third car. We came to a switch where the first two cars went straight through the switch before it changed automatically, and our car tried to turn the corner. It was pulled off the track, and we had one of the roughest rides in our life over a brick street!



    Chapter 7: My First Years on the Mississippi

     

    After my father's death, the Avery's would come up and get us, and that is where my story of remembrance really began. When the Avery's needed groceries or had any other needs. They would take their fastest boat and come to Dubuque. I am sure there were very few times when they did not call my mother to see if we wanted to go back and spend a few days or a week with them. I was always happy when we caught the streetcar to take us to the harbor where we got in the boat and headed for the island.

    Some of my earliest recollections were on that island and on the river itself. When the phone would ring, and they would ask us to come down for a visit, we went if we possibly could. Having told us where they were located in the harbor, we would get on the streetcar in front of the hospital; go across Delhi Street to Julian Avenue to Alpine Street. Then South on Alpine to Third Street, east on Third to Hill St, Northeast on Hill, past Fifth and Eighth Streets. Then east again to Main Street, where we could transfer to a car going south on Main. The streetcar was a car carrying perhaps fifty people, which ran on tracks like a train but had an arm going from the roof of the car to an electrical cable suspended about six or eight feet above the car. The motorman or man running the car had a large box in the front of the car with an arm running to different contact points on the box. By moving the arm further across the contact points, he was able to increase the speed of the car. By moving the arm back to the starting point, he was able to stop the car. It was exactly like handling the transformer on a model electric train.

    The streetcar ran north on Central Avenue and then on out the Sageville Road about a mile. Then it turned west about a city block, where it turned left again and headed up the valley toward the park. At the entrance to the park, it made a 360 degree turn and went back to town over the same tracks. The park was a beautiful park and gave the people of Dubuque a great place to spend many happy hours.  Later on a local cloudburst hit directly over the park on a busy weekend. The torrents of water washed down the hillsides to the large cement sidewalks going the length of he park. Here, it not only kept getting deeper but rushed toward the entrance of the park.  Many people panicked and rushed for the entrance to try and get a streetcar, which would get them out of the flood

    Waters. Needless to say, many people were injured and two people drowned. In spite of a newspaper article telling people to go to the top of the hills in a bad rain, the park lost its popularity and steadily deteriorated until it was closed. After all this, the dancehall was removed and rebuilt on the main highway. Many years later a friend of mine and I stopped to look around and found a small bridge that the streetcars crossed still there. All other traces of a great day were gone.

    About First Street, we would get off the streetcar, cross the railroad tracks, and we were at the harbor. After crossing the tracks, I was allowed to run on ahead and go down to the boat. I knew about where it would be and ran to it. Either the father or one of the sons would be there, pick me up, throw me into the air, catch me and put me in the boat. Then my mother and brother would get in, along with whoever came after us. My brother was old enough to help untie the lines holding the boat, and we would start to drift out into the harbor. We could not start the engine immediately as we were generally tied up close to the Dubuque Boat and Boiler Works, where we had to work our way around other died up boats.

    As we pushed away from shore and slowly drifted out into the harbor, a sight unfolded I shall always remember. The Dubuque Boat and Boiler Works was on the north shore of the harbor, where generally a large boat of some sort was dry-docked while they were working on it. These boats always fascinated me for some reason or other, I am no quite sure why. Once we were in the open waters of the harbor, the engine was started, and we were on our way. The wind blew in our faces as we approached the channel of the mighty Mississippi. We were just below where the auto and pedestrian High Bridge spanned the river.

    The High Bridge ran parallel to the Illinois Central Railroad Bridge from the foot of Fourth Street across the river to a point where they ran into a high rock Bluff. The High Bridge then made a turn to the south along the outside of the bluff, entering Main Street in East Dubuque. I always enjoyed watching the trains cross the river on the bridge and then disappear into the cliff. The High Bridge was high enough for boats and barges to go underneath it, but the Railroad Bridge had one section that turned on a pivot point to let the boats through. Near the bridges on the Iowa side were the Dubuque Star Brewing Company and the old shot tower. The shot tower is a square brick and stone structure that reaches into the air perhaps fifty or more feet. As I understand, it was built to make shot for the guns during the Civil War. They did this by having different size screens located at several different locations in the tower and then dropping hot lead through these screens. There may be others in the country but it is the only one I know of. When the river got high, it sometimes got into both the tower and the Brewery. I never tired of looking at all this from the river.

    We were soon in the channel and going downstream to the south. By now we could see Julian Dubuque's grave, high above on a cliff overlooking the river. As a boy, I hear tales of how Dubuque kept the Indians working for him-such as threatening to burn the waters of Catfish Creek if they did not do as he told them. They worked for him in his lead mines, and they sometimes objected to his treatment of them. I presume they had no unions so they would threaten to kill him. He, in turn, when they were not around, would pour kerosene on the surface of the creek where there was very little current, then take them there and ignite the kerosene. As they watched, they thought their water was burning; and they readily agreed to whatever he told them to do. As the tale went on, they finally rebelled to the point of taking off after him on horseback and driving him over the cliff, where his monument now stands. It is a good story, but I am sure it is not true. I think he died in bed in Praire du Chien, Wisconsin.

    However, the monument is very pretty to see, particularly from the river. On the south side of the bluff where the monument stands and hundreds of feet below it is where the Catfish Creek enters the Mississippi. At this point is where the Milwaukee and Illinois Central Railroads part. The Milwaukee went south along the river and the Illinois Central went west along Catfish Creek. Near here on the Illinois side of the river was the entrance to Frentress Lake. A few miles further south was Nine Mile Island, Shawandawse and Massey. Shawnadawsee and Massey were on the Iowa side. These were two small gathering places where some of the more wealthy people, primarily from Dubuque, had summer cottages. The grain stopped at Massey, and Shawandawsee was only about a mile to the north. They had backwater or sloughs to the east of them, between them and the river channel.  The fishing was good in these sloughs. A little to the south of these places the boat suddenly banked against the water as we left the channel and proceeded toward the dock. I loved to feel the boat slow down and gradually work its way up to its mooring spot on the big dock.



    Chapter 8: The Avery’s

    The Avery family consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Avery, two sons, Gerry and Joseph, and one daughter, Pat. Gerry, Joe and Pat were in their late teens when I was three or four years old. I went fishing with Gerry and Joe. Many times they would let me steer the boat. However, unbeknownst to me, they had hold of the lines to the ruder. They used some fish traps.  We caught a catfish in one in Frentress Lake, which was longer than I was tall; and I'm sure it weighed more than I did. At times, Gerry or Joe would put me on their back with instructions to wrap my arms around their neck and my legs around their body, to hold my breath when we dove off the dock. They would then swim across the river with me hanging on their back. This was a thrill, and I loved it whenever they would do it. Many times after the evening meal, we would build a large bonfire on the beach and roast marshmallows. We would sing, and I enjoyed listening to the older folks visit until I would go to sleep on my mother's lap.

    As I got older, I would take off from the back of the house and explore the island. My brother Bob would accompany me, or I should say I would accompany him. We found large odd-shaped trees we would climb to peer into bird or squirrel nests. We found turtle eggs in the sand, and once in a while we would find a snake. We never got bit, but I do not think they were poisonous ones anyway.

    One day a large empty barge drifted in when the water was high. It got stuck on some trees near the water and remained there when the water went down. Bob and I tugged and pulled on a two by twelve by twelve plank until we got it positioned in the barge so one end was under an overhang and the other end out over the water. We then played pirates and made each other walk the plank, jumping into about two or three feet of water. This was great fun until Bob jumped ff the back onto the rudder, slicing the instep of his foot. This stopped the pirate play for a while.

    One of my fondest memories from that time took place one evening as we were leaving the island to come back home. Joe, one of the brothers, was going to take us back to town after dark. It was a beautiful warm summer evening, and we were just drifting away from the dock. The reflection of the moon stretched out in a wide path all the way across the river. As Joe started the engine and headed slowly out into the river, the ripples in the water started off each side of the bow of the boat; and I sat on my mother's lap watching all this take place. When clearing the shallow water, Joe advanced the throttle and the boat literally jumped forward; and we were skipping over the water on our way up the river toward Dubuque and home. Before we reached Dubuque, however, an ominous site appeared before us. It was a large excursion boat and only ominous to me, as I was three years old and already knew that the big boat meant big waves. The thought of the big waves frightened me, and I started to cry. Joe asked why I was crying, and my mother told him I was afraid of the waves. When we got closer to the boat, Joe pulled into shore. The bank was very rocky there, so Joe jumped out of the boat and held it as still as possible while the big boat passed. Joe had been standing in about three to four feet of water, but it only took one jump and with all wet cloths he was back at the helm, and we were again on our way toward Dubuque.

    An excursion boat was a large, three or four deck boat with paddle wheels on each side or in the back. The J.S., which was the name of one of these boats, had a paddle wheel on each side somewhere near the center of the boat. Each of these wheels was perhaps five feet wide and ten feet high. The Washington and Capitol were each about the same size but had one large wheel in the back. This wheel was perhaps twelve or fifteen feet wide and ten feet high. The first deck as I recall was gritty much taken up with engines, drive shafts, and all the equipment necessary to run the boat. The second deck was the dining room and lounging area. The third deck was completely taken up with a large dance hall, and each boat would carry an orchestra of ten or more pieces. The fourth deck was primarily a place to sit and enjoy the view, or in the evening take your girl and try to steal a kiss!

    An excursion boat would pull into town, tie up at the deepest end of the harbor and then get up enough steam to play the calliope so that everyone would know the excursion boat was in town. We lived high on the hill, better than a mile from the river, but we could hear the calliope very clearly. I am sure it could be heard all over town. One boat would stay in town for several days. Some days an organization would rent it for all day, and they would take quite a long trip on the river. In the evening they would have moon light excursion trips, where they would go just far enough to get away from the city lights, drop anchor, and spend the evening in one spot. No one cared, as most people were busy dancing; and if you did go on deck and look, the water was going by so it looked like you were moving anyway.

    Once a year, the Senior High School would rent a boat for an all-day trip. We would head north up the river to Praire Du Shien, Wisconsin. We would dock there, and all the kids from the boat would head for their high school. When we arrived, they would just close the school for the day. After reloading, they would turn the boat around, and we would arrive back in Dubuque in late afternoon.

    Those boats were long, and turning one around was quite and engineering feat for the pilot. Sometimes, when the river was low, one would end up on a sandbar and a few times where stuck there all night. I never was fortunate enough to have that happen when I had my best girl with me. The J.S. had an easier time turning around because it could turn one wheel one way and the other wheel the other way. The Washington and the Capitol had to depend on their rudders as they went either forward or backward.

    After leaving the excursion boat and heading on up the river, it was a thrill to see the sky begin to brighten from the lights of the city. Upon rounding a bend in the river, quite suddenly we could see the lights of Dubuque, and it was a beautiful sight. After leaving Joe at the harbor, my mother would take my brother and me by the hand, and we would walk several blocks to the foot of Main Street, where we would catch a streetcar. We would transfer at Eighth Street and ride to within two blocks of Home. By this time, I walked from the streetcar to my home, I am sure, sound asleep. My mother tucked me in, and I slept soundly till the following morning.

    Gerry and Joe always talked about taking a boat from their house to New Orleans. Finally, their plans were complete, and they set the day they would leave. They planned to sell the boat in New Orleans and take a train home. They had been on their way several days when one evening Joe complained of not feeling well. During the evening, he got very sick. Gerry put him in the boat, wrapped him in blankets, and started towards St. Louis. He ran the engine wide open all night, getting into St. Louis about dawn. Immediately, Gerry called an ambulance, and Joe was taken to the hospital. He died three days later. The Avery's left their island, and we lost track of them soon after. I did look up Gerry many years later and had a nice visit with him and his family. Gerry called a friend of his and talked them into selling me a few sturgeons. My family and I shared them with my brother Bob and his family.



    Chapter 9: Fish Stories

    On the Avery's dock there was a wide plank that reached from the dock to the shore. In one live box ere kept nothing but turtles. It was mighty pleasing to have turtle soup or fried turtle any time you wanted it. Another box was kept exclusively for catfish. The third was for Mississippi sturgeon. I would like to add here that the finest restaurant with the finest food and the finest service never had food of any kind to match those three live boxes. If you have never eaten turtle soup or fried turtle, please do so at the first opportunity-you have a delight to anyone who likes fish. Then we come to the sand sturgeon. I have paid a lot of money for many exotic foods though a lifetime, but none stands in the same class as Mississippi sand sturgeon. At the Avery's the smoke house hung full of sturgeon at all times. I remember Mr. Avery calling my brother and me into the house to inform us that we were not to bother the adults if we were hungry, we were to go to the smoke house and help ourselves. Can you imagine being invited to help yourself to a pound and a half sturgeon any time you wanted a snack?

    Now I realize that some of you many not know what a sturgeon is. Let me explain that the Mississippi sand sturgeon is a fish unlike the Snake River Rock Sturgeon. The biggest one I ever saw was probably around two or three pounds dressed. The Snake River variety, I understand, go well over one hundred pounds. Back to the sand Sturgeon, he has a hard shell on the body of the fish and a jagged fin all the way down his back, making him look like a prehistoric dragon. He has a long snout above his mouth so that when you cut off his head, you cut off about one third of the fish. After cutting off the head, cleaning, and thoroughly smoking the fish, you can break him open down the underside and peel the most delicious meat out of both sides you ever ate. The shell is very hard, but there is a soft spot the full length of the body on the underside.

    The sturgeon is also delicious fried. I recall one time when about 17 or 18, during the Great Depression, when visiting my stepfather's son in Davenport, Iowa. Three or four of us went down to the river so they could show me how to use a three hundred foot net. It was interesting to see them use a flat fishing boat with an inboard motor make a circle out into the river, with the net just peeling off a flat section in the stern of the boat. When the net was all out, the boat came back to the starting point, and we all started pulling on the net. When asked if I had ever eaten it fried, I had to say I had not. We proceeded over to a fishing shack. Where we built a fire in the cook stove and fried the sturgeon. It was delicious! I forgot to mention, the sturgeon does not have a bone in his body-the hard shell taking the place of bones.

    One time as a small child, I wanted to go fishing when we were home instead of at the Avery's. I found a piece of willow around home, took a piece of string about three feet long, and a safety pin. I went into our small garden and dug until I found a worm. Without a word to anyone, I started for the slough near the foot of Dodge Street. I suppose I was four or five years old at the time. I went through our yard, one half block to Third Street. Here, I turned east, walking past Glen Oak Street to Booth Street. Turning south I kept going to Dodge Street, where I again turned south and headed straight for the slough. The whole distance was probably somewhere around a mile and a half. At that time, where Dodge crossed Locust Street is where the slough began. I remember turning off the street and going down a path to the water's edge. The path was not more than twenty feet long, but I stopped several times in that twenty feet, once to watch a cricket swiftly hop out of my way. I remember thinking, he sure moves fast! Then a small snake crawled across the path. It took about a minute to watch him crawl away. There were many broken clamshells on the path, and all this was fascinating to a boy of four or five. I was not ready to bait my pin, but by now my worm was quite dried out, having carried it all the way in my hand. I managed to work it onto the pin and threw it into the water. After sitting there for twenty minutes or so, I became discouraged and tired. I started walking toward home and found it to be much further and more tiring going up hill toward home rather than going on a fishing expedition downhill away from home. I got back to a worried mother, but quickly fell asleep that night realizing it was much more fun fishing at the Avery's than it was in the slough.



    Chapter 10: Catfish Creek

    One of the tributaries running into the Mississippi, as I briefly mentioned before, is Catfish Creek. This stream is a medium-sized flow of water, leisurely winding its way west and south of Dubuque. It has many fairly large and deep holes where swimming is great. Fishing is good, also. To get to the creek, my brother Bob and I would take Third Street to Grandview Avenue, follow Grandview tot eh country club property, and then proceed through the golf course to Rabbit Hollow. At the end of Rabbit Hollow was Catfish Creek.

    The golf course was a large backyard or playground to us. Today, they would have kicked us off of it in a hurry, but back then they seemed to put up with us and never complained about our playing there. However, we were careful to never get in their way. It was located in beautiful rolling country and today I am sorry I never got to play golf on it. One of our favorite pastimes in the summer was to take a long piece of string, make a lasso on the end of it, lay the lasso around a gopher hoe, and run the line back along the ground. Now a gopher hole comes up at about a forty-five degree angle, so the line had to run back in the same direction the hole came from. Before coming out of his hole, a gopher will stick his head out and look in all directions. We would lie at the end of the line, and when the gopher put his head out, we would tighten the lasso and catch the gopher. When we each had a gopher, we would lead them up and down the street, like a dog. When we tired of that, we would take them back to the golf course and turn them loose. We never did kill even one.

    In the winter, the golf course was the finest skiing area around. I said it was a rolling landscape; but in many places, the hills were downright steep. We would ski both the long runs and the steep ones. It was great fun, and sometimes I wish I could live those times over again. There was Gilbert, Fred, Gene, Ralph, Edgar, and Kenny, besides myself. Most anytime, any one of us could find one or two of the others to ski or hike or play with. Each winter we also put a ski jump in our alley and spent many happy hours jumping on skis. We had to cross the street in front of our house; but, fortunately for us, there were a lot less cars in those days and when someone was coming down, someone else would watch for cars or teams of horses.

    Rabbit Hollow was a valley between two fairly steep hills. The whole valley was quite wild and rugged. There was a lot of thick brush and very large boulders on both sides. This all made the perfect place for cowboys and Indians to chase each other and fight it out for years. The large boulders and trees were there to climb, so we were as much at home climbing them as we were in our own living room. I don't recall seeing many rabbits, but we spent a lot of time in Rabbit Hollow. When leaving the hollow, we were at Catfish Creek. At this point, we were perhaps five miles form the mouth of the creek.

    The valley through which Catfish Creek flows is the same valley through which the Illinois Central Railroad ran their tracks. To do this they had to build a lot of bridges over Catfish Creek, as it wound back and forth across the valley. These bridges were anywhere from fifty to one hundred feet long, so you can understand our concern when we walked across them. For us to get up and down the valley, we had to follow the railroad track. When we came to a bridge, we would put our ear on the track and listen for any rumbling to let us know if a train was coming. The valley twisted and turned enough that you could not see very far, and we certainly did not want to get caught in the middle of a bridge with a train coming at us. The bridge was made to carry the train, not pedestrians. Fortunately, not one of us ever got caught on a bridge; but even as kids, we did worry about it.

    About three bridges down from Rabbit Hollow, the railroad had built a high rock wall to keep the creek off the tracks during flood stage. The wall eventually formed a large hole in the creek, which must have been five or six feet deep. It was great spot to catch little bullheads, which we would take home, clean, and our mother would fry them for dinner. They were mostly about four or five inches long, so it took a lot of them to make a meal, but my mother would fry them for us. And they were very good. We were exceptionally proud when once in awhile we would catch a sucker about eight or nine inches long. They were full of bones but very tasty.

    One day we ventured further down the creek and found a large rock alongside the railroad track. It was really three rocks. It started out at ground level as one, then split into three parts. They were probably thirty or more feet high, and eight or ten feet apart at the top. I was with my brother and his friends that day, as my mother was working, and my brother had to look after me. I was three or four years younger than the others, but I did climb the rocks with them. Then they decided to jump from one to the other. I jumped the one jump. The rest had all jumped over, so I looked at my brother. He said, "Come on," so I jumped-but believe me, I was scared. The rocks were flat on top and perhaps five foot across the flat part, so it wasn't as bad as it might seem; but I was still small boy. In the ensuing years, I jumped them many times.

    We had many swimming holes along Catfish Creek, but one of our favorites was west of the former fishing hole I told you about. We took the street that went out west of the former fishing hole I told you about. We took the street that went out toward Wartburg Seminary to Coates Avenue. We went west on Coates to the end of the street. Here we went through a field to the top of the hill above Catfish Creek. The hill was quite steep, but we had a path back and forth down the hill to the creek. Crossing this field one day with my brother while barefoot, I stepped on a blue racer snake. I jumped backwards right into my brother's arms and we both watched that blue steak go through the high grass.

    One day I had taken my friend Edgar swimming in that hole one and warned him where a step-off was, as he could not swim. He was enjoying himself in the water on one side of the creek when I climbed the bank on the other side so I could dive. Before diving, I looked at Ed, and he was jumping up and down and thrashing the water quite vigorously. I thought he was just playing, but suddenly I realized he had stepped off the step-off and could not reach the bottom. I dove and came up right in front of him. In a fraction of a second, I was standing on the bottom with my head under water, and Ed was sitting on my shoulders. Reaching up, I put my hands on his chest and pushed him off of me and into shallower waster, where he could stand with his head above the water. It was a frightening situation but ended with no one getting hurt.

    Another favorite swimming hole was a mile or so further west. It was reached by going through Center Grove, over the hill, and then down to the creek. There was a gate into the farmer's pasture near the creek. About two blocks into the pasture was the swimming hole. We were welcome to drive through the pasture as long as the gate was never left open. The pasture was flat along the creek, but hills came down from each side. One point of the hill reached out toward the creek between the gate and the swimming hole. However, there was plenty of room to get around it. Even though it did not block the view of the swimming hole from the area of the gate.

    The city of Dubuque used the grade school grounds for playgrounds during the summer vacation months. Young men in their late teens or early twenties would be trained to supervise and be responsible for each playground. They had all sorts of arts and crafts and teams in many varied sports. They had swings, teeter-totter boards, and most everything for small children as well. The playground was open from noon until nine o'clock in the evening. My brother Bob took this training and was assigned to the Jackson School Play ground. My nearest playground was at Lincoln School but I asked my brother if I could come to his playground. He said I could if I would promise him I would not get into any fights, regardless of the circumstances. I promised and started attending the Jackson playground.

    After the playground had been open for a week or two. Bob and I started bringing three or four boys home with us after nine o'clock. My mother always had a picnic-size bottle of root beer and homemade cookies. After our refreshments, we got in the car and went to the swimming hole. Each boy we took had to have permission from his parents because we would swim until it was midnight by the time we would get them home.

    We had many good times, swimming and playing at the old swimming hole. One evening that stands out in my memory was when we took two brothers with us. One was tall and other short. In as much as it was very dark when we got there, each one would put their clothes in a spot where they could be easily found. The two brothers put theirs together but started putting on the wrong ones when it was time to get dressed. The short one's undershirt came to his knees, and the tall one could hardly get his over his head. After that, they no longer put them together.

    Years later, Mima's older brother and I were back to Dubuque at the same time. The day was hot, and the thought of the old swimming hole was too much. We got in the car and started out to see if we could still find it. We found the gate, went through, closed it again, and hurried through the pasture in anticipation of a nice cool dip in the water. Now, it so happened that there was never a girl around that area, so all the fellows swam nude. As everyone knows, it is easier to swim nude than with a swimsuit on. We were about halfway to the hole, and upon rounding that hill jutting out into the pasture we found our swimming hold full of boys and girls, all decked out in the latest of swimwear. We turned around and left and never have returned.

    Once a year the playgrounds would have a swimming meet at the city beach. A boom was built out into the river, perhaps one hundred feet. It then made a ninety degree turn down steam another hundred feet. The boom was about five feet wide and consisted of boards nailed over bloats. Near the ninety degree turn, it widened out to about fifteen feet, and this is where the diving boards ere built. About forty feet out from shore was a rope the full length of the beach, marking the spot where the water got deep. If you were not an accomplished swimmer, you stayed inside that rope. From the shoreline, back perhaps three hundred feet, was a beautiful sand beach. At the end of the beach was the bathhouse. It was quite large with lockers, showers, and even a place to buy snacks. There was a boardwalk from the bathhouse to the river so you could not burn your feet on the hot sand.

    There were two brothers on our Jackson playground swimming team who kept a canoe out near the beach. The morning of the swimming meet, these two brothers, my brother and I and about three others went to the beach early. When we arrived, hardly anyone else had shown up yet, so we got the canoe out and several fellows, including my brother, started across the river in the canoe. One of the brothers who owned the canoe was in it, also. The other brother and I started to swim after the canoe. We followed it for a while when I realized I was getting our quite far. Looking back, I was startled to find it was just as far back as it was to keep going to the other side. A little bit frightened, the brothers were excellent swimmers, and this was my first sojourn that far out into the river. We kept going, but I was rapidly beginning to get tired. It hurt to keep moving my arms forward, and my leg muscles began to ache. Finally, my friend let his feet down and told me to swim that far and maybe I could reach bottom. I stretched my toes out as far as I could and by laying my head back, I was able to stand and yet keep my nose above the water. I rested a bit and then swam the rest of the way across the river. Needless to say, I did not do very well in the swimming meet that day!

    That evening at the dinner table, my brother finally said, "Mom, I think you should know that Don swam across the river today." My mother looked at me and said, "Is that true, Don?" I said, "Yes, that is true." Her remark was, "I'm glad I did not know about it." After that, I swam the river many times. I guess the biggest thrill was to swim out to the channel and swim into the waves behind the barges. At that time, the barges had the large paddle wheels, which produced much larger waves than the screws do today. We would swim into about the fourth or fifth wave behind the wheel and then ride them on back for fifteen or twenty minutes. Then, it was swim back to shore and walk back to your starting point. We were tired when we got back. It was also fun to ride a canoe in the waves.



    Chapter 11: Growing Up in Dubuque

    When my brother was old enough, he went to work at Faulkenheiner's Drug Store. When I was eleven, I went to work delivering newspapers. Bob and I each gave what we made to my mother to help pay the expenses. I delivered papers for the Dubuque Times Journal. My route started at the top of the Fourth Street elevator. The elevator consisted of Three tracks becoming four halfway up the bluff so the cars could pass. These tracks were built straight up a steep bluff about one and a half to two blocks long, from Fourth Street to Fenlon Avenue.  There were two cars on these tracks, which would carry about eight people. One was pulled up and the other let down at the same time with heavy steel cables. The cost to ride it one way was five cents. My paper office gave me an extra paper to give to the elevator operator to pay for my ride up the elevator.

    As I got a little older and further along in school, I began to realize it did make a difference when you did not have a father. Others tended to pick on you because you did not have a father to go to. This was true even of your own cousins. I did not want to bother my mother with my trivial problems. My brother was busy with his friends and also had his own problems, so I soon learned to double up my fists and fight my own battles. My tormentors were generally bigger than I was, so I took many beating s when I stood up to them. I would not cry in front of anyone, so I would sneak off alone somewhere and cry. Not because I hurt as much as because I hadn't been able to whip them. Getting beat did not deter me from trying, and I soon found myself whipping some of the guys who had whipped me. When I got in to deep, and my tormentors were to big, sometimes my brother would step in and bail me out. One time, when I got in a fight just as recess was over, we agreed to meet there right after school. As the afternoon wore on and after much thought, my ego began to go back on me. He was bigger than me, and he was stronger than me. He was probably a better fighter than I was.

    After school, I slowly walked toward the designated spot, telling myself it was foolish to get beat up. But how could I face the other kids if I failed to show up? Finally, I decided I could make up some kind of story for them, and I turned to leave, When I turned, I ran right into my brother, He asked me if I wanted to fight the other kid or him. That was no choice, so I fought the kid and whipped him good. Now all the other kids looked up to me as quite a fighter, and I reveled in the glory.

    I will have to mention one adversary who lived up on Fifth Street, who particularly enjoyed picking on me. From the time I was quite small on, he would hit me or kick me or do anything he could to torment me. I could not fight back because he was much bigger and older then me. Several times, my brother had warned him to leave me alone. It all came to a head one evening when we were sleigh riding on the Fifth Street hill. We only had one sled, so my brother would slam down on the sled, and I would jump on his back as he went by. On one ride down the hill, this fellow picked up a chunk of ice and slammed it down on us. When it hit me in the in the calf, my brother stopped the sled. I rolled off, and he took after that fellow. He caught him, beat him up, shoved snow down his neck, and generally roughed him up pretty good. We took one more ride on the sled and then went home because my leg was hurting. When we got home, our mother was on the porch talking to this fellow and his mother. After inquiring in to what we had done to the poor boy, my brother asked them to look at my leg, which by this time was getting very black and blue and swollen. Bob then related what had happened, and they left. I do not recall having much trouble with him after that. Later, I did a little fighting at the Y.M.C.A., even sparing once with a professional.

    My mother married my step dad when I was around ten or eleven years old. He carried mail in the vicinity of Lincoln School where I attended. One evening he told my mother that it seemed that every time he passed the school, someone was fighting; and generally, I was one of them. That night, I got quite a talking to from my mother. That put a damper on my fighting, but when I look back, I realize there is a reason for all of us being what we are. I had to be aggressive and fight back to get shoved around and walk on. I wasn't about to let that happen. My cousins bragged to me about the heavy coats, sheep-lined caps, and gloves they had, my brother and I had a sweater, stoking cap, and mittens my mother knit for us. To this day, I swear I grew up I the finest family in the world; and I would never have wanted any other. But, I must admit, when I saw other kids with their mothers and fathers, I sometimes wondered what I had done that made God so mad at me that he took my father away from me when I so desperately needed him. My mother did a good job of being both mother and father, but that is a mighty difficult role to lead. It was easier for her after she remarried.

    My mother was a beautiful woman and the kindest and most understanding person I ever met. I remember seeing pictures of her when she was probably in her twenties. A beautiful, smiling face with long blonde hair wrapped round and round on top of her head and pinned into a knot or bun. In the picture I have in mind, she wore a white blouse with long sleeves and a long dark skirt, which was just short enough to keep from dragging in the dust. If there truly is such a thing as angles, that picture has to be one of them. When I was hurt physically, she nursed me back to health. When I was hurt mentally, she took the time to talk me back to health. When I was sick, she stayed by my side until I was well. When I was blue, she was a constant companion until I could laugh again.