The Palimpsest

Grant, H Roger

The Railroad Station Agent
in Small-Town Iowa
by H. Roger Grant
The Ch icago, Milwaukee i7  St. Paul depot in Lakeville, e. 1910. This was one of three depots located in this 
community, (courtesy the author)
Before the widespread presence of automo­biles, trucks, and buses, trains bound the 
nation together. On the eve of World War I, 
Iowa alone among the states could claim that no 
point within its boundaries lay more than eight 
miles from the iron horse. Understandably, thej *
railroad map of the Hawkeye State resembled a 
plate of wet spaghetti. Every community had at 
least one depot and many boasted two or more, 
for example, the Calhoun County village of 
Lohrville (1910 population of 674) sported 
three, those that belonged to the Great West-
( Iowa State Historical Department Ollice ol the State Histori­
cal Societx 1983 0031-0360/83/0.506-0093 SI.00
ern, the Milwaukee, and the North Western. 
And each “deepo had an agent, sometimes 
several, since the larger facilities often re­
mained open continuously and had a sizable 
volume of business. The majority of depots, 
though, were staffed only by one person who 
understandably performed a multitude of ser­
vices. The bigger ones might even have more 
than a “second or “third trick agent. They 
likely had a half-dozen or more employees who 
participated in a variety of specialized tasks 
that ranged from telegraphy to baggage 
handling.
The preeminent function of the small-town
94 T he  Pa l im p s e s i
agent in the daily routine of Iowans illustrates 
superbly the former importance of the railroad. 
As the line s official representative, he (occa­
sionally she) was probably as well known as a 
town s pastor or physician. The reasons were 
many and varied. Primarily the agent met the 
public when he sold tickets, planned travel 
itineraries, and reported freight and express 
shipments. These activities affected virtually 
every adult, possibly several times a month, for
virtually all merchandise entered and left by✓  ✓
rail. In some places the agent’s chances for 
exposure increased since the depot building 
itself contained living quarters for himself and 
his family. But even if the agent did not reside 
in the station, he got additional attention be­
cause of his sale of postal cards, stationery, 
stamps, and even spool thread and other no­
tions. (These activities, however, sometimes
violated company rules, although the rules 
could be overlooked.) Occasionally, the agent 
served as the town’s “reading man. Folks who 
could not read knew that the agent could. If 
any reading matter came their way, ’’ explained 
C.C. Searls, a longtime Milwaukee agent at 
Postville, “they usually headed for the depot to 
have it interpreted. And there was more.
His firsthand know ledge of the cryptic 
M orse code made the station agent the best 
informed person in town. The chattering tele­
graph instruments carried more than just rou­
tine railroad business (train orders, equipment 
requests, and the like); they delivered com­
mercial messages from Western Union, Postal 
Telegraph, and other firms. Even a community 
newspaper depended heavily on the agent’s 
telegraphic abilities. As the daughter of a 
Poweshiek County newspaper editor recalled,
s  <■
»
T u e  Pa l im p s e s t 95
An impressive side view of Lohr - 
ville s Chicago, Milwaukee i? St. 
Paid depot, c. 1910. Xote the sign 
which also designated the depot a 
Wells largo & Company Express 
office, (courtesy the author)
I he [agent] was truly our link with national 
events, for in those clays before radio and tele- 
\ ision the telegrapher got everything first, in­
cluding the w eather forecast. My father 
haunted the depot for these forecasts as well as 
important world events.
I he excitement, even the glamour, of the 
agent s job made it attractive to many an Iowa 
lad. Usually he came from town, for farm boys 
always faced a multitude of daily chores. Com- 
monly a youngster would hang out at the 
depot and, if he were lucky, strike up a friend­
ship with the local agent. In exchange for in­
struction in telegraphy and station accounting, 
he would likely perform various odd jobs: car- 
r>ing in buckets of coal during the heating 
season, helping to load and unload less-than- 
carload (l.c.l.) freight, sweeping floors, wash­
ing windows, and performing other janitorial 
tasks. Dan Knight, a former Hawkeye State 
agent for the Minneapolis 6c St. Louis (later 
North Western) recalled that For many poor
hoys it was the break of a lifetime when they
*
were able to learn a trade without cost and 
without having to live awav from home while
doing so, then step into a job . . .  in one of the 
most interesting industries in the world.
As in most types of work the station agent 
encountered his share of problems. The hustle- 
bustle of depot life made for many a hectic 
moment. A.B. Overby, agent for the Great 
Western in Tripoli, penned some thoughts 
about his job in 1926. Although located on a 
rem ote branchline, Overbv s station was 
nevertheless a busy spot:
Work can he frantic, especially when you 
are making switch list for local due in 
fifteen minutes; also fifteen or twenty 
way hills to make; several express ship­
ments to prepare fo r passenger train, 
which is due to meet local at your station, 
and city telephone persistently ringing, 
the party on the line asking a question 
something like this: "Did Jim or Joe get o ff 
the train or did it not arrive yet? In all 
probability you do not know either of 
them. Turning around to the ticket 
window another party asks: "Is there any 
freight for me? without as much as tell­
ing you his name, taking it for granted
«
96 T h e  Pa l im p s e s t
that you are the local railroad agent, you 
should know his name. . . . About one 
minute before passenger train is due , a 
traveling salesman rushes up with three 
trunks to check, three hundred pounds 
excess.
Station agents, too, never seemed too happy 
about certain duties. They disliked having to 
move about heavy amounts of freight, express, 
and mail. While they might get assistance from 
a friendly crewman, seetionman, helper or cus­
tomer, a barrel of oil or a 100-pound sack of 
Sears, Roebuck catalogs could be a formidable 
obstacle and might even cause serious injury if 
mishandled. Pulling a loaded platform truck 
with its contrary iron wheels and stiff steering
v. * •» - i
mechanism was always a challenge, especially 
in snow and ice. And relaying train orders 
could be another troublesome assignment. Ini­
tially such communications were simply placed 
in the flat of the agent s hand. He then stood 
close enough to the passing train so that a crew­
man could slap his palm and remove the order. 
Fortunately, more effective equipment ap­
peared toward the close of the nineteenth cen­
tury. Yet problems continued. If an agent used 
the P -shaped train order hoop to hand up 
messages, he likely had to trudge along the 
track to retrieve it. (Without stopping a train, a 
crewman merely put his arm through the bam­
boo hoop, took off the paper order clipped to 
the handle, and cast the device to the ground.)
,v- •
nr
i
1
¿5’.»t/U
The arrival of a hi (inch line passenger local in Sicca City. c. 1911. A “Where We Got Off" caption along the |  
bottom oj the photograph (trimmed out of this reproduction) indicated that the view came from a postal
•— *. - . . .
C(lrc/> one that the agent likely sold to the public.
T h e  P a l i m p s e s t
The Chicago, Burlington ö  
Quincy agent at Ellston (right) 
posed with a patron, c. 1920. Note 
the less-than-carload freight that 
ei th er had arrived or awaited 
shipment, (courtesy the author)
(courtesy the author)

1
Finding the hoop could he an adventure when 
it landed in high weeds or deep snow or when it 
was dark. (By the 1940s the widespread use of 
the “Y” strip hoop ended this problem.) Feed­
ing hungry stoves in offices and waiting rooms 
during the wintry months was a matter of 
seem ingly unending toil and caused extra 
aches and pains. Coal houses were frequently a 
considerable distance from the depot, making 
the necessary daily trips unpleasant. Of course 
when the weather turned nasty, anv outdoor 
task became an additional burden.
Commercial telegraphic work created its 
own special difficulties. While this business
meant extra income, the bother nearly univer-* /
sally outweighed the compensation. Agent 
Knight explained:
Invariably, som ebody would show up 
about 20 minutes or so before you d  go off 
duty with a handful o f death messages. 
They expected you to accept them with 
graciousness and to get them out right 
away. All the operator made from  a tele­
gram was 10 percent o f any money he 
handled. If somebody came in with 5 or 6 
telegrams that were to be paid fo r  at the 
other end . . . / wouldn t get a nickle from  
sending any o f them. . . . When you ac­
cepted the telegrams, you didn't know 
how long it was going to take to get rid o f  
them because you had to call a relay op­
erator. . . . And you had to wait until he 
was not busy. You might sit there fo r  2 
hours waiting fo r  him past your time to go
Burlington Route Agent Martin J. Kenton at work in the Bussell depot, c. 1925. The ubiquitous train order 
hoops can he seen to the right of the bay window area. (courtesy the author)
u
98 T h e  Pa l im psest
The Palimpsest
Chicago, Milwaukee ù  St. Paul depot at Akron in June 1907. (courtesy the author)
home. . . . On in-bound telegrams . . . if  
the telegram was paid for on the other 
end, you never got anything out of it. . . .
If [the message ! was for out in the coun­
try, and the people had no phone, and if it 
was an urgent message . . . you felt that 
you almost had to deliver it. If you drove 
0llt • . . and delivered it, you never got a 
nickel and you never got any thanks from 
the people. They expected it. There have 
been times when I got stuck in the snow 
and mud and 1 had to hire somebody to 
pull me ou t.. . . It was a fine thing fo r  the 
Western Union but it was a mighty floor 
arrangement fo r  the agent.
Relations with the public could also prove 
difficult. Questions and complaints were part 
°l the daily routine. II shipments were late or 
damaged, patrons’ tempers flared. Such occur­
rences w ere em otionally  draining and 
extremely time consuming. Agents, for in­
stance, developed a hardy dislike for the cheap 
dish and drinking glass traffic. “Always two or 
three 50 each type glasses or a couple of 14  ̂
plates broken, requiring a trip to a store for 
inspection of packing, reason for damage, 
etc., noted Agent Searls. “Most time consum­
ing, when the time was so badly needed for all 
the other demanding work of the day. Natural­
ly those handling such shipments felt their 
needs were equally as important as those of the 
livestock . . . shippers. We strived to keep 
them all happy. If we could get the 20c damage 
handled within 72 hours, it worked out rather 
well.” Searls added, “Many times I paid them 
out of my own pocket to save time.”
Since the depot served as the community 
gateway, “loafers commonly became a nui­
sance and source of irritation. Some might be 
drunk, vile or generally undesirable. Agents 
usually coaxed these people to leave, but at 
times they had to get tough. The Carroll
100 The Palimpsest
In August 1916 the Minneapolis St. Louis agent and two assistants gave a photographer a few moments in 
the office of the Estherville station. Freight tariffs are stored on the right, (courtesy the author)
Herald reported in 1905 that the North W est­
ern agent “has made the announcement that 
hereafter loafers will he compelled to keep 
away from the depot and that unless his orders 
are heeded some arrests will he made in the 
very near future.” The threat worked, at least 
temporarily.
There existed, of course, those annoying and 
usually silly questions. For example, some 
travelers could not understand a railroad time­
table or tell the difference between A M. and 
P M. In response to repeated inquiries about 
time, one frustrated Iowa agent in 1894 placed 
the following sign under the popular station
clock: “This is a clock; it is running; it is Chicago 
time; it is right; it is set every day at 10 o’clock.
Now keep your mouths shut.
The workaday life for the railroad station 
agent could have additional discomforting fea­
tures. In particular, an “extra man,” one who 
lacked a regular depot assignment, might he 
forced to move frequently throughout a divi­
sion or occasionally an entire svstem without✓ +
much prior notice. He could w ell face a 
lengthy, bone jarring ride on a “way-freight 
or a poky passenger train in order to reach his 
destination at the prescribed time. Upon as­
suming his new post, the agent needed to make 
his own eating and sleeping arrangements. 
Either could prove difficult and some sm< iller 
communities lacked both a restaurant and a 
hotel. The usual solution lav with a local resi-
T h e  Pa l im p s e s i
A McKeen gas-electric motor train at Hampton in 1949, a year before the Chicago Great Western 
discontinued passenger service on the line between Oelwein and Clarion. (courtesy the author)
Ihe Chicago North Western depot in Lohrville, c. 1910. The agent, William //. Marple, and his family 
lived on the depot's second floor. (courtesy the author)
1 his view of the office oj the Chi­
cago Great Western depot in 
Lamont, c. 1910, shows Agent 
Bert Snodgrass on the left near the 
telegraph key. (courtesy the 
author)
102 T h e  P a l im pse st
dent (often a widow) who was willing to supply 
both meals and a sleeping room. Even if such 
an arrangement could he made, the agent 
might experience a general lack of cleanliness, 
inadequate heat during the coldest months, 
and a cantankerous hostess. There existed a last 
resort. Although the majority of Iowa stations 
lacked living quarters, an agent could ‘hatch 
in the depot itself. He could acquire food from 
the ubiquitous grocery or general store and use 
a cot that was placed in the office or freight 
house. \ \  ith the advent of all-weather roads 
and automobiles, the agent enjoyed greater 
options. Larger, nearby towns generally of­
fered suitable facilities.
Once settled the railroad agent faced long 
hours of toil with only modest financial com­
pensation. “When my dad hired out in 1900 
. . . he worked one of the better paying jobs for
$45.00 for a 12 hour day six days a week [ap­
proximately 14 cents an hour] and no over­
tim e,” remembered Dan Knight. “Any union 
activity meant automatic dismissal. Agents
throughout the state and nation eventuallv✓
unionized and won substantial improvements 
in wages and working conditions. Prior to pas­
sage of the Railroad Retirement Act by a New
Deal Congress in 1935, all railroad employees 
had to work until they could no longer do so;
men stayed on the “extra board for years until*
somebody died, quit or was fired. Vacations
did not become common until the forties “so 
nobody laid off until he was sick.
W hile once there were several thousand 
agents, the railroad industry in Iowa today em ­
ploys only several score. This enormous con­
traction has occurred because of several fac­
tors: the virtual extinction of the passenger 
train; the increased use since the 1950s of 
mobile freight representatives and centralized 
agencies; the w idespread em ploym ent of 
radios for train-control work; and, the major 
track abandonments caused by mergers, de­
clining business and, in the case of the Milwau­
kee and Rock Island, bankruptcy and liquida­
tion. Fewer and fewer Iowans recall the time 
when the station agent played a vital role in the 
town’s life. Those few agents still working and 
those who have retired have their memories. 
And they are probably fond ones: “It’s been a 
good life,’ reflected Knight. I don’t think I 
would have wanted anything else . . . there 
never was a day when I hated to go to work 
because everv dav was different.’ □
Note on Sources
Surprisingly, virtually no secondary literature has ap­
peared on the subject of the railroad station agent in Iowa 
or the nation. The various company histories virtually 
ignore this type of employee and the few railroad labor 
studies focus on either strikes or the operating brother­
hoods. Some attention, however, is paid to the role of the 
depot and the agent in H. Roger Grant and Charles \V. 
Bohi, The Country Railroad Station Agent in America 
(Boulder, 1978).


English

The Railroad Station Agent in Small-Town Iowa

McCoy, Maureen

The Italian Heritage in Des Moines: Photographs

The Palimpsest, vol.64 no.2, March-April 1983

Horton, Loren N

A Place in the Sun: Iowa Politics at the Turn of the Century

The Palimpsest, vol.64 no.4, July-August 1983

Salvaneschi, Lenore

Stephen s Lutheran Church and parsonage in Atkins, Iowa, c 
childhood. (G. Rickels Collection, SHSI)
o more dreaded yet exciting words 
^existed in my childhood than Mission 
I estival. Undoubtedly it was because the 
words represented literally weeks of work and 
tension and anxiety on the part of my mother.
It was strange that one day out of the whole 
>eai should be so significant. But the most 
important event of a preacher family’s summer
in the minds of the children, 
i> the Grand and Glorious, ) was Mission 
festival Sunday.
w
- fission F estival came on a certain Sunday of 
t ie summer, chosen by each congregation on a
1920, home for the author during her
Iowa State Historical D epartm en t/O ffice  ot th e  State Histori­
cal Society 1983 0 0 3 1 -0 3 6 0 /8 3 /0 5 0 6 — 0103 $1.00
date not conflicting with that of another con­
gregation, at which there would be two festival 
services with guest preachers. These guests 
were not necessarily m issionaries (there 
w eren’t enough of these ordinarily to go 
around) but were very likely pastors from other 
congregations in the circuit. I never knew on 
what basis the preachers were chosen, but the 
local pastor certainly had to provide someone 
who would be a good speaker, and I suspect he 
also selected people who would be congenial to 
himself and to his family. The occasion lent
r
itself to social as well as to religious refresh­
ment.
Other congregations were always invited;
104 T h e  Pa l im p s e s t
the host congregation prepared a refreshment 
stand; and in the days before World War II, 
many families made a day of it, attending fore­
noon and afternoon services, having a picnic 
lunch in between on the church grounds, and 
ending with the Walther League having a cele­
bration with “party games, the acceptable 
name for square dancing, on the lawn in the 
evening. [The Walther League was the young 
people s organization of the Missouri Synod 
Lutheran churches.]
I he local choir practiced feverishly to be 
able to show off the quality of its sopranos, and 
the parochial schoolteacher exercised his best
the compliment graciously, but inwardly may 
have thought wryly of his own “out of pocket 
situation. 1 suspect that often he must also have 
been disturbed when the congregation sang 
“From Greenland's icv mountains to India’s 
coral strands having no inkling of the nine­
teenth century imperialism reflected in the 
hymn.
I fall tlii s was supposed to be so edifying,why should it instill such terror into the¥
heart of the preacher s wife, our Mamma- 
Gusti? The unfortunate reason was that, 
whether true or not, each Frau Pastor in the
Representatives of various Benton, Linn, and possibly Iowa County Missouri Synod Lutheran parishes 
gather against the background oj St. Stephen s church in 1923. While this was probably a W alther League 
rally, a similar crowd gathered for Mission Festivals. (G. Rickets Collection, SHSl)
abilities on the organ. How many sermons 
were preached on the virtue of missionary 
(sometimes confused with charity) work at 
home and abroad, with emphasis upon the tan­
gible expressions of concern for foreign fields. 
The emphasis upon fields “white with the har­
vest never made much sense to me as a child, 
since fields covered with snow seldom were 
harvested in Iowa. Our congregation had the 
reputation of being one of the best contributors 
in the circuit to foreign mission endeavors. 
When other pastors congratulated Father upon 
his generous congregation, he acknowledged
German Lutheran congregations in Iowa in 
those days thought she was on trial. M ission 
Festival Sunday was her supreme moment of 
judgment by her peers, the other ministers 
wives (and their husbands, for many a pastor 
compared his paragon of housekeeping virtue 
with others less efficient). And so, from Easter­
tide on, until the second Sunday in June, our 
Mission Festival date, all the activities of the 
household were directed toward that one 
event.
Phe whole parsonage, every room of it, had 
to be cleaned. And housecleaning there was a
T h e  Pa l im p s e s t 105
thorough affair. In the case of the bedrooms, all 
the clothing and bedding, with the exception of 
the mattresses, had to be hung outdoors on the 
lines to get the purifying rays of the sun. The 
mattresses in turn were carried down to the 
lawn and beaten frantically with rug beaters.
I m sure that when my mother finally owned an 
electric vacuum sweeper, its cleaning attach­
ments, to her puritanical conscience, never 
really effected the proper cleaning of any mat­
tress. Ceilings and wallpapered walls were 
swept with a broom, over which had been 
wrapped a soft cloth. Painted walls and wood­
work were washed with soapsuds, floors were 
scrubbed, windows washed with a chamois and 
water and ammonia. Curtains were washed, 
and it they were “ecru in color, given an infu­
sion of coffee rinse, then stretched on curtain 
frames, merciless arrangements of lathes with 
» 1 ̂  on which the edges of the curtains
were impaled. It was impossible to stretch the 
curtains without also puncturing the fingers 
and skinning the knuckles. Usually, the frames 
were set at an angle against the south side of the
'x*.
I
/Vie aut hors younger brother, Robert, helping 
his grandmother, Reske Rickels, in the parson­
age kitchen in 1925. (G. Rickels Collection,
SHS1)
The author and her mother, Mrs. G. Rickels, 
relaxing in the parsonage orchard during a 
summer 1921 picnic. (G. Rickels Collection, 
S H S I )
house, to get the most sunshine and to protect 
them from the strong winds. It was a tragedy if 
the whole contraption were blown down and 
the accursed procedure had to be gone through 
again.
Th is housecleaning process, much of it de­
pending upon the cooperation of the weather, 
could take weeks to com plete. Cleaning 
Father s study would usually be done while he 
was away at the Spring Pastoral Conference. 
This gave one a chance to dust all the books 
very carefully, to polish the glass of the book­
cases and probably to varnish the linoleum on 
the floor, all without disturbing him.
fhe worst days were those when the bed- 
rooms or parlor had to be cleaned, for one 
needed perfect weather for these activities. As 
mentioned before, bedding and clothes had to 
be put out to air, and in the case of the parlor, 
this meant that the big rug — our only one —  
had to be taken out into the front lawn and 
beaten. Both Mother and Father would be in a 
bad mood, for on the most perfect of spring
days, when the air was heavy with the scent of* * /
106 T h e  Pa l im p s e s t
spring flowers and the flickers were wild in the 
trees, Mother would need help in this cleaning 
and Father would yearn to be in the Maquo- 
keta timber. Usually, because of her great 
anxieties, my mother s needs would predomi­
nate.
Not only the house, but also the yard and 
garden had to be in perfect shape and this was 
where my brother and I particularly had to 
help. Father did the planting, but my brother 
and I did the weeding, mowing and clipping, 
leaving the yard almost shorn.
A s the great clay approached, another cause of anxiety presented itself: the 
menu. What would we prepare for the guests? 
I’m sure that Mother always hoped that the 
guest preachers would not come the night be­
fore; that meant more meals to prepare at a 
time when the whole focus of her attention was 
on the Sunday dinner. On the other hand, if 
the men came the night before, they were less 
likely to bring their families with them. No 
matter what, it was an ordeal to plan the din­
ner. Without question, the entree had to be a 
roast, very likely of beef, baked in the oven of 
the old cookstove. Since the middle of June was 
usually hot and sultry, the joys of using the 
stove were nonexistent. There would be pota­
toes: this one time in the year, mashed and✓
then put through a ricer, to be served with 
exquisite roast beef gravy. What vegetables 
were to be served:" The question usually ended 
in the decision to have home-canned corn, per­
haps beans, all sorts of relishes, beets, pickles, 
f resh celery, and coleslaw, of course, and then 
cherry pie for dessert at noon. My poor sister 
usually spent many minutes trying to whip the 
recalcitrant cream, which had been chilling for 
hours in the old cistern.
Imagine the logistics of the whole dinner: 
keeping the cookstove hot with cobs and wood, 
keeping some foods cool (milk and cream hung 
in the cistern, while everything else was placed 
in the basement, on top of the washing ma­
chine and benches), the setting of the table —  
two boards brought down from the attic, cov­
ered with the flannel liner, then the heavv* *
linen tablecloth with the handmade lace inser­
tion (ironed to perfection) and the 'good white 
china. In connection with the table settings, I 
shall never forget the one-upwomanship of a 
certain preacher s wife who was the feminine 
version of the arbiter elegantiarum  for all the 
preachers wives in the circuit. This lovely lady 
had a flair in dress and cuisine which was the 
envy of lesser souls who had not been blessed 
with the same degree of creativity. When the 
leader acquired a pink dinner sendee, and pink 
glassware to go with it, Mother — I think for 
the first time in her life — knew what envy 
meant. I well remember the time she accom­
panied Father to the county seat, where he 
often had to make hospital calls, and looked 
longingly in the window of a jewelry store 
which sold Noritake china. One bittersweet 
day, when she had received the final payment 
of the government insurance as one of the sur­
vivors of her brother, “missing in action in 
World War I, she actually spent twenty dol­
lars, after much searching of conscience, and 
thereafter rejoiced in her set of pretty green 
dishes.
A t Mission Festival time, the orange blos­soms south of the parsonage and 
Mother s climbing roses were in flower, and 
thus the centerpieces on the table and on the 
golden oak buffet were prepared with these 
fragrant blossoms. The altar in the church also 
would be decorated with huge bouquets of the 
bridal flowers, combined with peonies and 
feather fronds of asparagus, anchored solidly in 
fruit jars by members of the Ladies Aid.
Together with anxieties about the house and 
yard, about dinner and supper, there was the
concern to be well dressed. Verv likelv Mother* *
would have sewn a new summer dress for her­
self and for my sister, and probably made over 
one of hers for me. It was no small feat to juggle
T h e  P a l i m p s e s t 107
A /f/ne 1922 pastors’ picnic in Cedar Rapids. Again, while not a Mission Festival photograph, the summer 
setting is suggestive of Mission Festival. Mrs. G. Rickels is seated on the far right in the photograph, and 
the Reverend G. Rickels is standing fourth from the right. (G. Rickels Collection, SI I SI)
the preparation of the dinner and the dressing 
of the family in time for the first service at ten 
o clock on M ission Festival Sunday. My 
brother and I often aggravated the tension by 
caring more for the offerings of the ‘stand than 
the necessities of the heathen mentioned so 
frequently in the sermons. We tended to dis­
grace our parents by coining in at the last mo­
ment in less than crisply starched finery.
 ̂ery often the table had to be reset after vve 
came home from church, for there might be 
visiting preachers in addition to the invited 
speakers and their families. There was such 
excitement in the house. The men would be in 
Fathers study, saturating M others freshly 
laundered curtains with cigar smoke; the 
women would be in the parlor or a few of the 
kindly (or nosey) ones might try to help in the
kitchen. The children meanwhile were merrilvd
acquiring grass stains or begging more nickels 
to get some pop at the “stand.”
Father was always the gracious host, saying 
grace, then Gesegnete Mahlzeit and urging 
Brother John, or whoever was the honored 
preacher, to help himself. Through sweat and 
smiles, Mother, in her best dress and embroi­
dered apron, managed to get through the din­
ner and dishes (with all the women guests ex­
pected to help, the fancy embroidered flour 
sack dish towels carefully laid out for them) 
almost in time for the afternoon service. This 
service was usually more crowded; the elders 
were well prepared, however, and placed the 
overflow on wooden plank benches which had 
been built under the fragrant catalpa trees the 
day before. The afternoon service usually
108 T h e  P a l i m p s e s t
%
A view of the lush parsonage vine­
yards in 1923. Note the crooked 
ironwork of the church steeple in 
the background. The steeple was 
later removed and rebuilt. (G. 
Hickels Collection, SUSI)
brought out more preachers’ families— I think 
most of them tried to "make the circuit every
y
summer — and Mother might be hard put to 
supply enough food for all the previously unin­
vited who came to supper. Minced ham, sliced 
roast, potato salad, more coleslaw from the 
dishpan in the basement, more jars of pre­
served pickles and relishes from the store in 
the fruit room, beautiful fresh bread and rolls 
baked the day before, jello whip made in 
crocks, chocolate cake with seven-m inute  
frosting and white cake with lemon filling, 
Mother s specialties, all appeared on the table.
F inally, in the cool of the evening, after the many dishes had once again, perhaps 
twice again, been washed, the women relaxed 
in the rockers in the parlor. The preachers 
visited in the study or carried the dining room 
chairs outside to the lawn (who had heard of 
lawn furniture?), and smoked their cigars and 
pipes while the children chased fireflies and
played hide-and-go-seek in the grapevines and 
bushes.
The Walther Leaguers arrived in their Fords 
and Chevies (one family always came in a
\ y •
Buick) and took over the school yard, playing 
We ve Got a New Pig in the Parlor,” and other 
party games with much energy and bouncing of 
partners. We children watched for awhile, 
then begged for one more ice cream cone from 
the “stand, and came home thoroughly sticky, 
sick, and exhausted from the excitement and 
un won ted Schluecke re i.
The guests ordinarily left by a prudent hour, 
eleven at the latest. The cars of the revellers 
stirred up the dust, the crickets sang, and huge 
bundles of wash waited for the next morning of 
boiling suds and sunshine. Once again, the 
whole family relaxed in the knowledge that the 
collection had been up to the congregation s 
standards, and Mother s reputation had been 
upheld. D
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CONTRIBUTORS
\ \  ILLIAM CHARLES Lang received his B.A. de­
gree from Yankton College (S.D.) and his M.A. 
and Ph.D. degrees in history from the State 
l niversity ol Iowa. He has done additional grad 
uate work at the Universities of Minnesota and 
Michigan. He was a teacher, principal, and 
superintendent of schools at Kennebec, South 
Dakota. For thirteen years he taught and ad­
ministered at Yankton College, spending two 
years as acting president. I le joined the faculty of 
the Iowa State Teachers College in 1949. There, 
he served as professor of history, chairman of the 
humanities staff, head of the department of social 
sciences, dean of instruction, and vice-president 
of academic affairs. He was instrumental in help­
ing to launch the humanities sequence in the 
general education studies at the college and 
helped guide the institution from teachers col­
lege through state college and finally to univer­
sity status. His writing and published speeches 
have appeared in the Journal of the American 
Speech Association, the Music Educators Jour- 
nah the South Dakota Educational Association 
Journal, the Annals of Iowa, Vital Sf)eeches, and 
Representative American Speeches, 1960-61. He 
was coauthor of the high school text The Ameri­
can Achievement. The Freedoms Foundation 
gav e him a special award for his defense of civil 
rights. The Massachusetts State College at 
Bridgewater conferred upon him the honorary 
Doctor of Humanities degree. Lang is currently
Professor of Historv Emeritus and at work on a
*
history of the University of Northern Iowa.
H. ROGER G rant , an Albia, Iowa, native, is a 
professor of history at the University of Akron in 
Ohio. A frequent contributor to the Palimpsest, 
his latest book, Self-Help in the 1890s Depres­
sion, was published in 1982 by the Iowa State 
University Press. Another work is forthcoming
from the Northern Illinois University Press in
*
DeKalb: The Corn Belt: A History of the Chicago 
Great Western Railroad Company.
LENORE SalvaNESCHI was born in a Lutheran 
country parsonage in western Iowa. Her child­
hood was spent in a similar parsonage in south­
eastern Iowa. After graduation from Bethany 
Lutheran College in Mankato, Minnesota, and 
Valparaiso University in Valparaiso, Indiana, she 
received her graduate degrees in medieval his­
tory from the LIniversity of Iowa, Iowa City. 
Mrs. Salvaneschi has been the recipient of 
AAUW and Fulbright grants for postdoctoral 
study in Italy, and also a grant for summer study 
at the American School of Classical Studies in 
Athens. Until her retirement in 1969, she taught 
in the history department at Valparaiso Univer­
sity and was chairman of the history department 
at Marymount College, Palos Verdes, California. 
She now lives with her husband in Glen Ellyn, 
Illinois.


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