NARRATIVE

A PICTORIAL NARRATIVE OF A TRIP TO SEVERAL STATES IN THE MIDDLE WEST OF THE UNITED STATES

PART I

James Barney Marsh

Mid-May, after spring semester ended, we traveled to Chicago to attend Uncle Bob’s 90^th birthday celebration. We wouldn’t miss that birthday bash for anything. Bob and Dorothy (also known as RJDDJD, emailese for their initials) are not just the patriarch/matriarch of the family but good and wise friends. Although I am a quarter of a century shy of 90, I clearly remember RJDDJD’s involvement with my family’s discussions of ideas, family, politics & politicians.

Always trying to piggy-back travel on travel, it seemed an opportune time to complicate the trip with two additional goals. Because Selena and I want to visit all 50 states together over the coming decade, we added Iowa, Kansas and Missouri to this trip. Additionally, Villisca is in Iowa and many of Uncle Barney’s sketchable old bridges are in Kansas. Missouri gets in the way, but it has lots of attractions and is, after all, the only state that contains two Federal Reserve Banks. Does Greenspan have a double Missouri mule kick in this state? Show me.

Upon our 5:00 AM arrival, we discovered that the weather was not to be so warm as anticipated. We picked up our auto at Hertz, an SUV which I had not asked for but later came to appreciate, and headed for our hotel, located just north of the Glenview Naval Air Station. At least that is what my old Chicago map told us. Sometime after that map was published the Department of Defense decommissioned the air station, enabling Mike, RJDDJD’s son, together with his business consortium, to grind up the runways and replace them with high-end housing tracts, shopping malls, the hotel we were to stay in, and RJDDJD’s retirement home. It is all very well done and attractive, but nothing was on my old map. In our trek in nearby states, I had planned on five driving days; this loomed as the sixth. It took us a couple of hours to find the hotel, an educational experience that helped us to know the larger area and all its various piecewise discontinuous streets and highways better than we ever wanted to. The SUV burned up about half a tank of expensive gas, though not as expensive as it would have been in Hawaii. The hotel, Staybridge Suites of Glenview, was a Downing recommendation and the site of much of the reunion activity. It is now on our list of strong recommendations, reasonable, well managed and close to O’Hare Airport.

We don’t need maps in Hawaii, even if not obsolete. We also don’t need sweaters, although we have some in our closets, which we wisely decided not to bring to the overheated Midwest. Because it was downright cold, we headed out to Old Orchard Shopping Mall in search of winter garb, and ended up browsing in their Barnes & Noble book store for, among other things, up-to-date maps.

After sleeping off the first 24 hours, we rose for brunch at Egg Harbor, a nearby restaurant. Afterward we snooped about in Target, Walmart and Costco to compare prices, almost all lower, with what we pay in Hawaii. Target seems to be more expensive than the others, but the sample was small. It doesn’t take much to amuse an economist.

In the afternoon, relatives began to arrive: Sue, Bob, more than one Bill, Kay, a John or two, Ann, Hans, Jean, Ollie, Mike, Tim, and eventually Dorothy and the Birthday Boy Bob. Not to mention tons of pizza, hug after hug, and more hugs.

We are a family of huggers. With my digital camera, I was able to catch several rapidly moving hips zipping in front of my targeted individuals. These photos will appear in a later report. The camera’s delayed action reminds me always of drivers lined up at a red light. When it turns green, it takes a while to realize that there has been a small but significant change in their environment. Back to reality, much chatter went on until late in the evening. I don’t know how many invitations I accepted or issued to visit somewhere at some later date.

With the arrival of the Ides of May, let the bash begin. Sandy arrived as did several other hitherto missing sons & daughters, grandsons and granddaughters, cousins, and others. The country club site was quite opulent and full of neckties. Bob had decreed that it was to be a gown, suit and tie affair, the rigors of which were bound to induce rebellion in the ranks. Secretly we all conspired to pull on specially made t-shirts at a strategic moment that I was to lead. Mike as MC introduced me as a world traveler, author, educator, and boring speaker. Nothing went at all smoothly, but nobody cared and all were amused. Bob spoke enthusiastically of his appreciation for everybody including the Marsh boys, a sentiment that is warmly reciprocated.

Monday in Chicago, with John we headed south, picked up Sandy at her St. Lawrence home and lunched in Hyde Park. Sandy’s St. Lawrence neighborhood, if not gentrifying, is certainly redeveloping in an impressive way. Hyde Park, too, has changed. Everything is smaller, as if that were possible. The streets are shorter; the distances between unchanging landmarks have shrunk. 57^th Street from the UC quadrangle to the Point is shorter. Or so it seemed. Only the trees are bigger; maybe that’s why. After a too hurried lunch, we dropped Sandy again and then John at the airport. Monday evening’s was a sumptuous dinner at RJDDJD’s retirement home, including also several other Downings. RJDDJD are well set; we look forward to the 95^th. Tuesday, more relaxed, we moseyed into downtown Chicago for a lobster at Navy Pier.

Of the five travel days, the first was from Chicago to a Super8 motel in Clarinda, Iowa. Although Clarinda matters to Clarindans, it mattered to us only as the site of the motel nearest to Villisca. But Clarinda grew on us, the down side being that it contained the worst restaurant we have ever endured. But the up side was the Orscheln Store which featured farming and country clothing important for Selena’s work here in Hawaii, and for my wardrobe of idiosyncratic practicalities. We should have bought more. Also impressive were the rumble strips that, indeed, rumbled with authority.

Villisca is a town of about 1300 inhabitants in which my great-grandparents lived out their lives, my grandparents retired, and my mother was born. I visited Villisca on numerous occasions as a child and teenager, had a few good friends, kissed my first girl, but hadn’t returned in over 50 years. A few key items had changed. There once was a hotel with a large front porch down by the railroad tracks. A pre-trip fantasy had me sitting on a rocker on that porch, sipping a snifter of brandy, but alas the hotel was gone. Gone also was the farm supply store across the main street in which John and I bought calcium carbide for our noisy but harmless bombs. In the same block the Weiner grocery, as well as Moore’s Drugstore where the teenagers hung out, were no longer in existence. In addition, on a cross street facing the town square, Palmquist Hardware had disappeared. Finally, a few blocks down one street and across from the swimming pool, the Tyler’s barn was still there but quite dilapidated. The Tylers, once reputed to be the wealthiest people in town, had not fallen on hard times; they just had drifted into other businesses. The town, in short, had undergone the WalMart effect: townspeople and surrounding farm families could now get their groceries, toiletries and other necessities at bargain prices under one large roof outside of town. The storefronts in town, in the meantime had become antique & gift shops, bric-a-brac, a few restaurants, curiosity shops, etc. Villisca’s population was down by only about 100 in the last 50 years. Nothing looked particularly opulent, nor had the shops fifty years ago when each contained limited choices parceled out in small, uneconomic doses.

We had only one day, but it was quite full. Early on, a woman named Mrs. Schroeder recognized us as visitors in the town square (I was taking pictures) and offered information. As I told her about my family history, she quickly took us to a pizza joint, the hangout of her husband and his band of old timers. The pizza joint was next to what once had been Moore’s Drug Store, in which Mr. Schroeder & his old timers had hung out when they were teenagers. From cherry cokes to pizzas: what a move! Mr. Schroeder and Tom Enderson knew my great grandparents and every relative who followed. OK, I did too, but they were enough older to remember things that had escaped me. They recited a series of houses Grandma/Grandpa Farquhar had owned before moving into their “Farquhar House” between the wars. George & Elizabeth Farquhar died in 1946 & 1948, respectively. George had at first worked in the B. J. Banes (later Palmquist) hardware store, then set himself up in the grocery business, which he sold, upon retirement in 1925, to the Weiners. He had twice been mayor of Villisca as well as head of the volunteer fire department.

Dick Weiner and his brother are partners in a business in Omaha. Joan Palmquist and her husband live nearby; she chairs the class of 55 reunion coming up in fall. Nancy Moore, sadly, has died. In a famous 1943 photo, she appeared as a very young girl being hugged by her father, Colonel Moore, during a brief home leave. Her weeping mother stands nearby. The photo was snapped on the train platform in Villisca, won a Pulitzer Prize, and was reproduced full page in Life’s Picture of World War II. This reproduction is from a beat up copy of that book in my library. The photo is also proudly displayed in City Hall. Mr. Pitman, the funeral director who buried all four of my Villisca ancestors, walked over daily to milk an old cow who lived on Farquhar property. Mr. Enderson and Mr. Schroeder grew up drinking that milk.