N. INDIANA VINTAGE TRAILER RALLY, POST #9

Northern Indiana Vintage Trailer Rally

KOA Kampground

Granger, Indiana

7/28-7/31/11

Milwaukee in the rear view mirror sped me on my way south on a major interstate.  I was surprised when the Garmin took me off the interstate and routed me onto an older state highway.  I guess it was shorter than the interstate, but was a bit more stressful due to the closer traffic, intersections, and differing speed limits.  On the other hand I did get to see suburban Skokie. 

This highway took me onto the major interchanges around and through Chicago.  I was going slowly, really crawling along with a rolling traffic jam and doin’ ok.  At the south end of town I was getting ready to shift to the left onto an eastbound freeway when a car sped up on my left and cut right across in front of me and I missed the opportunity.  The Garmin recalculated a new route and boy did I get some more sightseeing!  I ended up going east on 79^th street.  I was the only RV going through the two lanes of the “South Side of Chicago” with thoughts of Jim Croce songs about Bad, Bad Leroy Brown, Jim and Slim running through my mind.  I just hoped I wouldn’t have to turn around or back up in the tight traffic.  With a resolute trust in the Garmin I crossed town and got on the Skyway Toll Road.   They must think a lot of the Skyway; it cost me $10 for about a five-minute drive segment.

After several more toll road challenges I got to the KOA Kampground in mid afternoon, and was directed to a great spot in the shade with a cement patio.  The KOA host even led me to the spot and then stayed to verbally direct me into the optimum space for that site.  I was set for the weekend.  For the first time the Jauch Collection of re-canvassed sling chairs saw daylight and the matching awning went up without delay. 

I was late to the 8 pm meet-n-greet session since I was still on Central time and Indiana is in the Eastern time zone.  How did I miss that?  Surely there must have been a sign somewhere along the road.  After a watch readjustment I walked with the folks around the campground at 10 pm to see the lit up trailers like they were “back in the day,” well, like “back in the night.”  Along the way there was genial conversation, cocktails and charming views of the glowing trailers, lanterns, hanging decorative lights, and even a lit up palm tree.

I was very comfortable spending two days of strolling, seeing unique creations, learning from those more experienced and talented than I, and marveling at the range of treatments to the old bones of the trailers.  One of my favorites was a beautiful Yellowstone 14 footer with polished aluminum top and sides complemented by a turquoise side stripe.  What made it unique was that after the polishing it was caught in a hailstorm.  The pebbled look on the polished roof of the little guy was just charming.  It was a testament to how hard the people worked to get it looking so good, but that nature will still have its say.  I like that kind of character.   

With some prearranging Lee Dick, a good friend from our Brazil days came from Auburn, Indiana to visit.  Lee left education and has been in Indiana banking, has a lovely wife and two children.  He also has displayed some creativity in converting a 1937 Chevrolet that I last saw in his family’s barn.  It was in pieces, rusted, dusted and otherwise coated with excrement from various barn dwelling birds, bats, mice and who knows what else.  I had implored him to drive the project over from his home in Auburn, about an hour and a half drive.  He’s not taken it that far before but after a weather check and an early departure, the throaty exhaust announced the arrival of his purple street rod.  Naturally we took a spin, but spent most of the afternoon in the 1940s sling chairs that go with the awning.

Our sling time was also the time of the Open House home tour of trailers so I was often interrupted to answer questions or point out features of the Angelus.  For everyone it was the first time they’d ever heard of the brand, so everything about it was a new discovery.  Karen calls the trailer “cute” and I did hear others use the same term but I was very gratified to hear others say it was “Fabulous” or “Stunning” or from one of the experts ‘You did this exactly right.”  The feature that got the most raves was the original 1946 linoleum flooring.  It IS very rare to see that component survive after 60 years.  In a near blizzard of interior turquoise themed trailers, the tomato red of the Angelus was also a standout.  Of course, the turquoise was correct for the fifties and the Angelus was from the forties.

After hosting for about two hours, Lee and I left an information sheet on the table in the trailer and went on our own tour.  People were so nice and proud of their salvage and restoration of these antiques.  Some were re-configured to suit the owners’ needs, some were still almost original, and others were in mid-development.  There were four or five Sisters on the Fly there with their painted trailers.  This group of female campers/fisherpeople has held events on the White River, which I’ve attended.  I believe I heard one lady say that they now have over 2,000 members.  Originally, it was two sisters who liked to fly fish and traveled around in their travel trailer. There were long trailers, tiny trailers and even a couple of vintage motor homes from the 70s. 

One of the nicest features of the event was a workshop hosted by a guy whose work I’ve admired online for years.  It was very helpful.  His trailer was simply a masterpiece.  He redid all the wood in it, has period correct furnishings down to the magazines (trailer magazines at that) and a beautiful moss green paint job on the exterior of the 30-foot trailer.  It was way beyond what I could do, so I was so happy to hear him and see the trailer in person.  I could go on and on about the variety, but I’ll just leave it that it was thoroughly delightful.

The owners were cordial, nice folks that were pleasant to share stories with.  Several times during the event I just dropped in on folks sitting outside and found myself sharing tales of trailers, remodeling challenges and triumphs. In short…. my people.    

Notable was the way these people had coped with the challenges of the heat and the uncooled trailers.  I saw air conditioning units free standing inside some trailers, some units outside on the ground with ductwork into vents inside the trailer, one with a small unit inside the trailer cabinetry, and the always popular “take out the window and mount a unit in the space” approach, but the best was a very clever approach which preserved both the inside and outside of the trailer’s integrity.  This method used a big tripod for a public address speaker to set an AC unit on outside the trailer at window level.  The window was then lifted open (like mine do), the unit moved flush against the window frame and then used some packing foam to stuff between the frame and the AC unit to seal the flow, plugged it in, and voila…cold air inside!  This is the way to go, it provides AC to the inside yet allows the outside and inside to remain stock.  It’s all about the preservation.

There will be many pictures posted soon.

I packed up and headed home Sunday.  Many had pulled out but as I left the lady who had coordinated the event was still at the roadside to thank those departing.  I thanked her and as I drove away I heard her say to a friend nearby, “Beautiful trailer.”  I drove away on cloud nine.  As I Ieft town I saw I wasn’t the only Mountain Homer there: a truck passed by pulling a Champion bass boat!  Going down the interstate I was enriched by seeing the quilt patterns painted on the barns.  I ‘m sure there’s more to know about them, but even without knowing the stories there, they made a lively sideshow to the freeway boredom.  Speaking of boredom, I was barreling down the interstate thinking it was some very flat county when a town sign became visible.  The name of the upcoming town was Kansas!  How appropriate.   

Like the first day of the trip I had planned to sleep at a rest area, so didn’t want to get there too soon, hence the late departure.  I again set the cruise control at the speed limit and this time headed south.  Making good time I got to the rest area with three hours of daylight still left.  One reason is that I’d just gone from Eastern time zone back to Central.  It was too soon to stop so I motored on and found myself back in Theodosia by midnight.  Howdy greeted me with a standing hug and Karen with kisses. 

How sweet it is to get home.  This was a wonderful trip with much gained in family knowledge, travel experiences, new friends, and increased personal growth.  Yes, I threw out outdated food, took medicine on my own, showered and did laundry without prompting, kept gas mileage records and organized the family search materials.  The next challenge is to transfer these emails and the appropriate photos onto the genealfamilial blog.   In that way the whole experience will be recorded and available to those that I didn’t send the emails to.  Once again, my thanks to all who made the trip possible and those who enriched my experience on the road.   Thanks also to those email recipients who replied with words of encouragement and commentary.   

DON'T FORGET: For a more visual perspective of the trip, a web album of over 100 photographs with captions is posted at https://picasaweb.google.com/udadster/JulyTrip2011a?authkey=Gv1sRgCJ7O8bTM_pieBQ . Feel free to look at any time, if you want to see the pics first, or after you read each posting.  

Happy trails to all.

MILWAUKEE WEEKEE, POST #8

Milwaukee Week

Sunday PM July 24, 2011

After setting up the trailer (no awning in this urban setting) I drove down to the Post Office to see if they had a Sunday pick-up since I wanted to mail my anniversary card to Karen in time for our 42^nd anniversary on Wednesday.  They didn’t have a Sunday pick-up, but I dropped off the card knowing that it would be processed at 10 a.m. on Monday.  The downtown area has gentrified the old buildings and the old Third Ward District where the Bretons lived is now “The Arts and Fashion District.”  Driving around on this sunny afternoon, it looked very inviting with folks eating at sidewalk cafes, people strolling to window shop and intriguing displays in the shop windows.  I want to come back and explore it more on foot. 

The “campground” is next to the state fairgrounds and is all asphalt with hook-ups for the RVs.  It’s totally non-scenic.  There were no Mourning Doves to gently encourage me to wakefulness. When the place advertises “Easy on and off freeway” you can read between the lines that the freeway is close.  That closeness brings a constant roar of trucks, the rolling thunder of Harley-Davidsons (This is their hometown after all), howls of sirens, and the low roar of jets leaving the airport, which must not be too far away.  It’s just a matter of adjusting, especially when you’ve already paid.  So I’ve adjusted, but cherish my quiet nights and mornings back at the Leon Valley Campground. 

Monday

On into the heart of the big city beast.  The freeways were a bit of challenge with racing vehicles, lane changes, sign reading, and Garmin instructions, but the truck’s height gave me an advantage of getting a good perspective for my next moves.  Off the freeway and onto the streets of Milwaukee led me without too much circling to the huge old courthouse.  I parked in a garage and shagged myself to a lowly basement entrance.  No one gets to use the wonderful old multi-door entrance…security again.   Utilizing my past successes with the Register of Deeds to identify property I went first to that office.  I guess because of the size of the town, they don’t keep the records by name, but by the property description.  Since I wanted to know the addresses, there was no way to proceed further there.  The lady suggested I check at City Hall to see if the Tax records would reveal who paid for what.  After a hot walk I learned that they too also keep their records by property description.  I left there and by this time the big library was open.  So I then went to their microfilms for newspaper mention of Sarah Breton’s birth, which our records show to have been in Milwaukee in 1863.  No mention of Sarah, but I was surprised to read the accounts of the New York draft riots and reports for the Civil War battles that were decimating both sides.  Well, at least I could plug in the laptop and do some writing.  Even this turned into a disappointment, as I seemed to have lost some of my earlier work.  The morning had pretty much been a washout. 

Before leaving I asked the Periodicals Librarian if there was a part of the library that dealt with genealogy.  She pointed me down the hall to the Humanities room. 

A patient lady there suggested I look through the old City Directories.  This was a resource I’d not utilized in the smaller towns.  Perhaps they didn’t have such resources.  These Directories were so old that the covers had come off of them and each one was held together by a paper with the year number on the spine as it was wrapped around the volume with a fancy string with a slide eyelet holding it all together.  It was really a privilege to handle these old resources.  As gently as I could I opened the 1859 volume and soon found in the B range.  “John Breton, shoemaker “ with his home address given.  I continued through to 1871 when they no longer appear, but by then had learned of other places he worked and gotten three more home addresses. These discoveries and handling such treasured resources was the bright spot of the day for me.  These were wonderful specific facts and exactly what I needed to take back to the courthouse on Wednesday where I have an appointment to look up Sarah Elizabeth’s birth record.  She is J.W.’s youngest sister and the one who married into the Sawyer family.  Actually she married Lizzie Sawyer Breton’s brother, Uzell.  It was a smaller world back then.

While looking in the 1863 Directory I was perplexed to see an ad for the Chicago and Indiana Air Line.   Planes in 1863…?  No way!  I showed it to the Reference Librarian who looked it up and informed me that Wikipedia lists over fifty railroads that had the phrase “air line” in their title.  Like “beeline” or “as the crow flies” it meant a route that was straight, flat, and direct.  All aboard!  Something new everyday, right?   

That evening I got a call from Jean Weber telling me that I wouldn’t be able to meet with her husband, John Weber because he’d been hospitalized.  This was another disappointment since I knew that Karen’s grandfather, William

Haag did not spend much time in Milwaukee before he worked his way to San Francisco.  My hope in coming to Milwaukee was to establish a link to the descendants of his sisters who had stayed and married in Milwaukee.  Karen’s parents and grandparents had each made trips to this town to maintain those family bonds but the younger generations seem to be less inclined to maintain those relationships.  I’ll keep trying but there’s not much I can do while I’m here.  Too bad.  The other cousin who has been of help is out of town, so I’ll have to confine myself to researching rather than bonding. 

Tuesday got off to a slow start as I made calls to line up a stop at an RV place to refill my 1947 propane tank and then check out the source of my propane leak.  I had run dry after just one cooked meal, so if I wanted any more hot meals I had to get that fixed.  I was also calling local libraries to get their hours and Wi-Fi connectablity (‘nother new word?). 

At some point I walked to the Milwaukee Historical Society headquarters, which are in a restored old bank building.  Just being among the gilt wall décor and huge bank vault doors was impressive.   I joined the Society and as a member began looking through old Milwaukee court records to see if there was any legal actions that might be enlightening.  I couldn’t find anything though so I suppose the early Bretons were either law-abiding or really clever criminals.  Wanting to know more about when the family immigrated and knowing that they had Naturalization records I was shown their card file in an old wooden card file.  Going through the B’s there was no listing.  That meant that Naturalization had not been granted n Milwaukee.  Another strike and a miss!   On a table nearby lay another big old ledger titled, ‘”Declaration of Intent.  I thought that that referred to the first step in the naturalization process and so I, as a member can only do, moved the book to a table and looked in the B section.  It’s kind of a thrill to find something you’re looking for and I was thrilled to see John Breton listed with a file number.  The file turned out to be a single sheet that was his legal declaration that he intended to give up his allegiance to Queen Victoria and become a citizen of the United States.  That was in 1859, two years after they’d arrived.  Most importantly, he’d listed their port of entry and approximate date as New York, June of 1857.  This was new knowledge for me and I felt that I’d really found a nugget that I’d long be seeking.  I lingered a bit longer but then felt I needed to move on, since my time is limited.

Armed with that new knowledge I went to the other resource that Gen Web contacts had previously told me over the Internet would be a good source of information.  It was the Family History Center at the Mormon Church in the Milwaukee suburb of Hale’s Corner.  FHCs are at many churches but are totally non-sectarian and no pressure.  The folks at the FHC in Mountain Home have been very good to me and are responsible for many discoveries that have led me this far.  Using Karen’s gift GPS I found my way there and settled in.  I began looking for FHC.  Hearing my success in finding the month and place of their arrival one of the ladies there began exploring on the computer to see if she could help.  I hadn’t asked but everyone loves to find treasure so, unbeknownst to me she went to work.  What cued her in to my quest was that I had asked to see their National Archives microfilms of the New York Passenger lists for June of 1857. 

I began the challenging task of scrolling through each day’s microfilmed, handwritten records of ship arrivals and passengers beginning June 1.  I knew that they had left from Southampton, but that didn’t mean that that was the original starting point of the ship.  The ships were listed by where they started from, not their last stop before arriving.  So, I had to look at each European ship, but could discard the ones coming from the Caribbean and other spots.  I had spent about half an hour and was up to June 23^rd 1857 when the lady, Odessa, by name, brought me a Xerox copy she’d made of the passenger list with the Breton family, mis-transcribed as Bretton on it!  Another breakthrough!  Here’s a stupid realization…the computer could search faster than I could.  The same roll of microfilm that I was looking at had also be transcribed and made a part of the resources searchable on Ancestry.com.  “Searchable” means that you can enter a name and the computer looks at the resources and then shows the matches.  I could have done this at home, but wasn’t patient enough to go through all the possible misspellings of Breton.  They were on a ship that started from Bremen, but made a stop in Southampton, picking up about twenty passengers.  There was John, Margaret, Mary and Johnny with a Mary, aged seventy with them.   Who was she? …and no Margaret (Maggie, who later married Abram Thompson and is buried in Huron’s Riverside Cemetery).   Looking a little further down the list, there was Margaret.  I guess that in boarding the ship some others got in front of her so she was briefly separated from the family, she was only four years old.  She was behind another head of a family, so maybe the two families were from Guernsey and traveling together.  We know that she got back together with her family for the trip and that poor Johnny died at sea, but again, who was the seventy-year old lady listed as a Breton?  Looking at the next (1860) U.S. Census we see that a 73-year-old lady named Mary Garvey is still part of the Breton household in Milwaukee.   I suspect she’s an aunt of John’s.  John’s father, Niclolas, married a woman named Rachel Gavet, so I think this might be a sister of hers.  The difference in Garvey and Gavet can be simple miscommunication.   John Walter doesn’t mention her in his “Memoirs” as being part of the family trans-Atlantic trip but there she is.  She boarded with the family and was counted as a Breton, when she probably shouldn’t have been.  She was a family member, but not a Breton.  New knowledge! 

The Fairgrounds workers are gearing up for the State Fair; the Comet roller coaster is being erected right in front of my camping parking spot. I’m parked so near that I’m sure the swells in their big, flashy RVs think I’m one of the carny folk. The fair is definitely coming to town.  Every day there are more trucks with carnival rides parked across the street.  Today I went to the laundry room and there were three guys passed out asleep while waiting for their laundry.

At the other end of the spectrum are $200, to $300,000 motor homes that come to this campground for its ability to handle such large units.  They take pride in the number of slide-out sections that expand the living rooms, bedrooms and so on.  Some may have up to five, the slides may be not very wide or they may be a super-slide which can include the living area and the kitchen.  People have described one to me that expands vertically to make a split-level motor home.  Rather than feel impoverished I can feel proud that my RV has four slides too.  Each window slides out to allow max ventilation and such innovation is the seed from which these modern units grew.  They should be thanking me!

We’ve had rain on Wednesday, but nothing serious.  The rain slowed me down in my wish to walk the streets where the Bretons did since they lived here for thirteen years.  To get a birth certificate you have to make an appointment two days in advance.  I had done that and Wednesday was the day for me.  Since I had such success with the City Directories at the library, I also thought I could look up the deeds to those addresses and see if the Bretons owned or rented. their housing.  Despite another rainy morning I got there ahead of time and the ladies at the counter were very nice and went to look for the record.  They came back a few minutes later and said, they had no record for her, but that was not too unusual, records were not required until 1923.  They didn’t charge me the $20 fee for that research so I returned to the Register of Deeds lady I’d talked with on my first visit to the courthouse. Today I had the addresses but boy what a challenge.  I admit it was too much for me.  The properties have changed hands so many times, been expanded or shrunk, and their old residential neighborhood is now such an office building district that it proved to be more than I could follow.  The records were on microfiche with the dark blue background and supposedly white lettering.  All the records I looked at were all hand-written and scarcely legible.  After peering at over twenty sheets of 12 pages on a sheet I gave up.  The lady said they were all for the same property but I have my doubts. 

I left the courthouse and drove downtown to see if I could see the addresses.  Not one was still visible.  They each had been subsumed into bigger, taller properties as the downtown values escalated and the area expanded.  I had planned a nice walking tour of this restored Third Ward area, but it was still raining and since I had no family connection to it, I headed back to the fairgrounds.  While jogging that morning I’d noticed a nice restaurant and so dropped in there and had a Spanokapita Dinner with tsatsiki sauce, feta cheese, Greek olives, peppers and a bowl of mushroom soup for $7.  Thinking back on my time here though I wish I had found a German restaurant and sampled some of that cuisine.   There’re still a few days left, maybe Thursday on the way to the rally?    

SPARTA AND BEYOND, POST #7

Sparta, Wisconsin

Thursday/Friday, July 12, 22

On Thursday I returned to the Register of Deeds and organized my copies of deeds and land plats, coordinating them with present day maps.  This was to enable me to see if the house featured in a wonderful old picture of the Breton house in Sparta still existed.  I had been fortunate in Huron, but was matching old and new twice too much to ask? 

The library was a return visit too.  It’s one of 62 libraries in Wisconsin that was begun with a $10,000 donation by Andrew Carnegie.  The plaque outside notes that there were 1,669 others that he funded.  When you think of what libraries do, that is some amazing philanthropy.  Did you know that Jack London was a big time patron of the Oakland Library when he was a young oyster pirate?  I believe he even dedicated a book or two to the library lady who steered him to some inspirational readings. 

This old stone library is only a block from the main street so I spent a bit of time casing the town from foot level.  I picked out my spot for a special meal before I left.  Ginny’s Cupboard features an old soda fountain and eight melted-ice pattern Formica tables and chairs for customers.  It also has a deck overlooking a creek.  It would be a wonderful place to wind down.

On the town tour of homes I had two addresses for Ward homes and one address for the Breton home.  At the two Ward locations I found and photographed old homes, but since I didn’t have 19^th century photos I can’t say if they are the same homes.  The Breton address was on the corner of what is now a busy intersection and is no longer there. On the site now is an antique and gun store.  Disappointing, but it makes me value the old and new photos of the Huron house even more. 

I returned to the History Center and while looking at some old Methodist records found a wonderful story about some Methodist ladies who may or may not have taken a flight with Charles Lindbergh to Caracas, Venezuela.  I copied it all and will investigate it later when I have more time. 

Shery Hickle from Huron sent me an email in which she said that she enjoyed J.W. Breton’s “Memoirs” which I had shared with her.  She even posted a kind of humorous episode she calls “Wild, Wild, Huron 1881” in her history/genealogical blog at beadlecountysd.blogspot.com. 

Saturday 7-23-11

Like the other days at the campground I awoke to the cooing sound of several Mourning Doves who I suggest might more appropriately be called Morning Doves.  Despite the misnomer, it was a very pleasant way to wake up.  On the other hand, as I peered out the bedroom window of the trailer I felt like Captain Ahab with a whale-sized white RV parked right next to me.  I guess I was really sleeping well the night before, but at least they were quiet with their thirty-two foot motor home.  It was huge next to my little sixteen footer.  I left early to check in at the Ford dealer since the CD player now gives me the CD ERROR message and won’t play.  They looked at it and said they’d have to remove it and send it somewhere so I said “thanks.”  In a test of my flexibility, this will introduce me to the “flavors” of local radio as I travel.  Luckily I’d already finished a mystery novel before I got to Sparta.  Just as long as the air-conditioning doesn’t falter! 

While ensconced in the library writing up the earlier reports I heard the rumble of thunder.  When I wrapped up my work and went outside the sky was very dark and ominous with lightening flashes frequent.  I got in the truck and attempted to hurry out to camp where I’d left the widows open to cool the trailer.  It was a real thunderstorm with several inches of rain deposited in an hour’s time.  Although I wanted to hurry out to the trailer I had to go slowly due to the heavy rain.  The truck was slow, but the wipers were going at full speed to keep up with the deluge.  When I arrived at the campsite the awning was half down due to two of the pegs pulling out of the soggy ground.   I was prepared however, and donned a raincoat in the truck, leaping into action.  First I closed the windows and roof vent, then hammered in the stakes, then wiped up the interior of the trailer and watched the rain pour off the awning.  I had planned to go out to Amish country in the morning, but got busy at the library.  While indoors I made a pastrami sandwich and read for while. 

After the storm had passed and the sun was out I took my cruise out to Amish country.  Stopping at a place that makes cheese from the Amish cows.  I bought a cube of this supposedly healthier cheese, but I do know this from experience: the eleven-year old Cheddar is too tart!  I drove slowly because it was a narrow road and there was so much to see.  Amish ladies at their roadside stand attempted to lure me into their siren-like clutches, men were dealing with huge logs at a sawmill, and the most memorable part was when I happened upon a kid fixing his cutter (horse-drawn reaper?) which he pulled behind two big draft horses.  As I stopped and watched he waved and began cutting a four-foot swath around the perimeter of the contoured field of alfalfa.  I missed getting a picture because I was so rapt in hearing the clink of the blades, the creak of the leather harness and seeing the boy with his blue shirt, black pants, and straw hat.  As I watched him go over the hill and out of sight I reflected on what a difference in life styles America hosts.  As I was sitting there I saw the tops of the horses begin to come over the hill again, so I waited for him to come around again.  This time I talked with him and learned that it was his second crop of alfalfa and that he estimated it would take another hour to finish the field.  Riding on the hard steel seat of the cutter could not have been too comfortable but that’s that way it was done.  Another sight at some of the homes was the wash hanging out to dry.  Guess what color Amish sheets are?  Some may be white, but I saw some that were purple!  All in all it was a very tranquilizing drive and enlightening in the way that such an experience opens up new worlds to us. 

Driving down off Irish Ridge I came to the Kickapoo River where modern teenagers were in their shorts and bikini tops with coolers coming back from a float down the river.  What a contrast to the kids up on the ridge working with the horses, scything weeds between the garden rows, and wearing long sleeves and pants in the same weather. 

Passing through the tiny town of Norwalk I saw a sign for a parking area for the Elroy-Sparta Trail.  This is the original rails-to-trails project.  The trail is 32 miles long and goes through three tunnels, one of which is ¾ of a mile long.  Bring your own flashlight!  I sat beside the trail taking a few photos of a family getting ready to take their four kids on bikes and a tow-behind infant carrier on the trail.  It takes all kinds because as I was watching the family get ready for their slow ride, a pack of Tour de France strays whistled by on their way to a new world’s record I suppose.  The town also had some hanging baskets of pink and purple peonies    that were in full flower.  I marveled at the vivid, sunlit floral radiance and the talent it takes to grow such beauty for others to enjoy. 

Coming back into Sparta from the east and I finally made my way to Ginny’s.  It was also tranquilizing.  Karen and I talked on the phone while I was the only one out in the deck by the creek; I had a delicious egg salad sandwich with a chocolate milkshake topped by whipped cream and a cherry. 

Refreshed in mind and body I came back to the trailer and began getting the truck and trailer ready to go in the morning.  It was then that I noticed the low-tech”Speed Bump“ sign and the bump itself.  The “bump” was just a log, half buried in the dirt road.  Crude, but clever and effective.  The campground has really spoiled me with its laundry, store, swimming pool and sylvan setting. 

Sunday 7-24-11

Leaving Sparta, Milwaukee-bound

I rose and shone for an early morning jog. Catching the rising sun on a hilltop cornfield I was struck by the brilliance of the yellow tassels of the tops of the corn here.  Other fields along the way in Missouri were not this mature.  What I now saw though was that Mr. Deere had capitalized on the both the bright yellow of the tassels and the bright green of the corn stalks for the color motif of his tractors.   What better colors for the implements meant to harvest this most plentiful of crops?  My other observation while jogging was that after seeing the cowgirls in Huron and country boys in Sparta in the heat, I began to understand why a person would purposely cut out the sides of their t-shirt.  It’s hot, you’re working, you’re gonna perspire, but with the shirt cutout…no perspirations stains on the garment to gross out others.  It’s a considerate move after all.  I guess this is an example of how travel helps us understand others.  I’m just not sure I, or you, needed to know it.   

There was one other unique observation emergent from the jog.  In a large field of soybeans, there was one corn plant that stood up above the lowly beans.   I guess it was a survivor from the year before, but it made me laugh since it looked so out of place yet was clearly doing just fine.  “Good for you, persevere and show those beans what a real plant can do” I called to it.     

After breaking camp, folding up the awning, loading the truck I was on the road by eight a.m.  About halfway to Milwaukee the iPhone informed me that I had gotten a call back from a message I’d left for young Travis Kaufman, a Mountain Home boy who now works in Madison.  We agreed to meet for lunch and I’d phone him when I got near.  I set the cruise control for 65 mph, which was the speed maximum, and everything, except one really slow car, passed me by.  It was kind of relaxing though.  I only had to change lanes that one time and the remainder of the time I got to listen to local radio and sightsee.  No chance of falling asleep as the radio featured an hour’s worth of Polka Fest music.  It was just Bobby Vinton, accordion excitement, and I, singing and dancing in the truck as we rolled along. 

As I got closer to Madison I called Travis, but another pelting rainstorm where I had the windshield wipers on at maximum speed forced me to hang up and after the storm I called again and we agreed to meet for lunch at a TGIFridays.  He’s doing great and seemed interested in learning more about what I’d been doing.  Of course, he’s very polite and was pleased to learn that I’d been wearing one of his Grandpa Bob Kaufman’s shirts.  After Bob passed away his wife asked me and others to come pick from Bob’s extensive wardrobe.  He was pretty thin, so not a lot suited me, but I did get a few t-shirts.  Travis says yes, about half of his shirt selections come from Grandpa Bob, so his memory and wardrobe live on.  It’s kind of a nice way to keep a person in your thoughts.   I shared one of my non-business cards with him and he remembered that he’d been at the trailer’s coming out party back in 2007.  What a courteous, thoughtful, and sharp young man. 

After lunch, Milwaukee beckoned and it wasn’t too long and I was there.   More about driving in a big city, finding my way around a big city and the discoveries I made there will be in the next installment.  

STARTING SPARTA, POST #6

Sparta Thursday 7-21-11 This installment finds us (me) in sunny Sparta, Wisconsin.  I had spent Wednesday night in Spring Valley, Minnesota because that was the home of the Edwards family who married into the Breton family with Arthur’s marriage to Edith Breton, the eldest child of John Walter Breton.  It’s a pretty, little, wide space in the road with green lawns, pretty homes and not much else.  There may be more and I may be hearing from the Chamber of Commerce but I really didn’t spend much time looking around.  After another meal of locally grown produce, frosted corn flakes, I lit out.  It was my goal to get to Sparta early enough to set up camp and then begin hitting the research possibilities.  On the way there I took the scenic drive from Spring Valley to LaCrosse and it WAS scenic. Beautiful hills, bluffs, and the Root River meant campsites and pristine woodlands.  After a nice long phone conversation at the side of the road with Karen I crossed the Mississippi around 7:30 am and headed ‘On (to) Wisconsin.“  The Leon Valley Campground was my spot, actually 26A was my spot, but I loved it because I could pull right through it with no backing necessary, it had trees on both sides, a picnic table and nobody on either side.  I learned that before I before I unhook the trailer from the truck and put the trailer up on its jacks I should pull out the cord and hose from the trailer to see if they reach the electrical plug-in and spigot.   It won’t happen again, I assure you. Sparta is where the John Bretons came after leaving Milwaukee in 1871.  It was in this “western” town that John Walter’s father and mother became entrepreneurs, operating their own commercial laundry for the Milwaukee and St. Paul Railroad.  J.W. and his siblings attended school here, made friends here, and J.W. found two wives here.  The family was here for only four years before the lure of land in the Dakota Territory and J.W.’s job in Huron took them west.  There might not be much documentation of their presence here since they were here for such a short time, but since I was going through, I had to see what I could stir up.  My first stop was the Free Library where I perused some old newspaper microfilm and copied an ad for the Newbury-Ward Iron works.  Since I had no birth or deaths to look for that only left marriages and family records indicate that John Walter married Lizzie Sawyer in Huron.  In fact, they were married by Abram Thompson, John Walter’s sister’s (Maggie’s) husband.  I searched the papers shortly after the wedding date and no mention.  At that time records did not have to be filed, and I couldn’t find it in the county’s Marriage Record books either.  Good thing I have the other resources to help tell the story.  Next I trudged over to the History Center that is in the grand old Masonic Building.  There will be a picture in the blog.  Upstairs is the Deke Slayton Space and Bicycle Museum but my interest was to see what they had that would help further my efforts.  Here I worked with several volunteers since the Coordinator was out of town on a mission to procure new computerized microfilm readers.  I worked with one of them in Huron and they are brighter and easier to work.  Mostly we struck out in the areas we explored there.  I took my frustrations upstairs and was pleased to see the collection of bicycles and space gear donated by Slayton. They also had a ¼ scale model of the Wright Brothers Flyer that some of the local airplane aficionados had built. Using similar materials such as linen and wood, it was very authentic and a joy to see up close.  I went back downstairs and asked about property records.  I was directed to the majestic courthouse (blog worthy picture) and was surprised to see that I had to go through a security check like at the airport.  Once in, I found that the Register of Deeds office was in a modern building catty-corner to the courthouse.  Off I went and found myself again lifting heavy, big ledgers of Grantee and Grantor records.  It’s an experience handling these old leather, some suede, books, seeing the fountain pen writing, noticing the different handwriting of the various clerks and knowing that it was the technology and organization of the day.  I found both residential and rural properties for both the Bretons and Wards.   Susan, the clerk there, took it upon herself to photocopy a present day map and highlight a route out to see the rural property for me.  Again, the kindness.  After closing time I returned to the campground and erected the awning for the first time in the wild.  It went well and I welcomed the shade.  It wasn’t as hot as the previous week, but. Nonetheless I closed out the evening with a swim in the pool.  As I was bobbing about, I heard some kids come running up who thought that one of their own was in the water without them.  I heard one say, “Is that Jerry?”  “Naw,” one of them said, ”It’s just some old guy.”  Well, I started grinning from ear-to-ear.  I really hadn’t ever thought of myself with those descriptors, but…I suppose they were right.  Is that what they call a “Wake-up call”?  So I continued to bask in the cool and looked forward to the days when I’ll soon enjoy the warm waters for my soon-to-be arthritis. It was so cool that I cooked dinner in the trailer.  A delightful Hamburger Helper with sausage. There was plenty left so into the ice box it went.  Wal-mart had block ice so I made a daily trip there.  That was my first day in Huron and the next days looked promising.

MORE ON HURON POST #5

Huron, South Dakota

July 21- 24

I began last week in Huron, South Dakota or as our Iowa friends say “ So’dakota.”  This was the town that began in 1880 and in 1882 the Chicago and North Western Railroad made it that far west and with it came telegraph operator, John Walter Breton.  It was there that he married his sweetheart, Lizzie Sawyer and produced two children before her death at the age of 26 in 1887.   At some point John and Marguerite followed them.  John Walter’s parents. From 1882 too 1894? The two families walked the same streets, lived in the same house I saw and made sad trips to Riverside Cemetery, Block 1, Lot 91, Grave 1 like I did

As I travel I note that many towns justifiably celebrate their native sons and daughters. Huron is the town where a U.S. Vice-President was raised.  Yep, Hubert Humphrey’s family had a general store here on the main street, Dakota Avenue.  Humphrey family members are still there and still run the little store.  Mitchell, S.D. is where the George and Eleanor McGovern Library and Center is on the campus of Dakota Wesleyan University.  The Center serves to prepare students for public service, reminding me that Bill Clinton’s school in Little Rock was not as innovative as I had thought.  The campus also houses the Midwest United Methodist Conference Headquarters, which is why I came to investigate the preacher husband of Maggie Breton Thompson.  Now in Sparta, it’s Deke Slayton, the astronaut.  He was one of the original Mercury Seven and later flew the Space Shuttle as well.  So traveling around is enlightening in ways I hadn’t anticipated.  It’s a treat.  If Huron is the State Fair town, then I should also point out that Sparta bills itself as the “Bicycle Capitol of America.”  After touring the Deke Slayton Memorial Space and Bicycle Museum I inquired about why they adopted the bicycle title and was told that Sparta was the first community to convert unused railroad tracks into bicycle trails.  The literature reports that there is over 30 miles of trails through scenic countryside with three long tunnels (one is a mile long!) for cheap thrills.  I added that last part after my shower experiences in Huron.  So, I look forward to enjoying what Milwaukee brags about …“The beer that made Milwaukee famous.”  On, on! 

So, last week. 
After a wonderful sleep in the motel l was refreshed and embarked on another stage of the research.  After making the discoveries I did, my task this week would be to follow-up, document, and organize my findings.  I wanted to gather supporting materials, make sure I had my sources correctly noted, explore some lesser points of interest, elaborate on some of the more interesting gains, and thank those who had helped.  My goal with this last endeavor was to leave a positive recollection of my visit because I may need to contact and ask for the assistance of these same people again.    

I returned to the Dakotland Museum, photographed their telegraph key mechanism and a few other items of interest.  I tried another office at the Courthouse, the Auditor’s office where I traced the taxes paid on the properties owned by family members.  This helped confirm property ownership and time periods.  A return trip to the library with the laptop allowed me to use Ancestry’s Search function and since the Huron papers have been digitized, the computer will search them for any name you specify.  In this way I found many of the little events that flesh out the people.  That night I returned to the motel and watched American Pickers and the tail end of RV Crazy, a Discovery channel special that I’d seen before but thought it timely to watch again before I meet the looneys at the vintage trailer rally in South Bend on the 28^th. 

The next day I went to the Huron City Hall because J.W. had reported that he was an Alderman from 1887 to 1889.  I thought that they might have old minutes of meetings that he participated in, but alas they didn’t go that far back.  However, their listing of City Government people did and I learned that he only served one term (1892), not the two he reported in his memoirs. 

On Monday workers had blocked off the entrance to the fairgrounds because of the upcoming 4H Rodeo and Exhibition.  Tuesday, being curious, I entered the arena where little kids were competing in the Western Showmanship event.  Little kids and big horses made for a unique insight into the 4H world.  It was fun to see the parents/grandparents coaching the kids, just like in baseball or soccer.  I was the only one in sandals, everyone else wisely wearing boots since the horses show no discipline in were they relieve themselves.  “Watch your step” became a real coda for me as ambled around. 

The group I saw had to walk their horse to a standstill, then stand on the left (“Keep your feet facing the horse,” soto voiced a parent), wait for the judge to call them forward, then lead the horse forward, wait while the judge judged, turn the horse around and then trot him/her back to the starting point and then stand beside the OTHER side of the horse.  There was obviously more to it than I could see, but it was educational to see the age groups and the escalation of skills that were being appraised.  These kids weren’t even ON the horse, but looked forward to the days that they could compete in the older events.  There were Western and English saddle events so a really broad spectrum of skills was tested. 

My favorite was a little girl with the requisite blue Wrangler jeans, white western blouse, white cowboy (should I be saying cowperson?) hat, and pink cowboy boots being coached from outside the ring and photographed by her Grandpa.   She got a red ribbon, but Grandpa said she’d not be happy with that, purple was for the Grand Champion, and that was her goal.  Like the Women’s World Cup, there’s always an upcoming event to aspire to. 

I hung around some more, but did I mention the heat?  You can imagine the “atmosphere” in the arena.  On the way out I saw the older kids washing and cooling their horses on a cement area.  I returned to the library and did some writing about the first days.  In mid-afternoon I headed back to La Hacienda and had a quiet meal to myself.  This time I challenged them for a chimichanga plate and more of the dip.  In fact I got almost a soup bowl’s worth. So I ended up taking half the chimi and half the dip home to the motel refrigerator. This mid-afternoon dining was a new technique for me, but I ate at the motel breakfast area, then nothing for lunch or dinner, but had the main meal in mid-afternoon.  I like it!   Later that evening I walked over to (Sheryl’s suggestion) the Sun’n’Suds Laundromat.  Why the Sun part? It’s also a tanning salon so you can lighten your wash and darken your skin at the same time.  I wonder if they channel some of the dryer heat into the booths?

I pulled out early the next morning, July 20^th headed for Spring Valley Minnesota, but stopped in Mitchell to check out the Methodist records.  A call to the Archivist  Laurie Langford, the day before rewarded me with several open documents in precise reference to my inquiries of the day before. Not only did she help me, but I helped her by allowing her to photocopy a portrait of Abram Thompson and the records that I had for him as well.  The conference has an ongoing project to have photos of the founding members of the regional conference and he was one that they were missing.  It was a wonderful exchange of resources because, as Sheryl had suggested, there might be mention of Maggie’s death in the church records since Abram was a preacher.  Indeed there was, Laurie had found it and allowed me to photocopy it. 

This instance of cooperation and support really touched me and prompted me to realize how much I owe to so many for making this trip possible.  First is my wife, Karen, who supported me on my wacky project to restore the trailer, who allows me to travel even when she has to stay home.  Then I think about all the people at Brown Hardware, the guys who helped me with carpentry, electrical, plumbing, staining, mechanical, and storage that made it possible to restore the trailer to roadworthy condition.  Now I see all the people who are helping me on the road.  Whether it’s a mechanic offering free advice, or a native that tells me how to get to the Ford dealer “Just go down to the second stop and go light.”  I find it rewarding to meet and gain from all those who share so freely.  It encourages and reminds me to be aware of those who could use my support or attentions.  It reminds me of my progressive concerns for others and the need to get this country off its selfish self-centeredness.  End of rant.  I’m grateful to all. 

EARLY HURON POST #4

7-15-11

OKAY! 

   I was ready to rumble on Friday, July 15, my first full day in Huron.  I began with a visit to the Dakotaland Museum, which is housed on the same fairgrounds where I’m camped.  The museum has an extensive amount of relics (5000!), one of which drives fear into the heart of any Arkansas Razorback and that was the Hog-Killing Hammer.  It looked like a sledgehammer head with a big metal knob on it.  One blow to the skull would do the trick.  After cringing a bit, I moved on and was very impressed with the extent of the collection, every thing from 370 stuffed animals from the same farm to a telegrapher’s key mechanism. The animals were taxidermized (new word!) by the farmer’s wife as a way to not go stir crazy during the long winters.  The ladies that volunteer at the museum were helpful and gave me the name of the cemetery keeper.  Did I mention that when I went to the cemetery the evening before I couldn’t find a marker that was described to me?  After telling the ladies that I was going back out, they gave me the guy’s name and after calling, he agreed to meet me out there later in the afternoon. 

   From the Museum I went east four blocks and parked in the shade in front of the Courthouse.  I spent the next hours with ladies in the Register of Deeds office locating properties bought, sold, and granted to various Bretons.  In six cases Bretons were granted acreage, which we located on maps. Later research shows that these acres were soon sold off to others, thus I learned that land speculation was a way in which the pioneers were able to gain financial advantage over the out-of-town, Johnny come latelies.   In town multiple transactions were identified and then had to be translated from Lot and Block numbers into current street names and numbers.  These processes involved handling large ledgers with the original writings and signatures of those involved.  Luckily for me, it was a slow day and the ladies were very helpful and instructive on how to learn what I wanted to learn.  Apparently, the Bretons lived or owned four properties in town.  Handed down to me by my grandfather were two pictures that are identified as being the family home in Huron.  With the addresses just revealed, could I find that structure at one of the addresses? Time was flying by, no time for lunch and whoa!: it was time to race back out to the cemetery.    

   At Riverside Cemetery I met the man who, when he got out of his truck, took ten steps and pointed me to the marker with BRETON emblazoned on it.  I was amazed because I had walked by that marker many times the afternoon before and just not seen the name on it.   I had found the marker for another relative and even knew that the one I was seeking was near the other.  Despite my feeling very foolish and unworthy, the keeper took time to explain how the numbering system went and gave me permission to clean the stone if I wished.  The marble was covered with a fine moss/lichen and not much was legible, but the heat was so infernal that I deferred that task until the cool of Saturday morning. 

   Returning to the Courthouse I detoured to the addresses we had turned up.  At 240 Iowa Street there was the house from the  old pictures!  Recognizable by its two windows up stairs and downstairs and the crenellated brick chimney, it looked considerably more forlorn than in my 19^th century pictures.   It’s survived.  There have been superficial modifications, but the basic house is still the same.  This house was also the birthplace of my grandfather and his siblings. The other properties had old homes on them too, but I didn’t have old pictures of them.  One was so overgrown with bushes and trees that I still couldn’t find the house number. 

   Back at the courthouse I stayed until closing time and spent time organizing the day’s findings.      

   Leaving the air conditioning presented an obvious challenge, so knowing that it would be brutal cooking dinner in the trailer, I went to the MomnPop Mexican restaurant, Natalia’s, and settled in with my files, some new cuisine, and the air conditioning.  Pupusas were new to me.  They’re fried corn tortillas covered with meat, cabbage, cheese and a special sauce.  Crisp and spicy made for a tasty combo washed down with a Sangria flavored soft drink.  I had two of each!!

   Nightfall at the trailer was quiet, and led off with a cool shower at the campground showers which I had to myself.  Even a shower provided an adrenaline thrill when the lights went out and the room was totally dark. I called out, no one answered. I climbed out of the stall, peeked into the darkness (only a few thoughts of the shower scene in Psycho bubbling to my awareness) and the lights came back on.  Apparently they are on a motion sensor switch and when you’re in the shower, it can’t see your motions.  So by poking my head out several times I had a lengthy, well-lit, cooling shower. 

   Post–shower thrills, the continuing heat meant I couldn’t get to sleep in the hot trailer.  When people ask about what the trailer looks like I usually say “It looks like a big toaster” and now I know that in hot weather, “It IS a toaster.”  Even with my little 1950s fan going full-tilt it was too hot.  I ended up going outside and sitting in my river guide chair, watching the fullish moon and appreciating the slight breeze.  I finally conked out, back on the bed around 11 pm.  The prediction is for “Heat Advisory Warnings” later in the week.

   What a day!  Connecting family heirlooms with the present, learning and seeing the whereabouts of family homesteads, enjoying new foods, discovering family grave markers, gaining from the information on them, meeting nice, helpful people, and the anticipation of learning even more as the days proceed was invigorating.  No wonder I had trouble getting to sleep.  

INTO THE PAST, POST# 3

7-15-11

OKAY! 

   I was ready to rumble on Friday, July 15, my first full day in Huron.  I began with a visit to the Dakotaland Museum, which is housed on the same fairgrounds where I’m camped.  The museum has an extensive amount of relics (5000!), one of which drives fear into the heart of any Arkansas Razorback and that was the Hog-Killing Hammer.  It looked like a sledgehammer head with a big metal knob on it.  One blow to the skull would do the trick.  After cringing a bit, I moved on and was very impressed with the extent of the collection, every thing from 370 stuffed animals from the same farm to a telegrapher’s key mechanism. The animals were taxidermized (new word!) by the farmer’s wife as a way to not go stir crazy during the long winters.  The ladies that volunteer at the museum were helpful and gave me the name of the cemetery keeper.  Did I mention that when I went to the cemetery the evening before I couldn’t find a marker that was described to me?  After telling the ladies that I was going back out, they gave me the guy’s name and after calling, he agreed to meet me out there later in the afternoon. 

   From the Museum I went east four blocks and parked in the shade in front of the Courthouse.  I spent the next hours with ladies in the Register of Deeds office locating properties bought, sold, and granted to various Bretons.  In six cases Bretons were granted acreage, which we located on maps. Later research shows that these acres were soon sold off to others, thus I learned that land speculation was a way in which the pioneers were able to gain financial advantage over the out-of-town, Johnny come latelies.   In town multiple transactions were identified and then had to be translated from Lot and Block numbers into current street names and numbers.  These processes involved handling large ledgers with the original writings and signatures of those involved.  Luckily for me, it was a slow day and the ladies were very helpful and instructive on how to learn what I wanted to learn.  Apparently, the Bretons lived or owned four properties in town.  Handed down to me by my grandfather were two pictures that are identified as being the family home in Huron.  With the addresses just revealed, could I find that structure at one of the addresses? Time was flying by, no time for lunch and whoa!: it was time to race back out to the cemetery.    

   At Riverside Cemetery I met the man who, when he got out of his truck, took ten steps and pointed me to the marker with BRETON emblazoned on it.  I was amazed because I had walked by that marker many times the afternoon before and just not seen the name on it.   I had found the marker for another relative and even knew that the one I was seeking was near the other.  Despite my feeling very foolish and unworthy, the keeper took time to explain how the numbering system went and gave me permission to clean the stone if I wished.  The marble was covered with a fine moss/lichen and not much was legible, but the heat was so infernal that I deferred that task until the cool of Saturday morning. 

   Returning to the Courthouse I detoured to the addresses we had turned up.  At 240 Iowa Street there was the house from the  old pictures!  Recognizable by its two windows up stairs and downstairs and the crenellated brick chimney, it looked considerably more forlorn than in my 19^th century pictures.   It’s survived.  There have been superficial modifications, but the basic house is still the same.  This house was also the birthplace of my grandfather and his siblings. The other properties had old homes on them too, but I didn’t have old pictures of them.  One was so overgrown with bushes and trees that I still couldn’t find the house number. 

   Back at the courthouse I stayed until closing time and spent time organizing the day’s findings.      

   Leaving the air conditioning presented an obvious challenge, so knowing that it would be brutal cooking dinner in the trailer, I went to the MomnPop Mexican restaurant, Natalia’s, and settled in with my files, some new cuisine, and the air conditioning.  Pupusas were new to me.  They’re fried corn tortillas covered with meat, cabbage, cheese and a special sauce.  Crisp and spicy made for a tasty combo washed down with a Sangria flavored soft drink.  I had two of each!!

   Nightfall at the trailer was quiet, and led off with a cool shower at the campground showers which I had to myself.  Even a shower provided an adrenaline thrill when the lights went out and the room was totally dark. I called out, no one answered. I climbed out of the stall, peeked into the darkness (only a few thoughts of the shower scene in Psycho bubbling to my awareness) and the lights came back on.  Apparently they are on a motion sensor switch and when you’re in the shower, it can’t see your motions.  So by poking my head out several times I had a lengthy, well-lit, cooling shower. 

   Post–shower thrills, the continuing heat meant I couldn’t get to sleep in the hot trailer.  When people ask about what the trailer looks like I usually say “It looks like a big toaster” and now I know that in hot weather, “It IS a toaster.”  Even with my little 1950s fan going full-tilt it was too hot.  I ended up going outside and sitting in my river guide chair, watching the fullish moon and appreciating the slight breeze.  I finally conked out, back on the bed around 11 pm.  The prediction is for “Heat Advisory Warnings” later in the week.

   What a day!  Connecting family heirlooms with the present, learning and seeing the whereabouts of family homesteads, enjoying new foods, discovering family grave markers, gaining from the information on them, meeting nice, helpful people, and the anticipation of learning even more as the days proceed was invigorating.  No wonder I had trouble getting to sleep.