REEVESVILLE, ILLINOIS |
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At one time, Homer Ramsey lived at the edge of town and had a farm pond that was a popular swimming hole for the boys living in Reevesville. The fact that his farm animals kept the water so muddy that after we got out our hair would dry stiff with mud, never caused us to give a thought as to any health problems that may arise. However, I do recall having more than my share of ear infections.
The pond was located about 1/8 mile behind the house. There was a dirt lane leading to the pond that passed through a hog pen and barn lot. There were two gates, blocking the lane that contained a really big sow. This momma had a fresh new litter of piglets of which she was very proud and protective. To prevent her from getting loose, the gates had to remain closed. To get to the pond we had to climb over one gate and run as fast as we could and then jump over the second gate.
Once we arrived at the pond, we stripped all of our clothes
off and piled them on the bank and bailed in – stark naked. Therefore, the term
“skinny dipping”, and, what a blast it was!
Time flies (really, it don’t exist”) to a bunch of kids
splashing and treading cool muddy farm pond water. There were two ducks on the
pond that would dive under, swim out of sight, and pop up in various places. We
would swim around, trying to guess where they would pop up so we could catch
one. All the while, hoping one didn’t get too close to any exposed areas of
personal pride. Paying no attention to anyone else, I looked up and noticed my
buddies were out of the water and running, with their clothes under their arms,
toward the barn. I turned around and didn’t see anyone coming or any mad bulls
coming, so I eased on over to the bank and climbed out. I HAD BEEN HAD! My (now, not such good) buddies had
plotted against me and stole my clothes. They even took my one heeled pair of
shoes.
So, there I stood, wearing nothing but a thin coat of dried pond mud. The barn lot now looked much bigger than before, so I lit out to try to catch up with my clothes. This time when I got to that dreaded gate, the rest of the guys had already gone through and there stood Big Momma, smack-dab in the middle, between the gates. Not only was she not happy, she had grown – at least, so it seemed. She now looked much bigger, “badder”, and faster than before. I climbed up on the gate and pondered my next move. The only other way around was through an open field and, being naked, that was not an option.
Looking back down, I noticed she seemed to be trying to
figure out what a naked little kid was doing standing on her gate. Wasting no
time, to take advantage of her confusion, I jumped over her back and hit the
ground running. Thank God! This time she didn’t get any souvenirs.
Pausing to get my wind, I looked around but didn’t see a
soul. Which, considering the plight I was in, may have been a good thing. I
continued up the lane toward the house. I don’t recall for sure, but by this
time, likely using more caution and less speed. Once reaching a shed in the
back yard and staying out of sight, I could finally see my clothes. They were
laying on the back step, just outside the kitchen. I gave a quick thought of
going back and jumping into the hog pen. But, I think I finally lucked out, I don’t
think Lucille or any of the girls were home. At least, I didn’t hear anyone
laughing as I streaked by and made a quick grab and sprinted back to the shed.
This was not our last trip to the pond that summer. But none were ever as eventful and I learned to always keep an eye on my clothes. We spent a lot of time “skinny dipping” and often stopping to play in the barn loft. I can’t imagine why, but G.W., Tuffy and the rest of the gang and I always remained good friends.
By
During the early 1950’s, there remained a couple of families living near Reevesville that still relied on a team and wagon as their mode of transportation. The Glen & Bertha Wright family, I know, used mules to pull their wagon. Walter and Alma McGinnis, I think, used horses. This true account is about Walter’s team.
Every Saturday morning, Walter and Alma would bring eggs and
fresh milk to dad and moms store and sell or trade it for merchandise and
groceries. They would “tie up” behind the store and take the milk and eggs in
the back door. Just off to one side, there was a small room we called the
“cream room”. Here, mom would candle eggs to make sure they were fresh and she
had a centrifuge she used to determine the cream content of the milk. The more
cream, the higher the price paid for it. Now that I think about it, I wonder
how the milk was kept fresh until it made it to town. The can held about 10
gal, so they had to have collected it all week. Maybe they kept it cool by
storing it in their water well. I don’t recall it ever being rejected when dad
drove it, at the end of the day, to
One particular Saturday a small problem came about. Well, to me, it was a big problem. When Walter and Alma arrived, I was patrolling the back yard with my shiny new double barrel cork gun. It popped pretty loud but the range was somewhat limited by the short strings by which the corks stayed attached to the barrels. As soon as Walter spotted my weapon and me, he wasted no time in giving me a stern warning not to shoot it around his horses. Well, shortly after they had gone inside, I noticed a pesky horsefly on the hind end of one of his horses – an easy shot for a 5 year-old sharp shooter. Surely the horse would appreciate a little help. After all, his tail didn’t seem near as accurate as my aim. Walter was right, that team sure was spooky. Luckily for me, the cork was tied to the barrel or a loose cork would have been a sure give-away as to why the team and wagon were missing.
I don’t know if I got the fly or not. As soon as I fired, the team took off in one direction and I lit out in the other. (From here on, I don’t recall much, because at the time, as I was told about this years later, I was nowhere to be found.) Apparently, before anyone noticed the missing team, George Reeves had caught the run-a-ways in front of his house, across the tracks and on the way to the Bay Creek. He new where they had come from, so, he returned and retied them behind the store.
By this time, I had moved from hiding spot #1, which was under the front porch of our house. This is where my, now troublesome, popgun would later be found. I don’t know how much later, but it was sometime during the massive search, for me, that was underway. It seems, at some point, mom had discovered me missing and alerted dad and, soon, half of Reevesville was searching for me. Some walked the rows of corn in the field behind the store. Others checked the banks of the Bay Creek. Dad, fearing the worst, went to the coal chute. There was a large pit, on one side, where coal was dumped from hopper cars and a large auger transferred the coal up into the coaling tower so it could be loaded, as fuel, into a steam engine waiting on the tracks below. Either the coal chute or the Bay Creek would have likely meant the end of a young boys hunting days. As well as all the other little messes, in which, I have since been involved.
Finally, after hours of nonproductive searching, someone must have mentioned checking the house. Soon after someone located my gun, it was discovered that both the front and back doors of the house were locked from the inside. Dad had to take the hinges off the back door and then he found me sound asleep under my bed.
Getting scared out of my wits must have really been tiring, as I don’t recall any of the commotion that took place on that warm Saturday morning. Years later, when dad or mom told me about the day I went missing, I told them why I ran and hid – it was the first time they had thought about the connection to the run-a-way team. During the excitement, at the time, no one had even given it a thought.
The Great Train Ride
by Shirley Cummins Wolfe
Reprinted from Johnson Co. Heritage Journal - December, 2007
One hot summer day in 1938, five lads in the small railroad village of Reevesville, Illinois ages about 14 to 16, decided to "hop a freight." They were bored with fishing or swimming in Bay Creek, and playing their own version of baseball....that of whacking bottle caps with a broomstick. None of them owned a baseball or bat, so the "home run" hit of this neat game was to lob the cap up on the roof of Jim Hard's General store. Even such an exciting sport as that had grown stale, so they were eager listeners when one of them suggested they just take a little ride on one of the many freight trains that stopped in the little town to take on water and coal. After all, sneaking into a boxcar when the train personnel were not looking shouldn't be so hard. Hobo's did it all the time. Just think! Maybe the train would go all the way to Bluford! What a great idea! So Bud Choate , John Wendell Hard, James "Junior" Hard, "Joe Puddle", Troutt and the Hard's visiting cousin from Detroit, "Junior" Wolfe, somehow managed to climb aboard a car undetected. This was a standard wood-floored boxcar with he doors left open, so our intrepid travelers found train travel just unalloyed bliss. What a treat! Just sitting there in the open door with their legs hanging out, enjoying the breeze watching the passing scene; countryside and little towns. Adventure! Of course, it hadn't occurred to any of them to take along a fruit-jar of water, or an apple. So by the time they rolled into the Jefferson County town of Bluford, they were dying of thirst......and starving.....as adolescent boys always are. Now, they had told that Detroit visitor they'd not dare ride on into the depot area, as the "railroad bulls" would spot them as "hobo's" and haul them off the jail. So they would jump off before the train stopped. What you did was....you just hit the ground running. Sure. Okay. So "city-boy" closed his eyes and jumped.....falling flat on his face in the cinders, of course. By the time he got his wind and sat up, blood was running down his face. Somebody had a handkerchief and mopped him up some. Then they set out to find water. They spotted a small building...probably an office for brakemen, or whomever, and through the open door saw a water fountain off to the side of the a desk where a man was working. When he saw this motley crew heading, he jumped up, and shouted, "You G-D bums get out'a here. Now!" They got! Figuring they'd had enough of Bluford, they set out to find a train that would take them back home. They came upon a Railroad worker and asked him which train would be headed for Reevesville. They must have found a sympathetic and kindly guy, because as they later thought about it, he could have pointed out a train that would be headed straight to Chicago! So they were on their way home! However....all the freight cards on that train were closed up. Oh well, no problem, they would just ride on top. That oughta be fun. Just climb up that metal ladder on the end of the car (when nobody was looking) and sit up there in the breeze. They negotiated a few short tunnels by quickly dropping face-down as the train slowly passed through, but when they arrived in Johnson County and had to ride through the big one at Tunnel Hill, that was another matter! That one took a full five minutes and five boys were almost asphyxiated by the coal smoke and fumes before they finally emerged at the end with blackened faces and reddened eyes. When a long last the train rolled into Reevesville, our fearless freight-hoppers jumped off, hoping to just nonchalantly join some other kids and pretend they'd been there all along. Only to discover, standing beside the track, the Hard brothers' kid sister, Mary Low, who said dryly, "Dad's waitin' for 'ya." --Shirley Cummins Wolfe |
Sometime in the late 1950's, the rail industry was growing throughout the United States and small towns were booming. Located on the mainline of the Illinois Central Rail Road, Reevesville, Illinois was no exception. That was mostly due to the fact that Reevesville had a coaling tower, which locals always referred to as a “coal chute”. North and South bound steam engines would stop and take on coal and water and a local engine, used for switching and running daily trips to and from the florspar mines in Rosiclare, Illinois, was stationed there 24 hours a day.
Reevesville was also headquarters for a local work crew known as a section gang. This group of men was responsible for maintaining and improving the rails, switches, bridges, and other equipment for several miles in all directions. Always working in the open summer sun and blowing winter winds, one can only try to imagine the heat and cold they endured. These men were rugged and strong beyond belief. I personally recall some even carried two lunch boxes as one would not hold near enough food to maintain them for eight or more hours of vigorous work. Also, it was not uncommon to be called out for an emergency at any hour or any day of the week. Local residents often started their daily conversation about hearing the sound of the two cycle engined motor cars leaving town in the middle of the night and it was usually more common during inclement weather. Often, during heavy snows, several of the work crew would be called out to clean snow and ice from the switches. Sometimes they would have to walk a mile or more and then stay with the job until it would quit snowing and then walk back to town. It was a hard job and these were hard men.
One of the many of these “hard men” was Buck Stafford. Buck and his wife Georgia and children, Lee Roy, Dallas, Wimpy, and Barbara lived on the north edge of town, just below the cemetery hill. They were one of the last in the area to still be without electricity. I was about eight or ten years old at the time and close to the same age as Wimpy and Barb. We spent most days playing and/or in school together. I think Lee Roy had already set out on his own and no longer lived with the rest of the family.
One day Wimpy invited me to spend the night, and that turned out to be a whole new experience. One that is still very clear, that I will never forget. First off, the bedroom we slept in didn't have any heat. The only heat was from a wood or coal burning stove in the front room and a wood burning cook stove in the kitchen. I don't recall getting the least bit cold while asleep but when we woke up the next morning, there was a fine dusting of snow on top of the bed. Apparently it had blown through the slat covered cracks in the walls but was no match for the down filled blanket that kept us warm. Even if I had been cold after first waking, the smell from the kitchen would have quickly caused me for to forget about any possible discomfort.
When we sat down at the table, my eyes must have looked like they were about to pop out of my head. Before me sat a breakfast the likes of I had never seen before and have never seen since. I will attempt to describe that delicious, unforgettable meal. All piping hot and fresh from the wood cook stove. There may have been something like sausage and grits there, too, but I was focused on the foods that were mostly suitable to my personal taste. First of all, there was a platter in the center with a pile of at least two dozen eggs, possibly more. Another platter consisting of a couple pounds of bacon. A big pan of milk gravy and a huge pile of homemade biscuits. Buck didn't have an ounce of fat on him, he was all muscle and I suppose Georgia sent him to work every morning with a breakfast like this and a full lunch bucket in his hand. No doubt, every morning the same hardy breakfast was being served at the tables of the other members of the Reevesville section gang. They were all tough, durable, and strong men of the I.C.
Another memorable event happened that morning that I hesitate to mention as it will confirm to everyone how gullible I was. But, since I was so young at the time, I will go ahead and tell you about it. Along with the above breakfast, we had a big glass of cold milk with ice chips in it. Dallas, being the prankster then that he is today, said “Ma, you need to turn the ice box down, the milk is freezing again”. It was quite some time in the future that it dawned on me that the ice was chipped from a block of ice, kept in the ice box, and that they didn't have electricity that would cause anything to freeze.
Thanks for the invite, Wimp. It was a doozy. |