Recipes for Living Dick Beeman

I am a native Clarke Countian- in fact, a native Osceolian, having been born in my grandmother's house on East Grant Street, on July 12, 1924. My parents were Pearl and Edith Beeman, who had five children. All my immediate family are now deceased, but I had two older brothers, Wendell and Paul, a sister Helen, the middle child - you can imagine what she put up with - then myself, and my youngest brother, Bob. I didn't know my grandparents, although I faintly remember my paternal grandmother. My mother was a Spencer, and with the exception of one uncle, I didn't know anyone on her side of the family.

Both Wendell and Helen went to junior college, which was on the upper floor of the junior high building, where North Main Manor now stands. (What a lot of changes have taken place during my lifetime!) Helen earned a teaching degree and taught at Lacelle. She lived with the family of Henry Siefkas, who was president of the school board. She bought an old '33 Dodge and came home for weekends. Other than going to pick her up, I had use of the car, so essentially I had my own car and began driving when I was about 15 years old. This was shortly before the war. When it broke out, Helen went to Little Rock, Arkansas, to work in an ammunition plant. This is where she met her husband, Bill Stoker.

I seem to remember my life according to where we lived in town, because we lived in all four sections - north, east, south, and west. Moving day, at that time, was the first day of March and we moved every few years. My dad left home when I was quite young. He had worked for 3-K, which was a spice company, and sold products from his car. He had an illness that affected his mind and he was taken to Clarinda. When we lived in a house next to the Standard station on the intersection of highways 69 and 34, which we called the "four corners," we had an outdoor toilet, and I can recall my dad always using the restroom at the station. I was anxious to be grown up enough so that I could do that, too. There was a time when he walked away from Clarinda and worked for a farmer in the Lorimor area, but he was never able to live at home.

He was not available to teach me to ride a bike, which I recall as my first achievement. Mary Jeanette Paul (who became Mrs. Lavere Smith) and her family lived next door, and she and Helen were classmates and good friends. She let me use her bike - it didn't matter to me that it was a girl's bike. I learned to ride it and was a pretty proud five years old.

I started kindergarten at West Ward, located where the South Jackson housing complex now stands. In those days, on south Jackson there was a steel bridge-like structure with stairs so pedestrians could climb up and cross the railroad tracks to the other side. We called it a viaduct, and used to stand on that and watch the trains go by underneath us. To the east of the viaduct on the north side of the tracks was a wooden water tower. It had a swinging spout so trains could get water, which was piped from the Q-Pond, named for the CB and Q railroad.

The school had a cinder playground, and one day when I was running, I grabbed the pocket of a girl's green coat. I can still remember the color. When we went back in the building, the teacher heard about it and made me go apologize. That was the most difficult thing I had ever been called upon to do until that time. Her name was Bernita Crawford, who became valedictorian of our class.

There was a time I got lost. I believe my mother walked me to school, but I had to get home by myself. This day I started home on the south side of the square. I remembered we lived near the Standard sign, but I couldn't find the sign, so I went on east until somebody noticed I was lost. I had sense enough to tell them who I was, and they brought me home. It was a very frightening experience for a small child.

There was another one was when I was in fifth or sixth grade. We had moved to acreage on the south part of town, at the end of South Adams street, and I attended East Ward which is where the current elementary building is. Dad was home for awhile at that time. We had a team of horses, Dick and Nig, and a dog named Jiggs. Dad had a "slip" which was a horsedrawn earth mover, with which he dug basements, and a wagon. One day we kids were riding in the wagon and Dad must have had to go to the house for something. The horses spooked and the wagon hit the edge of the corncrib, dumping out all us kids. Bob fell out of the wagon underneath the horses, and Helen rescued him before the horses could step on him.

By the time I was ready for junior high, the school was South Ward, where the Methodist church stands. When I was in seventh grade, I was in the senior band. I couldn't afford to buy an instrument, so I played the tuba because it was furnished by the school. Our director was Claud Riles, who later became the head bandmaster at Stanford University, and retired a few years ago.

Can you believe, we had 100 piece concert band? There wasn't as much emphasis on sports as there is now, but parents were very much involved. There weren't school buses to transport kids, although there were some that hauled the uniforms, but parents drove the players and band members wherever we went. Beside the musicians, our band had two majorettes, one of whom was Betty Hylton Lowe. We had a good football team, and kids like Dan Foster and Andy Jeffreys were on ball teams, but at half times they joined us in the band. In those days, the football season lasted until Thanksgiving and there were times when it was so cold the valves on my tuba froze. During Mr. Riles' tenure we got to go to the national concert band contest and came in second! That was quite an honor and quite an experience! We kids had hardly even been to Des Moines, and here we were in Kansas City! For that occasion the community bought us new uniforms to replace capes we had previously worn and we hated those things. We really looked sharp in the new clothes.

When I was in eighth grade, we lived on Jones' hill, which was the 100 block on North Adams. At that time the city blocked off the hill so that kids could go sledding. That year my friend Gerald Edwards and I both had rheumatic fever. I was bedfast but our family lived in a large house with a big window so I could watch kids sliding. My doctor was Dr. Burisch who made house calls, and he was pleased that I could have entertainment. I missed the last semester of that school year, and a teacher took her summer vacation to tutor me, so I could stay with my class. Not many teachers would do that. Geneva Kierulff was my art teacher. She didn't appreciate having me in class because I had a natural talent and could draw better than she. There was a time when I did a water color of George Washington on his white stallion. I had lots of praise for it, and I wish I had kept it but didn't.

I was not a good student in high school and dropped out the last semester of my last year. I went to work for Charlie Hood in his shoe store. I enlisted in the military and took actual handson training right here, from Bill Mumper, a local mechanic, who was qualified to give the basic Air Craft Mechanics Training. Many people will remember his son "Toad," who was also a mechanic, used car dealer, flier, and instructor.

I had enlisted as an aircraft mechanic, was sent to Midland, Texas, and never again saw the inside of an airplane engine. Midland had the largest bombardier school in the world at the time. I, however, was assigned to the cadet post office and spent most of my time there. That was the only position I ever volunteered for while I was in the service. I remember our cadet postmaster, who was from Mississippi, had such a southern brogue that I couldn't understand a word he said. I came to know most of the pilots and had several chances to take rides. I even had a chance to take pilot training and wish now I had. We overlook lots of opportunities when we are young and unable to foresee how we would use them.

I had my nineteenth birthday in Ogden, Utah, where we were sent from Midland. We were there just a short time before being sent to Basic Training Center #8 in Fresno, California. This was desert training and perhaps was the reason I became ill at our next location, San Bernardino. I was in the hospital long enough that the unit went on without me. It is hard to tell what difference this might have made in my life because they were sent to the South Pacific.

I was sent to Santa Maria, California, where I was temporarily put in a replacement pool until I was ordered to go overseas. We crisscrossed the country by troop train, taking five days to go from California to New Jersey. We actually came through Osceola but I didn't know when, nor did anyone else. We weren't allowed to tell where we were going.

When I regained my strength, I was sent to Ireland for aircraft gunnery training. Ireland was the most beautiful place I had ever seen. Our training consisted of firing at a banner pulled by a C47 aircraft. We had machine guns wrapped around our bodies. The firing was very rapid and hard to control. A military officer, who was watching when I shot a hole in the tail of the C47, took me off the firing line. We never did use that training in actual combat.

I was returned from Ireland but because of my being hospitalized, my unit went on ahead and I became a replacement. I ended in Lemington, and was put into the 1243rd quartermaster unit, which was just being formed. This was before the invasion. Our primary job was to supply food and fuel to the troops. I was in the Great Britain War Zone, and it was there that I heard my first B1 buzz bomb. They were fuel-powered, making a weird noise as they dropped, when they ran out of fuel. London was plastered with those and when we heard them, the only recourse was to duck because there was no telling where they would drop. One time in downtown London during a blackout, standing on a street corner, I heard a familiar voice. I asked, "Is that you, Dally?" It was Dally Richardson from Osceola. His stuttering helped me identify him. He was the only person I knew that I ran across in all those months before I got to Germany.

D-Day, when the Allied troops invaded the European continent, has been given a lot of well-deserved publicity. My unit became involved on Day Three after D-Day. We boarded a landing craft in Southampton, and were transported to Omaha Beach. The Germans had put up tripod shaped barbed wire barriers to prevent an invasion, but demolition crews had cleared the channel. When the landing craft approached the beach, we saw many ships that had been sunk. The front of the craft let down, and we got off with our weapons held above our heads. We were protected as much as possible with leggings for walking through the sand to the beaches, and all our clothes had been treated to deflect mustard gas, in case the Germans used it- which they did not do in World War II.

We walked a number of miles along the beach-line, through a little town, single file on both sides of the road. This was unnerving because we knew there still were snipers. However, without incident, we wound up at the crossroads of that town and St. Lo. They were just commencing the battle of St. Lo, and we had to go back to the beach for fuel. They had five gallon containers called "Gerry cans." They were very heavy and we loaded them on an Anny 6x6 truck, which could transport 300 of those cans, a hundred in a row, stacked three high. There was a driver and assistant driver, and we rode on top of those back to our unit's location. We had to go back through the town and across a wooden bridge. The Germans had tanks with 88 mm canons zeroed in to blow up the bridge. We just got across when they blew it up. Can you imagine what would have happened to us with all those tanks of gas if they had fired while we were on the bridge? We didn't think anything about it at the time. We were young and reckless and had orders for what to do, so we did it.

At St. Lo, we helped establish the first airstrip on the continent. It was a mesh field, for which we simply rolled mesh on top of the ground. We had P 38s, which were twin-tail fighter planes, P47s, which were the old Thunder Bolts that carried two 500 pound bombs under their wings, as well as 50-caliber machine guns, and P51s. There was a flagman at each end of the runway. The planes would be cleared for takeoff, but coming in, if the plane had its landing gear down, they were cleared, but if not, they were waved on. One time a P47 came in for a landing, but didn't have his landing gear down, so he was flagged off. When our air strip was established an artillery unit came in. They were fantastic! When German prisoners came through, the first thing they wanted to see was our automatic artillery. We didn't have automatic artillery, but the fellows had a rhythm of continuous fire that made it seem automatic. Noisy! I'm surprised I am able to hear!

The beaches had been secured when the first wave came in on D-day, so the positions were pretty well fortified. There had been a huge number of casualties. Utah Beach was y-shaped and the people who landed there went on to the Cherbourg Naval Yards. Those of us who landed on Omaha beach went to the St. Lo area. We were in St. Lo about six weeks waiting for the British and Canadian troops to break out of Cannes, which was their beach area. During that time, our living pattern became routine. We lived in tents, large enough to hold cots for four guys - six if necessary. Behind them we had dug trenches over which we put boards and sod so they couldn't be seen, but if we were attacked we could actually roll out of our cots into the trench. We strung camouflage netting along the edge of the airstrip.

For our water supply, we installed a large canvas that we called a "bladder" hanging on a tripod, open at the top, with a wooden spigot at the bottom. We used our steel helmets for sinks and that water for washing our faces. I wasn't old enough to have whiskers, so I didn't need to shave. We were given chorine tablets to purify the water for drinking. The taste was not good, but it was wet. On the opposite side of the camp area, we installed a large tent with camouflage netting which couldn't be seen from the air, and that was where we kept our food supplies. At the beginning, these were K-rations, which were in boxes about the size of those that hold crackerjacks. The K-rations had Spam or ground beef, which were very high in nutrients, two cubes of bouillon and a little package of three cigarettes. Our mess kits were metal and contained a metal knife, fork, spoon, and cup. We heated the bouillon in the cups from the manifold of the trucks.

One day when a P51 and a German Messerschmitt had a dog fight in the sky above us, I had a lesson in learning to wear my steel helmet. I had seen this in the movies but never in real life. The P51 was getting the best of the German craft. There was the loud "yak-yak," of anti aircraft guns, as a plane went up to assist, but it hit the P51. A piece of shrapnel four or five inches long landed beside me. I didn't have my steel helmet on and if it had hit me, it would have killed me. From then on, whenever I was outside, I wore my helmet.

Our camp was in a farming area, and there were farms all around us. Instead of fences to mark boundaries, they had berms with hedgerows on top. Before we got there, the Germans had pulled their tanks up on them to blast our military units. While we were there, our tanks made openings in the hedgerows, so our vehicles could go through. Part of our patrol duty involved guarding that area, and those hedgerows which made it very difficult to patrol. What complicated our guard duty even more was word from the front that the enemy was using piano wire to strangle our men, so we had to hold our weapons close to our throats to protect ourselves from that possibility. That same communiqué told that German tanks had broken through our lines and were headed toward our fuel dump and air strip, which were very vulnerable to attack.

One time when I was coming back from the beach with fuel, I saw a farm house in the distance, and I persuaded a fellow to go with me to scout it out. A family was living there and they had three milk cows, which they kept underneath the house. There were two daughters and they were so happy to see us that they started running around the yard, picking up cow dung and throwing it at each other. We couldn't understand one another but sign language got us through.

We told them goodbye and started back to base, but on the way we came upon a German command car. It still had the keys in the ignition and started when we turned the key. We drove it back to the base and took it to Ordinance where they asked if we had checked it for explosives. We hadn't. They checked and found the trunk was booby trapped. I confiscated a Spanish 32 weapon that would have been used in the Spanish American War, and a 45 caliber German Luger. Back at camp, they blued the metal for me, and while I was having that done, I noticed they had a tank that had something that looked like a cowcatcher on a train. That was what they used to make holes in the hedgerows. I wanted to bring home the weapons I had found and tore them apart to put them in my duffle bag, but they were stolen when I returned to the states.

About that time, Patton came from the Italian campaign and set up his units. They started to assemble all his tanks to make the push inland. We were the only ones who had fuel, and it took a lot to supply all the tanks and other military vehicles. When Patton took off, we couldn't keep up with him. They formed the Red Ball Express, which were tankers, operated by units of black soldiers, and that Red Ball Express kept Patton moving right straight through Paris.

There was a time, after we thought St. Lo had been vacated, that a friend and I went into town. It must have been beautiful town but now there was only one comer of one building standing. We snooped around the town, and when we started back to camp, some M.Ps (Military Police) stopped us. They asked, "Where have you guys been?" When we told them, they said, "We pulled out of there (so many) hours ago." We were lucky there weren't any snipers around. The kid I was with went back the next day, and I never saw him again. He was younger than I, and I was only 18. Young people get pretty reckless.

Our unit formed a large convoy of trucks, loaded with all our equipment and our company of men, and followed Patton to Paris. I was going to ride on a certain truck but it was loaded, so I went back to another one. During the trip, there was an accident involving the truck I intended to be on and several men were killed. It was another incident when I felt I was being looked after.

In Paris, we took over a warehouse, from which our quartermaster unit set up field kitchens and served everyone. Instead of putting the left-over food in garbage cans, we put it in buckets brought by women who were waiting at the end of the food line. They were pretty desperate.

I was an assistant driver in a weapons carrier in Paris. These carriers had seating on both sides and it could haul troops with weapons under the seats. Whenever the guys had R & R (rest and recreation), we took them into town - about eight guys to a trip - and we could stay overnight as well. That was my first introduction to Paris. It was pretty well shut down, but I was able to see the Arch d' Triumph, the Eiffel tower - these were closed and sandbagged about half-way up; and Notre Dame Cathedral, which was not being used at the time. It was sandbagged over two-thirds of the way to the top. We did get to go inside and saw the pictures and stained glass a magnificent sight. I remember the Museum of Lions, with lots of pillars and statues of lions on each side. I'm sure there are many other things but I'm trying to remember back 60 years, so some of my memories are not too clear.

From Paris, we went to Metz, France and established another warehouse. We performed our duty in that area, and when a friend and I got R & R at the same time, we decided to go to Marseille. We went with a convoy to Lyons, to take a train to Marseille. We got as far as Lyons, and spent six days there, staying in a luxurious hotel that cost about 75¢ a night. I still remember the beautiful staircase. When we started back, we expected to pick up the convoy, but the Germans were coming through posing as soldiers, with the resulting decision the convoy wouldn't pick up anybody they didn't know. My friend and I walked from Lyons to camp, and because we arrived three days late, we were given hard labor, which involved policing the area, picking up all the trash and being restricted to quarters. They understood our predicament and weren't too strict.

While we were at Metz, the advance units, in which I was included, were called up. We went back to Wales, where there was a military training base. That was where I took my infantry training. It rained all the time we were there. We had to crawl on our bellies under barbed wire with our rifles cradled in our arms, and live ammunition flying overhead. If we had risen up we'd have been dead. When our stint in Wales was over, we were put in another replacement unit in Germany. To get to Germany, we crossed the Remagen Bridge over the Rhine River. That bridge was the main entrance into Germany, and securing it made it a well-known battle spot. The Germans had all the explosives in place to blow it up but somehow didn't use them. We were sent to Frankfurt-on-Maine, where I was a temporary M.P. One day I was standing on a street comer, when a company of men came marching down the street. There was Joe Welcher, who had been a schoolmate of mine! He also saw me and broke ranks, which was not allowed, but we gave one another a quick hug, he got back into ranks and probably wasn't reprimanded.

From there we were sent to Marseilles, France. On our way I had a narrow escape. We were on a troop train, the cars of which would hold 40 men or a certain number of animals and the accommodations would have been more suitable for animals. We pulled into a railroad station and the whole area was under blackout. We debarked from the train, got into our company units, and picked up our duffle bags, which were stacked up by the wooded fence extending from the depot. To get to our troop truck, we had to cross about 20 rows of tracks, and just at that time, a French troop train was coming our direction from the docks. It didn't have lights on, and in the dark, the engineer couldn't see us. He blew the whistle when he discovered we were there, and everybody froze. Our unit was just behind the group that was hit when the train mowed down about 25 or 30 of our troops. Arms, legs, and body parts were flying all over the place. It must have been sickening for the medics who had to pick them up. I was close enough that if I had taken two more steps, I'd have been in front of that train. However, the buddy I was with threw his arm in front of me just in time. Another example of someone looking after me.

We went to our bivouac area, and were there until we boarded ship. We were scheduled to go to CBI, the China/Burma/India Theater. While we were in the bivouac area, Germany surrendered. There was a lot of jubilation, and a group of us went to a nightclub in Marseilles. We were in our dress uniforms. A French band was playing American songs. It was about the time "White Christmas" was popular and since it was appropriate for that time of year, I asked if the band could play it. They asked if I could sing it and I told them I knew the words, so with a little encouragement from the champagne, I sang it and did well enough that I sang three more songs that night. I'd like to have made singing my career but that didn't work out.

In spite of the surrender, we boarded ship to go to CBI. We were in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea when the Japanese surrendered. When the captain of the ship heard that, he turned around and headed home. It took us about 30 days to get back to the States.

To summarize: I entered military service in October 1942 and was discharged in October 1945. I spent the time in the European Theater, in Unit 1243rd Quartermasters Corp, supplying all the military units. My unit landed on Omaha Beach of the Normandy Beachhead Day Three after D-Day, and were the frontline Quartermaster Division through the rest of the campaign.

We landed in Newport News, Virginia, and from there I got a 30-day rehabilitation leave. My orders came to report to Camp Atterbury, Indiana, for my discharge. From Indiana, I took the train back to Osceola. I arrived home on a Friday night, got off the train, and saw there was a football game in progress on a field close to the tracks. I went to the game even before I went home. There was no fanfare, just a hug and kiss from Mother when I walked in the door. It was the end of an era. My first 22 years.

It is hard to sum up the readjustment involved in coming home after 2 ½ years - total service 3 ½ years. It wasn't just being away, it was all that I had been through during that time. After my discharge I had some R&R, then went back to work part-time for about $25 a week at Kerns' Sinclair gas station, where I had worked before I went into the service. I dated three or four different girls but I had a problem finding any real direction for my life. I didn't know what I wanted to do. A fellow I had known before I left home, Frank Davis, managed the tire and auto accessories department at Wards in Chariton. He asked if I would like to work for him. It was an increase in salary to $35 a week - not bad at that time - and I thought I would try it. I had been there about six months, living in a rented room, when I started having emotional problems. I had trouble sleeping and began having mood swings, with more downs than ups. I withdrew from everyone. After struggling with this for some time, I finally went to the doctor, who told me I was having a nervous breakdown, which was nothing unusual for military people attempting to readjust to their former lifestyle. He told me I should just go back home and relax.

It was then that Bill Wiley, a friend who had lived next door to us when I was in high school, came home from the Navy. I actually had seen him when I was in the service. While he was training in San Diego, and I was stationed in Santa Maria, California, he came to see me. I had no forewarning. One day I came back from chow, entered my barracks, and there he was sitting on my bunk. My mother got a charge out of that when I wrote her about it. We had lived next door to each other in Osceola and walked to school together. But he always came early, came in the house, and sat down to wait while ate my lunch. Here we were in a distant state, years later, and he was doing the very same thing. Now, in Osceola, we had a lot to talk about and he asked what I was doing on a particular night. As usual, I had no plans so we went to a movie and continued to hang around together until I started to get interested in thinking again and slowly came back to myself. I am forever grateful to Bill for putting me back on track. Another friend came home from the Navy - Keith Schaffer, and the three of us went constantly together, to the point that everyone began calling us "The Three Musketeers."

Some Osceola history fits in here. Where Fareway parking lot is now (in 2005), there was a skating rink under a big tent. The sides were raised or lowered according to the weather. Fareway store was built on the adjoining lot, which was once a burned out lumber yard. The fire also took a grain elevator. It was the biggest fire Osceola ever had.

I worked in the office of the lumber yard as a file clerk. I didn't like that job and was lousy at it, but the bookkeeper, Dorothy Ruebottom, was very patient with me. Dorothy also played the piano at the theater for the silent movies. This was an interesting challenge because the pianist had to suit the music to the mood of the scenes. Dorothy understood my problem at work, so I left that job on good terms with everyone. I worked next at a wagon box factory. The wagons were primarily grain boxes put on a running gear, to be pulled by a tractor to grain elevators. Bill Wiley's dad was the lead man in that operation, and I got to work with Bill.

Mary's father was working in Omaha and was coming in on the train that weekend. We met him at the station and over coffee at Ethel's Cafe (where the Whiteway was later located), informed him of our intentions and plans. Understandably, he would not say yes or no without talking to her mother, but finally said as far as he was concerned it was okay. We set a date August 25, which my mother was not too happy about. After all, our first date was July 4, and we planned to be married about six weeks later. She predicted that it wouldn't last, but after 59 years of marriage, we have proved her wrong.

I discovered when we were going to the courthouse to get our marriage license, there was still residue left from my war days. The sky was clear, but it had rained earlier that morning and the lawn was pretty wet. As we were walking across, suddenly, out of the blue, there was a huge clap of thunder. I grabbed Mary and pulled her to the ground into a water puddle. She didn't have a clue what I was doing, but here she was in the puddle and her dress was a mess.

She forgave me; we got our license, and waited the customary three days for the wedding. The arrangements for the simple service were made by the wives of my brothers Paul and Wendell. We were married in Wendell's house at the north end of Park Street. The front room was decorated with a flower covered homemade arch. Present, in addition to those who made the arrangements, were my mother, Mary's parents, my brother Bob, who was in the Air Force, stationed in Orlando, Florida, home on leave; my sister and her new husband, from Arkansas; and Mary's brother. Keith was my best man, and Geraldine (Jerry) Switzer was the bridesmaid. Mary knew very few people in town, having so recently graduated from high school in Grand River, but Jerry Switzer was Keith's girl friend, so we asked, and she accepted. The ceremony took about 20 minutes, after which we had cake and coffee.

An example of changing times is that one Sunday afternoon Mary and I went to a matinee at the theater, and then walked down the alley where the Methodist parsonage stood. Lloyd Latta was the pastor and we stopped to see them. I asked if they ever played cards. Lloyd said, "Yes and no." We had in mind playing Pitch. Lloyd pulled down the blinds; we sat in the middle of the floor, and played cards. He said he liked to keep his image clean.

Our honeymoon won't win the "Most Romantic" or "Most Extravagant" awards. We stayed for three days at the Charitone Hotel in Chariton. They had a nice dining room which was an upgrade from the Lundquist restaurant where I usually ate when I worked at Wards. We saw a couple of movies and I think we spent the whole sum of about $100 on our honeymoon.

We returned to Osceola and moved into the room Mary rented after coming to town. All we had was an electric hot plate, a card table and two chairs, bed, and access to a bathroom. We decided to buy a kerosene stove with an oven. A couple weeks later in the evening, we were charavaried (pronounced as though it should be spelled "chivareed"). This was a tradition in which people supposedly came to wish the newlyweds well and the couple responded by giving out cigars and candy bars. However, many tricks were played. Common and less harmful pranks than some were putting the newlyweds in a wheelbarrow and pushing them around the square, putting whipped cream on their car, soaping their windows, and such. We were thankful the more drastic tricks weren't played on us.

My sister gave us a reprieve from our cramped living quarters. She and her husband Bill were half-owners of a semi-truck for hauling grain. When Bill traveled throughout the mid-west Helen often went with him for two or three week periods. They had rented an apartment on Park Street and offered it to us until we found something else. We accepted until we found a onebedroom apartment with kitchenette on highway 34, just west of the four corners. We were living there when I had further complications from earlier emotional problems - shingles. Shingles are an inflammation of the nervous system and Dr. Harken treated me, but the pain was around my waist, and the waistline and belt of my pants irritated them terribly. Our landlord was Gerald Miller, a farmer, who loaned me a pair of his bib overalls which surely helped.

In 1947, I began working for Rindy (Emil Rinderspacher) in his grocery store. Hallie Johnson owned the meat department, I was in the grocery department, and Russ Wetzler was the produce man until he had an opportunity to take an Anderson-Erickson Dairy route. At that time I took over the produce department. There was two check-out registers, and Virginia Shannon and Bessie Childers were the checkers. In those days we were paid by the week, irrespective of hours, so we all stayed at our jobs until the work was done. I put in a lot of hours in my department.

Rindy had sale days on Fridays and Saturdays, for which I painted signs to put in the windows. One time I misspelled a word and several people came to tell me. That told me they read the signs, so sometimes I intentionally misspelled a word. It caught people's attention. We had a great relationship with competitors. There was a supply store on the south side of the square where the dance studio is now, which eventually became HyVee. There was also United Food, and Hylton's grocery. On sale days, if we ran out of an item, we could borrow from them and pay them back the next week. They would do the same with us. At the supply store, I met Dale Scritchfield. Dale went with me all those years ago when Wendell drove us to Ft. Des Moines and we both enlisted. We had basic training together at Midland, Texas. When Dale introduced me to friends or salesmen, he would tell them of the time we were stationed in Midland, when we would go to Odessa and tip a few - sometimes a few too many, and I would always see to it that we got back to base okay. He never forgot that. From Midland I had no idea where he went but he said he went to the South Pacific while I wound up in Europe. I ran onto Dale later at different times when I traveled for Tones.

More history: Osceola used to have streets made from bricks all around the square. There came a time when the state decided to pave all Highway 69, including the Main Street side of the square. It took them all summer to tear out the bricks from in front of the store. We used the back door a lot, but on occasion we would have to carry 100# sacks of potatoes, 50# bags of flour or sugar across the square to the customers' cars.

Very few people had television sets in those days, and for entertainment there was a lot of people-watching. On Saturday nights people came to town, parked their cars on the square, and sat watching people walk by. In fact, some townspeople came early, found an advantageous place, parked their car, went home, and came back to sit.

Mary and I liked people and with my work at Rindy's, I became acquainted with many. Particularly I had the opportunity to meet those who were new in town. One of the couples was Bayard and Pauline Shadley, who bought Windrath Drug Store. One night we invited them to supper, and discovered they loved to play cards. Osceola was very clannish, which made it difficult for new people to fit in. Shad told me later that we were the only ones who invited them to visit. The next couple was Fred and Dorothy DeHaan and they basically said the same thing. Fred was a dentist, and from then on they had my business.

On October 25, 1955, our first child, Bruce, was born. In those days I was allowed in the delivery room, and one of the truest adventures of my entire life was watching his birth. Shortly after Bruce was born, he had difficulty keeping his formula down. The doctor recommended we feed him goat's milk. We were able to purchase it from Cliff Carr, owner of the Conoco station at the Four Corners, who raised goats. It worked. Mary and I moved into a house between Hallie and Rindy. Hallie lived on the alley and Rindy on the comer, with us in the middle.

About 17 months later, we had a daughter, Virginia Dale, nicknamed Ginny. For awhile life was good. I had a decent job; we had a nice family, and lived in a good neighborhood. I was involved in an enjoyable activity - I sang with a group called Fathersingers. It was directed by Christine Sobieski, a music director at school and choir director at the Christian church. The group had 21 male singers from three churches - Presbyterian, Christian, and Methodist. Our organist was terrific - my cousin, Amy Harlan. Pete Twombley and I were top tenors, Rindy was second tenor, and he also did a lot of solo work. He had sung professionally in Detroit before he came to Osceola. Bud Wilder, who had a wrecker business, and Gaylord Moore who owned a shoe store, were good bass singers. We were invited to sing at many events, including five consecutive years at the State Fair, and enjoyed it a lot.

Everything was going well for me until Bruce developed health problems. He had pneumonia twice, and was hospitalized both times. At that time, as far as I knew, there was no such thing as health insurance, and we started building up a good sized doctor bill. About seven years went by, while I was falling farther and farther behind. In a conversation with friends, Gene Paschall and Carmine Poush, who had been working at an airbase to Greenland in the Arctic Circle, I learned they were making good money and were going back.

Just before all of this happened, the big house on the corner, just west of where we lived, was going to sell. It had three apartments and would just about pay for itself. I was eligible for a GI (Government Issue) loan and a person I knew from when I worked in Chariton, Kenny Thelkeld, owned a Savings and Loan. I talked to him and he got me a loan. I paid $8,000 for the house. I needed $1,000 down, which I didn't have, and Kenny added the $1,000 to the $8,000, which is not permissible these days. We moved that fall, and in spite of having to quit my job at Rindy’s, leave my family, friends, and the Fathersingers, I did go to Greenland the following spring for eight months. Our family was set; I sent my wages back home, so it worked well.

I was exposed to many new experiences in the north-land, such as celebrating my 26th birthday on July 12 when it snowed, the wind blew, and a blizzard hit us. We fought white-outs from blowing snow and wind, during which we followed ropes from place to place so as not to get lost. The base was along the coastline of Thule Bay and behind us was the world's largest ice cap, on which the government was building a radar station. It moved bit by bit all the time we were there and probably still does. This is where most of the world's icebergs come from. We watched one drop off many miles from us, but when it cracked off, the gushers of water went miles into the air. A couple minutes later we heard a huge boom. Sound carries a long way in cold, clear air. Russia was just across the bay from us, and on a quiet day we could hear voices from that direction. Wild arctic orchids in a variety of colors grew about 3" high and covered the whole tundra. Across the bay was a strange island. It had cliffs on all sides and was shaped like an egg that was flat on top. As far as I know it was never used. We would see Eskimos in their kayaks from time to time. When they saw us standing on the tundra, they often showed off a bit, laughing and rolling over in their kayaks.

I went to Greenland as a warehouseman, but that position was filled, so I wound up in the mess hall as a fry cook. Gene and Carmine were also assigned to the mess hall. My previous experience in that line was fry cooking at home, which was a far cry from thinking in terms of feeding about 2,500 men. The shifts worked 24 hours a day, so the mess hall was open most of the time. We worked 10 hour days, which gave us two hours overtime every day, and helped toward earning a good salary.

In an attempt to provide some recreation, a person who was a theater stage producer from New York, put together a musical comedy show called "Kitchen Capers" - featuring an all male cast of mess hall employees. The show was put on for both shifts so there had to be two bands and both were very good. There was a chorus line called the Dancing Dollies, with men playing women's parts. They wore white hose with their outfits and breasts were simulated by putting marshmallows in plastic bags. The Dancing Dollies got the most attention. I was in a quartet, and between scenes three of us had solos. It was a lot of work with rehearsals and all, but it was worth it. We got a good rating from all the guys up there.

As I look back over my life, I seem to have missed a lot of opportunities. That applied to another singing experience I had. Years before, when the guitar was a natural to accompany country music, which was very popular, I had a chance to take guitar lessons. I started but lost interest. When I was in the military, I had an opportunity to go to OCS (Officers' Candidate School) and passed that. Early in my military career, in Midland, Texas, I could have learned to fly. Time after time, I failed to catch a vision of the future.

The time in Greenland actually went quite rapidly. I could have gone from there to Brazil to work on the continental highway, but passed in favor of coming home. In flying back to Minneapolis, we flew over Newfoundland. The mountain peaks looked like needles. All of a sudden we hit an air pocket, and the plane dropped about 500 feet. You've never seen so many sick guys! It was a frightful experience. Mary and I had made arrangements to meet at the Ft. Des Moines Hotel and nine months later, our daughter Conda was born on August 16, 1955.

I began immediately, when I got home, looking through the ads for job opportunities. Easter's Foods in Windsor Heights had built a new store, and they were looking for a produce manager. The experience I gained from working at Rindy's helped me get that position. The only problem was that my old car wouldn't drive back and forth, so I found a sleeping room in Des Moines close to my job. One of the Easter brothers, Abe Easter, helped me set up the first self-service produce counter in the Des Moines area. It was a great success and a big accomplishment for me. I had another accomplishment – the meat manager, grocery manager, and I vowed to quit smoking. I was the only one that finished that commitment and got a steak dinner from the other two in the process.

A good customer, with whom I became friends, told me he was the office manager of Tones Spice Company. He told me he liked my service and the attitude I had toward my job. He asked where I lived and I told him Osceola. He mentioned that Tones was looking for a sales representative from that area, and if I was interested, he would mention me to his boss. I told him I would speak to my wife, but I hesitated to change jobs so quickly because I'd just been hired in October. Mary had no problem with it. Jay Tone himself came back to the store to visit with me, and my six years with Rindy in the Gold Star market impressed him. I gave my notice at Easter's and started to work for Tones on June 1, 1954.

For the next 16 years I had a rewarding life, a good salary, yearly bonuses, possible promotion, a furnished car, and expenses paid. A big benefit was that I could work out of my home. If everything worked well, I would also be eligible for profit sharing after 90 days, and later they got into a health insurance plan. Jay rode with me one day and we called on my brother Wendell in Carlisle. He had purchased his store from Rindy, who had stores in Carlisle, Lenox, and one on the northeast corner of the square. He had considered building one north of town.

My territory for the company was 33 counties in south central Iowa and north central Missouri in which I would call on grocery stores and wholesalers. I started with the worst territory in the company and brought it up to Number One. The small supply store in Osceola I previously referred to became HyVee in 1956, Super-Valu was growing by leaps and bounds, and when the concept of supermarkets caught on, I was right there in the middle. I met a representative from Aunt Jemima Pancake Mix and he and I joined forces to have weekend pancake and coffee days. They became popular in many towns, and continue in Osceola as Appreciation Days.

Three years after I started with Tones, Mary's mother developed health problems, diagnosed as liver cancer. We lived in the big house on the corner of Cass and Adams, and she stayed in our front room. She had surgery in Iowa City, but passed away in 1964. She was only 47 years old and left behind four kids still at home. Two went to live with Mary's sister on a farm in Nebraska. The other two, Bill and Kathy, came to live with us and increased our family of five to seven.

As the years went on, I involved members of my family in my business ventures. Ginny was born March 25, 1949. In 1955, I had her advertise for me in the Fourth of July parade. Tones had furnished me a 1955 blue Ford with Tone's logo on both doors. I constructed a platform with handrails to fit on top of the car, so Ginny could sit on it. I lettered signs for each side, "Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice." Ginny wore a little white dress and a crown. I told her to sit still as we were going to travel all around the square. She took me at my word, didn’t move a muscle, and we got a well-received ovation from the crowd. When we were through, I bought her a doll. She loved dolls.

Conda was born on August 16, 1959, and shortly after that, Mary started having health problems, so I often took Conda with me on my route. She was a cute little blond haired girl, and still remembers how the check-out girls in the various stores made a fuss over her. When she started to school she had a reading problem but across the street was a school teacher, Leona Eddy, who tutored her that summer and solved the problem. In high school, she was a member of the chorus and one year was selected to be in the All-State chorus. She was the cover girl on the program, which even showed on TV. While she was in school, she worked at the soda fountain and followed in her mother's footsteps because I had met her at a soda fountain, and that was where Conda met Gary Cook. They dated for some time, fell in love and were married.

Conda and Gary lived in our upstairs apartment, as did all our children at one time or another. Ginny married Roger Kennedy and they lived there. Bruce married Dixie, who had been his school sweetheart since about fourth grade. While they lived there, our first grandson was born. I was acquainted with many store owners and managers, and I learned that one owner had an opening for an assistant manager in a Super Valu store in Lenox. Bruce applied and got the job. They moved to Lenox, until a couple years later, when I was talking to the Super Valu manager in Marshalltown, he mentioned he had an opening that paid much better than the one in Lenox. Bruce applied and was hired, so he and Dixie moved to Marshalltown.

I worked for Tones for 16 years covering 33 counties. My overnight stays were in hotels-there were few motels in those days. It was a great benefit to me when the interstate highway was constructed, and I could come home every night. About this time an opportunity came along for me to buy a drug store in Osceola. Jerry Wolfe wanted to sell and would even stay and work there while he showed me the ropes. The prospect of working in Osceola was appealing, and I resigned from my position with Tones.

Jerry turned the keys over to us on June 1, 1969. I accepted his offer to stay on and help us get started. It was a franchise Rexall Store. Neither Jerry nor I were pharmacists but he hired one. A couple years later, I lost the Rexall name and changed it to Beeman's Sundries. We still carried over the counter drugs and vet supplies and had an excellent soda fountain. Nellie, Jerry's wife, taught Mary to keep the books, and Mary caught on quickly. It was truly a husband and wife business. We owned the drug store on the comer of Main and Washington, the northeast comer of the square, for five years. In 1972, the Dairy Queen on the north side of town came on the market and we purchased it and had both businesses. Gary and Conda ran the Dairy Queen.

In 1973 and 1974, inflation was running rampant and it was difficult to keep up with prices. I would order something and the replacement cost me more than I sold it for. I kept spinning my wheels trying to make a profit, and the final straw was when our landlord doubled our rent. We had to close Beeman's Sundries and look for alternatives.

There was a vacant building on the south side of the square, where dentist Dr. Harris is in 2005. Gene Saylor was beginning to refurbish the cafe in the hotel, and in his scouting around to buy equipment, he discovered a cafeteria with refrigerated salad bar in the town of Rathbun north of Centerville. That little town was flooded and wiped out when they built the lake. Mary and I decided we would move into the empty building, buy the cafeteria set, and pack up our costume jewelry and gift items from the drug store, close out Beeman's Sundries and move into the vacant building. In about 30 days we became Beeman's Cafeteria and Gift Shop. It was at this time that Ginny had her second son so it was a productive year for the entire family.

The cafeteria started out well, but several factors were against us and we had to close in a couple of years. We went to the Dairy Queen to run it. Conda stayed with us and Gary got a job with Babson's making stainless steel tanks for dairy farmers until Muellers bought them out. Gary went on their payroll and has been there ever since - 25 years.

We put everything we made back into the Dairy Queen, upgraded the equipment, and got the Brazier franchise which allowed us to sell fast food items. Mary and Conda were able to run the Dairy Queen with very little help from me. Things started to improve again and to sustain our livelihood; I got a position with AAA Motor Club selling auto insurance. I was on a commission basis, had profit-sharing which they created for me, plus my health insurance.

I was with the Motor Club for about eight years. At that time Mary had a lot of health problems, and we went to a number of doctors to find out what was wrong. The search went on for months. In the meantime, my sister's husband suddenly died of an aneurism. The day of his funeral Mary had an appointment with another doctor, so when we laid Bill to rest, we kept our appointment. He finally found the problem. It was an abscess on her colon about the size of a volley ball. We didn't even go back home that day. That evening she was operated on at Mercy Hospital. It was very serious surgery. If the abscess had burst she would have died. She spent about a month in the hospital that time. I had retired from the Motor Club the first of the year, at age 62. I was able to keep my health insurance for another year so we were somewhat covered temporarily. Mary applied for Social Security disability, so she could be eligible for Medicare, and was accepted. Five more surgeries would follow.

As I look back on my life, I realize I never made a lot of money but I was always employed in some way and never was bored a day in my life. When I retired, while we were living in the big house on Cass and Adams, I started a bicycle shop. I built a 2 ½ car garage, using half for my car and the other half for the shop. There wasn't one in Osceola but I knew a man in Chariton who had one and asked him to teach me about the newer bikes. I took training for about four weeks and was able to handle almost any type of bike. I had a lot of practice on coaster bikes, and while I was with Tones I bought four Schwinn Twin tandem bikes, for $100 each. (At the present time the same type bike would cost at least $1,200.) They were a craze at that time, and I was sure I could rent them by the hour. Bruce and two girls were at home and I enlisted their help.

I did this for several years which kept my retirement from getting boring, but more importantly, I was on hand for an additional responsibility. After one of her surgeries, Mary had a blow-out of her colon and had a problem healing. She was in the hospital many days, and when they sent her home, they left the wound open so it would heal from the inside out. I had to pour in peroxide twice a day. She was in a single bed until we borrowed an adjustable hospital bed from the American Legion loan closet. It took about three months for that to heal.

In 1986, there were going to be two seats open at the next City Council election. One day Gerald Edwards and Stack Samuelson came to the shop asking if I would consider running. I had never thought of doing anything politically, but agreed when I realized it would be an opportunity to serve the town I was born in and loved all my life. I won the election and served for 12 years. It was an interesting public service. I started my two-year term the same year Bayard Shadley became mayor, and in spite of the fact that at the time I was in the drug store, we were competitors, he and I, along with the entire council worked well together.

During my 12 years, there were many important pieces of legislation passed and many improvements to the community. For my first assignment, I was appointed to oversee the street department, which was in shambles. A new oiler and street sweeper needed to be purchased. We tackled the issue of annexation, which would include the rapidly developing Harken Hills area, the McBroom addition, the land that came to be known as the Industrial Park, and took in a strip north of town, where there were already houses and businesses, through where the old airport had been (across from what is now the Osceola Nursing and Rehabilitation Center). In all, it just about doubled the land size of Osceola and moved back our city limits in all four directions. This was the period when Jimmy Dean built a sausage plant, Jack Beaman started a radio station, and sewer lines were installed to all the annexes. The next year the Council decided to go to a full time government and the first city administrator, Brad Wright, was hired. A problem arose concerning the Police Chief and Steve Niebur was hired. The Parks and Recreation Department was combined with that of the Cemetery.

When Fred Diehl, who had an insurance company on the east side of the square, became mayor, I persuaded him and the city administrators to look at some vacant buildings a block off the square. There were three neglected houses on Park Street badly in need of repair. There was an old dilapidated red barn owned by Eddy Saylor. To cut a long story short, an interested party in Indianola by the name of Vander Linden, took up the challenge and built a complex of upscale units called Washington Apartments, which will be an asset to the town for many years.

Mayor Diehl was a good spokesman for the city, and many things were starting to happen. I was still on the Council when we negotiated with Jimmy Dean Sausage Company and Furnas Electric. For the next election cycle, an at-large seat was open. I talked to a friend, Bill Bloom about running, and he won. Bill and I were both retired, which gave us time to work on projects, which other council members, employed and with families to take care of, did not have time to do. For about three years many things happened on which Bill and I worked together: a cross-town sewer from McBroom addition all the way to the disposal plant and expansion of the library. The librarian, Joyce Turner, was successful at raising money from the local people, and with city help and grants, the expansion was achieved with many neat programs created. It all came out beautifully. Each of these took a lot of time and organization, including the biggest one, which resulted in the casino on West Lake. There was much involved but the final resolution was that the referendum passed by 80%. The next year we had a full-fledged operation.

One of the most popular things we ever did was two years prior to this, when the city began a sidewalk restoration and replacement program, which was partially funded by a block grant. Many sidewalks were brick, and many others were cracked. The proposal was that the property owner pay for the concrete and the city do the work. Many people signed up for the program, and sidewalks were tom out and replaced with concrete. The following year it was extended to downtown sidewalks, some of which were brick, and others had seriously deteriorated. This greatly improved safety for pedestrians and the appearance of the downtown area.

I served on the council for 12 years. I think the mayors and council during that time were the most visionary and effective in a long time. I sincerely hope the other councils will continue this visioning to make Osceola a shining star to south central Iowa. We are at the crossroads of the country with so much going for us that the opportunity is there for the taking. If we extend our vision with priorities to expand our tax base with good commercial outlets in the I-35 corridor of highway 34 to the north exit, with the new aquatic center, early childhood center, The Village, and a new water source at Coyote Canyon reservoir, the whole northwest part of Clarke County will explode. Add to this my dream of a recreational complex as a complement to the school auditorium, which will benefit all ages, all of it within our reach.

The idea of a recreational complex came about in 1986, while I was on the council, and heard many complaints that we had no place for recreation, for holding large meetings and gatherings, and I had seen the need of something like this for many years. It is still in process but the prospect of it becoming a reality is clearer all the time. This will make a fabulous complex.

All the while, I was engaged in a number of activities. While I was in Beeman's Sundries, I became active in the Chamber of Commerce and the Promotion Chairman during a time our committee had some exciting, innovative ideas. for the American Legion, I was Vice Commander under four different commanders. This lasted 12 years I was a charter member of the Eagles. My nephew, Scott Beeman, applied his landscaping degree to designing plantings in the courtyard, which the TODA (Today's Osceola Dynamic Action) committee accepted as their funding and maintenance responsibility. I became a member of the committee.

During all of this time, in 1994, we sold our big house on Cass and Adams and bought a house and vacant lot on Highway 34 across from HyVee. I made a deal with Winterset Monument Company to set up a display in the vacant lot. The property also had a 2 1/2 car garage and I had my office in the corner of the garage. It worked pretty well. I still worked on bicycles and small engines, but most of the monument business was by appointment, so I could serve people in the office or in their home, and control my time. It was a challenging and very competitive business, but many of my customers became good friends, because I was dealing with families in need after the death of a loved one. Sometimes it became pretty emotional.

Three years after we moved, I had a stroke that hit me pretty hard. My left side, arm, and hands were affected- I was lucky my legs were not. This condition restricted me from doing lots of things I was accustomed to doing, but it was fortunate timing. In the last election cycle I had been defeated. I had never been challenged before. I didn't mind because I realized I could not physically do all I had been doing. I stepped down from the chairmanship of the Arts & Recreation Corporation - the development of the complex mentioned just above. They honored me with the title of Founding Chairman and gave me a plaque and a lifetime seat. I was humbled in 2000, to receive the first community service award of the 21st century. To this old country boy that was really something. We were more or less forced to give up our house on highway 34, and move into a housing area. The apartment complex we moved to is just two blocks from the school, and with the track close by, I try to walk one or two miles a day when the weather allows.

Ginny came from Emporia when she heard about my stroke, and I broke down and cried, which I don't often do. I asked her a question that had been on my mind, "What am I going to do about Mom?" Ginny came to my bedside, started stroking my cheeks and said, "Dad, everything is going to be all right." At that moment I saw the angel I had seen in Manchester, England, during the war, when I came out of my delirium caused by the high fever caused by scarlet fever. Again I felt touched by something that was very reassuring.

I am now 80 years old, and when my doctor at the Vet's hospital recently gave me a physical exam, he said, "Don't be surprised if you live to be 100." I must say all my life has been rewarding with the good people I have met in different places, having a loving wife by my side, our three children and their offspring. Bruce married Dixie Brodsack and they had three sons, Terry, Shawn, and Jason. Their daughter Hanna came into their family as a two-day old. She is still in school. Virginia (Ginny) married Roger Kennedy and they live in Emporia, Kansas. Ginny is a housewife, and Roger manages a wire company. They have two boys: Shea is still single and works as a chef in a nursing home. Justin and his wife, Elizabeth, also live in Iowa City and Justin is employed in the Iowa City Hospitals. They gave us our first great granddaughter, Zella Mai. I was surprised and proud that when Justin and Elizabeth were married, they played the tape of "The Wedding Prayer," which was made when I sang it at Conda's and Gary Cook's wedding. They still live in Osceola. Gary has worked for Mueller Company, makers of steel tanks, for over 25 years. Conda has worked for us many times and now she helps Gary with a lawn care business. They
have two sons - Jeremy, who graduated from Indian Hills Community College, and is a diesel mechanic for a company in Davenport. He married Diana Truman. She is very intelligent, a straight A student, graduate of Drake University with a degree in journalism. She works for an Iowa City newspaper. They have just bought a home in North Liberty and are expecting their first child -our great-grandson - in August. Kiley graduated from Clarke Community School in 2005 and plans to attend Ellsworth College in the fall. He played football all through school and wants to play football in college.

It has been my privilege to live in a town I have always loved. I am proud of my participation and I hope the ground work I have been a part of will bear fruit for the future of the whole south central Iowa area. What more can one person ask for?