My Life in Illinois

J. Franklin Campbell

I was born in middle western Illinois. The farm was three miles north of a little town called Elvaston. It had 204 people, and was five miles west of the county seat, called Carthage. It also was five miles east of a town called Hamilton.

Hamilton was across the Mississippi River from Keokuk, Iowa. North on the river was Nauvoo, at one time the home of the Mormons. Across the river from Nauvoo was Fort Madison, where there was a penitentiary for Iowa. These towns were connected by a ferry.

Our farm, or rather Uncle John's farm (since my father was a tenant of John Marshall who lived in Oklahoma City), was of 240 acres, divided by a road with eighty acres on the South side of the road. Here were the house and farm buildings. One hundred sixty acres were on the North side of the road. On the East side of the farm was a road which went to Elvaston, where we went to church and to high school. Here we also bought our groceries and sold our eggs and cream.

It was a good farm with sandy loam soil. The Mississippi River had undoubtedly contributed to this, although it was five miles away. It had not overflowed that far to my knowledge, but about 1905 a dam was stretched across the river between Keokuk and Hamilton, creating a lake which was called Lake Cooper. One area North of the house there was a pond, and some of the neighbors hand conjectured that at one time it was a buffalo wallow. This pond was at the East end of a twenty acre pasture of blue grass which was used for our milk cows. Here night and morning, it was the children that would drive up the cows for milking. This pasture had a concrete tank which furnished water for the stock. Across the road, among the other buildings, was the well with a windmill which pumped water through a pipe under the road to the tank. Some years where the corn crop was especially good, my father would buy a carload of steers, to fatten and later ship to Chicago. In a corner of this pasture, there was a straw stack which furnished shelter and some feed for the cattle. Near here there were food troughs which were used to feed the cattle. Because of the 50 inches of rainfall we received, this blue grass pasture was never overgrazed.

On the Southwest corner of this three way corner, was the house. It had one and one-half stories. It had a kitchen, dining room, parlor and a bedroom on the lower floor, and with a screened porch along its West side. Along its North side there was a ten by twelve foot summer kitchen. In the second story there were two connecting rooms where the boys had their beds in the first room; and the second room was used for my Aunt Mabel when she spent the summer with us. Part of the time it was used for the hired girl, when we had to room and board one.

The house had not been painted in my memory, and that had been one of my other's hopes and pleas to Uncle John. Instead we had Viginia Creeper trying to cover its barness. With the three large silver maple trees shading the house and a well-kept blue grass lawn, it didn't look too bad. We also had a lawn swing sitting under the tree in the front of the house.

The living room and dining room combination was where we lived. The parlor was seldom opened up, except when we had company, and very special company at that. This room had a rug, called a rag rug because it was made of braided rags. There was a base burner stove here which kept up all year. This stove was particularly suited for our Illinois winters because it was kept going all winter long. It used hard coal which was in small chunks, and were fed into a hopper at the top of the stove. It had colorless isinglass along the side which, especially at night, produced a cheerful red glow. The ashes were removed at the bottom of the stove.

The kitchen was heated with a coal range. The first one up in the morning, usually my father, would light this stove. It took some pine shavings, some pine pieces causing the fire to burn briskly, before the coal would burn. On the side of the stove was a resevoir which kept water hot. Above the stove and attached to it were warming ovens. Most meals were served in the kitchen unless we had company, when the dining room was used. The summer kitchen was designed to keep the heat from the stove from the rest of the house. Here a kerosene stove was used without connecting it to a flue.

None of the three bedrooms had closets. Upright cabinets were used to hang our clothes, as well as chests of drawers. If we were lucky, we would get one new suit once a year. With three boys it was probable that we would inherit a hand-me-down.

There was a fence to keep out the cattle and horses. A swinging gate which was kept closed by a chain on which we suspended some weight, usually a part of machinery. The coal house was near this fence and the material with which it was built was quite old. When Ronald was about four years old, he climbed on to this roof and fell through, breaking his leg. The family doctor, Dr. Runyon set the leg satisfactorily and he had no trouble with it.

On the North side of the house there was a sodded 100 by 200 foot fenced in lot. There were three cherry trees growing on this lot which bore cherries every year. In order to keep down the grass, we would let graze variour animals. Sometimes, calves were put in here, at one time a sheep, and at another time a Poland-China hog I was raising to show at the county fair. It is noteworthy that I received second prize. However, there were only two hogs entered.

In the front yard, there were two silver maple trees that were over twenty years old, because someone had carved 1888 on the trunk. Under the North tree, we placed a lawn swing which mother's father had given her. It was a pleasant place to sit after a hard day's work in the fields. I am afraid my father never had much time to enjoy it. There was blue grass covering the front lawn, and a large lilac bush near the front gate. Outside the gate was the mailbox, where the mailman inserted the mail. I can remember waiting anxiously for him to come and bring the American Boy. Also outside the fence, but farther North, was a garage built after we acquired our first car, a Jackson.

Our grass was cut with a push type lawnmower, which was so hard to push, that one boy would push and the other would pull with a rope attached to the front end.

Before 1909, probably 1908, a fire set by my little brother burned down a connected group of buildings, which included the barn, in which were two horses. The family horse we were able to lead out, but a colt could not be induced to come out, and burned. Other buildings which burned were the granary, the carriage house which contained the family surrey. This required two horses and would carry our entire family. My mother, older brother and I tried to pull the buggy out but it stuck in the doorway.

Our young brother was innocent of evil intention when he set fire to a hen's nest under a manger, because he had seen his mother burn a nest after the eggs had hatched. However, the nests she burned were never in the barn. Donovan was only four years old at the time, and he was trying to be helpful. In 1909 a new barn was built, and as was the custom, the date of structure was painted on its side. This was a beautiful barn, painted red. It was two-storied, with a large door at its end under the gable. This door was used to pull hay into the hayloft by means of rope which would carry a fork full of hay onto a rail mounted into the rafters. At a signal from the man in the hayloft, the release on the fork could be controlled by the man on the wagon, and the hay placed in different parts of the loft. The propelling force which lifted the hay was a horse attached to a rope and usually ridden by a small boy, who would back up and go forward according to whether the hay was being lifted, or the empty for let down.

This new barn had a central space large enough to drive a wagon, or to store buggies. This one had a storage bin which held oats, and another one to store corn. Stalls with their mangers were on each side of this central space, and the horses could be fed from the oats bin or hay let down from above.

Several years later, a cow barn was built on the South side of the barn, which served as a milk shed. Here the cows were placed to be milked. Night and morning, my brothers and I would have the job of milking two cows each.

My mother's father and step-mother lived one mile South on the road to Elvaston. When I was small, two uncles and three aunts lived at home. They all married except my Aunt Jeannette, who married later after my grandfather moved to Hamilton. Here he lived after his wife had died, and until his death in the Influenza Epidemic of 1918.

My grandfather and grandmother Campbell lived closer to town. When very young, my father's sisters with the exception of Aunt Jessie were all married and away from home. Aunt Jessie had Epilepsy, before the control had been widely used. Of my father's brothers, only Uncle Orr was at home and he farmed the homeplace. My grandfather would drive to the little town of Elvaston and visit with several Civil War Veterans. Since he was also a veteran, they had a great deal in common. They would visit on the steps of the only grocery store in town which was owned by his son, Wilson, and his two sons, Russell and Harold. The Campbell farm was not as large as the Marshall but even so, they managed to raise a family of four boys and four girls. The oldest married a local dentist, who was the son of our family doctor, another married a Lloyd Bertchi and they moved to Omaha. The youngest daughter married a local farmer. I mentioned that Aunt Jessie had Epilepsy and never married. She gave us all piano lessons, but she found that none except Dorothy had any interest.

The farm was separated into portions by a creek which had a swimming hole. This was always full of water, or at least with enough water to swim.

My grandmother was always the first up in the morning and we would often find her tending to her turkeys, which would range all over the farm. She usually had a cow or so to milk. After this she would get breakfast. These grandparents always had a piano, and later acquired an Edison record player.

Near the back door there was a covered pump house, and during watermelon season, a melon would be kept cool by letting it hang in the well. Butter and cream were kept cool in the same way.

Other relatives living near the Campbell corner, were the Frank Marshalls. They had moved back to Illinois after a sojourn in Idaho. They bought a farm one mile East of the Marshall homestead. Uncle Frank and Aunt Flora had a boy named Hollis and a daughter named Myra. Only the daughter now survives.

Another relative who lived about 1 and one-half miles Northeast of our corner, was Aunt Geraldine Burling. The little town in which they lived was called Fayyis, but I am not sure about this name. It only had a grain elevator. They had a son called Marshall. He now lives in Carthage, and they did not have children. There were two daughters but I did not know them.

During my highschool days, my Uncle Fred Marshall lived in the Marshall homeplace, having bought it after his father died. Uncle Paul lived across the road. My father, two uncles, my Uncle Orr who lived on the Campbell homeplace, two Stephenson brothers and two or three others had a cooperative threshing unit. They owned a threshing machine and one of the members had a gasoline engine. The members would make the rounds, threshing each other's grain, in turn. The wife of the host farmer would have to cook for about 20 threshers.

All farming communities were divided into school districts where the children would attend through eight grades. Our farm was served by the Eureka or No. 8. It was a one room school, heated with a pot bellied stove. The main room was possibly twenty feet square. The desks were arranged in rows and the chalkboard covered the front of the room. Maps were mounted above the chalkboard, and could be pulled down. In this way the top of the map always portrayed North. As this was really West, it was a long time before I was able to equate these directions.

MY father was a member of the school board. Our first teachers were quite young and I believe had only to finish highschool to qualify -- they would have to be young. Later, and as I remember it, after we had finished the fifth grade, Miss Lena Hosford, one of the farmer's daughters, and one who had finished college, came as our teacher. We all idolized her and she had only to frown on us to make us behave.

As we lived only one and one-half miles from the school, my brother Ronald and I would walk to school. I can remember climbing over snow drifts which covered the fences. The cold wind would seem to freeze our cheeks. We would wear Mackinaws, high boots, and underwear, as everyone did in that country.

When Donovan was old enough to go to school, our father let us drive a horse and a buggy. He built a shelter for the horse to protect her from the elements and we always covered her with a blanket in cold weather, but she was always ready to come home after school. This mare's name was Blackie, and she also pulled our buggy when we went on to highschool. Since it was easier for all to go to the same school, we all went into Elvaston to school and we kept Blackie in the barn of my step-mother's parents, the Kesslers.

Life on the farm was never dull. We were early put to work. One early task was to help our mother wash the cream separator. It had what seemed like a hundred little discs. We would also churn the cream which made the butter. This we did by raising and lowering the paddle in the cream until the butter separated. We also washed the dishes. One boy would wash and the other dry. On occasion we had been known to arrive at school with our aprons still on.

On the farm one of our first tasks was to ride the derrick horse. This horse was used to pull up the hay by means of a derrick at which time a hay stack was being stacked. The horse would go forward to bring the hay to the desired height and then the horse would back up.

As we grew older and stronger, we were allowed to milk a cow, later milking two cows night and morning, feed the hogs their corn, and turn the cream separator. Here after milking, the milk was poured into a large bowl then as a handle was turned, the cream was separated from the milk. The cream would come out one spout and milk out another spout. This separated milk we would feed to the little pigs and to the chickens.

It was not long before we could handle a team in the fields, plowing, harrowing, discing, and cultivating the corn. During the harvesting of the grain, driving a wagon, and during haying time, running a mower, and later a rake to put the hay in little piles, which would precede shocking or taking into a central place to make hay stacks.

This was still the era when children were an asset to the farm economy. The boys would make a hand by the time they were 11 or 12 years of age. The girls could take the place of a hired girl.

Play was a constant search. There were trees to climb, animals, as calves and hogs to ride, discarded pieces of machinery to use to make hoops, ropes in the barn loft to swing on; like Tarzan. Our Christmas gifts were offered to all three of us boys. One year we received a minature farm wagon, with sideboards and a seat like in a large wagon. It had a wagon tongue so two dogs or goats could be hitched to it. Before long the wagon was taken apart, and the running gears could be used to coast down hills, except that in Illinois there were very few hills and slopes had to be improvised.

It was in the summer of 1909 that I was shot through the face. My father had a single shot 22 gauge Stevens rifle and a cousin, Russell Campbell who was helping us on the farm this summer, had a similar rifle. My younger brother, Donovan, was only four years old at the time, and we were playing with these rifles in an upstairs bedroom. We were loading and unloading them, and pointing them at various objects. All I can remember is a sudden ringing in my ears, and falling to the floor, and with blood coming out my nose. We are assuming that the rifle was so heavy that my brother was not able to hold it up and accidently pulled the trigger. As he sat on the bed and I sat on the floor, the bullet had a downward trajectory, hitting my lower eyelid, passing under my nose, through the right antrum and coming out the right cheek. In its passage through the right cheek, it cut through the roots of three teeth. These teeth were lost the following year.

After the shot, I went downstairs, bleeding profusely and sat on the front steps, until Dr. Runyon arrived. He finally arrived in a car that had a rumble seat but which faced backward. If my memory is right, it was a red Buick.

I spent much of that summer in bed and I can remember of neighbors sitting up at night with me. One reason that the date 1909 was fixed in my memory is that, this same summer they were building our new barn, and as was the custom, painted the date on the barn.

You can be sure that I was not allowed firearms while under the parental roof. This caused me no hardship, but the loss of the teeth did cause my teeth to shift so that many years later, when I could afford it, I had a full mouth restoration.

On Sundays, church, Sunday school and Christian Endeavor on Sunday evenings were an important part of our life. In addition, on Wednesday evenings, our parents often went to Prayer Meeting. Our father was at one time choir director. In addition to the piano, one of our church members played the bass horn, so this was used along with the other music. Clem Miller played the bass horn and our Aunt Jessie, Father's sister, played the piano. The music that came forth varied but enthusiastic.

The ministers were often there for a few years at a time and then would be called elsewhere, since that was a very small church. The parsonage was across from the church, but was not modern, nor were there closets to hang clothes. It was a precarious living at best.

Certain families were the mainstay of the church. I attended this church on a visit back to my old town and found the sons of the same families teaching Sunday School.

We three boys joined the church at the same time. Mr. Sawyer, the minister, gave us each a Bible, and which he could not afford. Maybe the Session paid for the Bibles.

There were three churches in Elvaston, one on each corner, with the Presbyterian church in the center, and the Baptist Church on one corner and the Methodist on the other. The Presbyterian Church is the only one left, and a window dedicated to my brother who died of the Flu Pneumonia, and one dedicated to Lucille Ewing, whose parents were active in the church.

The highschool was near the East edge of town and on the road to Carthage. This same road going West would go to Hamilton. It was about five miles to each town. There were not many students as the Senior class graduated only five members. Basketball and track were the only competing sports, my brother Ronald ran the 440 yard race. My Junior year was World War I and teachers were difficult to find. Because of the Flu Epidemic, our school was late to start, so my brother Ronald and I shucked the corn that year. It was a poor crop that year, as I remember it. My father was sick and his doctor had diagnosed Tuberculosis. Since he had lost a brother, Wilson, with the disease, it was not unreasonable to believe it. He spent part of the year in a tent in the front yard. Our uncles and Ronald and I did most of the harvest that year. My senior year was spent at Carthat College Academy. Elvaston High School did not have Physics, and for some reason, I thought I should have it. This was an old established college supported by the Lutheran Church. Those of us who came from out of town lived in dormitories. The dormitory I lived in was called North Hall. My roommate was a brother of my Aunt Aurelia, named Robert Marshall. We have kept up our friendship through the years.

Our class in Carthage College Academy was much larger than the senior class in Elvaston and we graduated about 20 in our class. This was in June of 1920.

In the fall of 1918, my father had fed a carload of steers, and was going to ship them to Chicago. My brother asked to go. While in Chicago, Ronald came down with influenza. Dad tried to put him in a hospital, but with the Epidemic there in Chicago, all hospitals were full, so the doctor advised Dad to bring him home. After arriving home he developed Pneumonia. At that time the treatment in vogue was fresh air even in winter. The nurse wore her overcoat, the windows were up, and Ronald's room was very cold as this was in December. After about a week, Ronald died, and was buried in the Elvaston Cemetary, where later my father and mother were buried.

Ronald was a strong husky boy, who resembeled the Marshall family in his build. His chance of survival would ordinarily have been good. Flu Pneumonia had an especially high mortaility rate. My grandfather Marshall who had come from Hamilton to help, also developed Pneumonia, was taken to the Keokuk hospital and died.

Ronald and I were in the same grade as he started school one year late and I started when I was five years old. We all went to school in the buggy, and when Donovan was old enough to go, we would tease him by singing Old Black Joe, because he had beautiful black eyes. When we drove to Elvaston the horse we drove was Blackie. She was our second buggy horse, the first being Dewey, a horse that had been given by my mother's father when my parents started farming. It was customary when a family started farming, for the parents of each spouse, to give them a horse. This enabled them to start out with a two horse team. Dewey was a carriage horse in appearance but Blackie was just an ordinary horse.

In the Spring of 1920, Dad sold Uncle John's farm, and we moved to a rented house in Elvaston. Dad also acted as administrator of the Marshall estate and that farm was sold to Uncle Fred. A part of the farm which was on the East side of the road was sold to Uncle Paul. My father bought a seven passenger Buick, fixed boxes on the running boards, strapped an auto tent on the back tire and we headed for Arizona. Thus ended our stay in Illinois.

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