The Turkey Baster

Turkey basters… mention that to my siblings or my oldest child and you’ll get a reaction that has nothing to do with being thankful or having a nice family dinner!  Grandma Lillian was known for many things, among them keeping a watchful eye on the bowels of the youngsters in her care. She raised 3 generations of kids and I’m sure she was proud that none of them ever died from constipation.  Not on her watch!

When we were kids it was expected that we’d make that trip to the bathroom each day, like clockwork, and you didn’t come out until you were done. I remember my little sister sitting on the toilet with a TV tray and paper dolls in front of her, staying put until she paid the ransom for her freedom. However, she liked paper dolls so most days she was in there awhile, regardless of her "status."  She was the most compliant of the three of us.  After I discovered that Grandma hid her “True Story” magazines in the bathroom closet, I got fairly compliant as well.

One particular evening we were having dinner around the table when she thought someone passed gas - a sure sign of bowel trouble. I still don’t know who, but my brother apparently seemed like the most likely culprit, so he took the fall.  Grandma tried to coerce him into the kitchen for a dose of the dreaded “Green Drops” – a thin, green liquid that tasted terrible. He said it was absolutely awful.  Another time it was my turn to take the blame, and it took Grandpa intervention to get me out to the kitchen for my dose.  I was determined to avoid it at all cost, but I remember Grandpa telling me to just do it and get it over with because nothing more was going to happen until I’d taken that vile spoonful.

Grandma was not above telling little white lies to keep us three hooligans in line – after all, besides being outnumbered, she stood about 4’10” so she did what she had to do. In one desperate attempt to keep us “regular” she told us if it didn’t come out one end, it would work its way out the other.  I’ll never forget the look on my brother’s face – much the same as the look on my face, I’m sure… I have to say, it was a relief when I eventually discovered it was not true.

But the worst fate that could happen was the turkey baster – one special item that had only one purpose, and it was kept in the bathroom for these “special occasions.”  The only kid I remember getting a “turkey baster enema” was my own son, who liked to exert his independence by refusing to poop.  But Grandma won that power struggle.  To this day, he still poops regularly, every single day, and you can set the clock by him.  Grandma would be proud.

So if you invite any of us over for Thanksgiving dinner and pull out the turkey baster, expect that we’ll all cringe just a little bit, and possibly even refuse to eat the turkey.  I was in my late 20s before I knew that the baster was invented with a completely different purpose!  Besides getting a cold chill down my spine at the sight of one, it also reminds me of the love she had for all the kids in her charge and how she’d do what had to be done to keep us safe and healthy. 

Miss you every day, Gram!

What I Really Threw Away Today

Well, I had to throw away my measuring cups today.   

Besides being measuring cups I actually liked, these were the first ones I owned when I initially set up housekeeping at the age of 18.  It's quite amazing that they lasted this long - they were still structurally fine but the silver stuff on the inside was getting flaky and corroded.  But these cups were more than just measuring cups.

They are following other vintage kitchen gadgets into the landfill.  The old double boiler, and the electric frying pan with the leg that kept breaking off...  That frying pan... the leg would break off and Grandpa would glue it, and it would break off again, over and over, until Grandpa put a couple of screws in it.  I remember him saying that last fix would outlast the frying pan, and he was right about that.  All of these items, and more, were from my first little house.  Bit by bit, my grandparents helped me get that little place furnished and functional.  They went through their house and gave me furniture they weren't using, went to estate sales where they got me a bed, a vintage stove and a washing machine, and drove to endless rummage sales where kitchen gadgets like the double boiler and the measuring cups (along with things I could not identify) came from.  As I was moving in to that little house I'd walk in the door and find something that hadn't been there the last time.  I would have been up the proverbial creek without them and using these little kitchen items over the last half century always made me feel just a little bit closer to them.  

I think I'm down to one special kitchen item left, and that is her biscuit cutter which I treasure because that was actually hers and cut biscuits for years and years.  Silly, yes.  But every time I saw one of these old items I was reminded that I was deeply loved by those two incredible people, and so much that they did all that for me at their own expense (on a fixed income).  So they were more than measuring cups to me.  But time marches on. 

When Music Becomes Memory

             Listening to Lawrence Welk always brings back memories of sitting in Grandma and Grandpa’s living room, sitting comfortably in the green rocker, with Grandpa in his recliner and Grandma barefoot on the couch with the big cushions propping her up.  We’d sit there and watch, and they’d know all the performers – Bobby and Cissy dancing, Guy and Ralna singing, and Myron Floren!  They loved his accordion music.  I didn’t so much.  While they loved the show, I was only about half interested, and would frequently think, “There’s nothing going on here tonight.”  But oh, was I wrong.  Big things were going on.  Lasting memories and feelings were being made, a sense of peace, predictability and security that I still feel today when I think about sitting there in their living room watch TV with them. 

But that’s only one part of it.  So many of those songs were ones my grandparents played in their dance band in the 1930s through the 1950s.  My grandmother taught me to read music at a young age and how to play piano chords.  We’d sit at her old player piano, me on the left side playing the chords and her on the right side, playing the melody.  And, of course, Grandpa next to the piano playing his saxophone.  I grew up on those songs, and surprisingly still know the lyrics to most of them to this day.

The memories bring just a little bit of melancholy though; seems just a few short years ago everyone in the entire family knew those songs and those times and those feelings.  Then overnight it seems it was just my Uncle Don and I – the others got old and died, and he and I were the only ones left.  Now, it’s just me.  And at some point, it will be no one.   We come, we live our lives, we have people and things that are important to us, and then it’s time for the next people and the next memories.  But until then, I'll watch Lawrence Welk, and soak it all in.

Only In Case of Emergency

 

The opened envelope left by my great uncle Flight Officer Raymond Christensen saying, "Notify in case of emergency.  I guess you know these names and addresses inside as secret material only to be used in an emergency.  A card is sufficient."

 

It must have hurt my grandmother indescribably to have to tear open that envelope.

The Cistern From Hell

Few things terrified me as a kid like the thought of the cistern out at the farm.  We used to love to go out there with Grandpa and search around the concrete foundation where the house once stood, before it was burnt to a cinder by a fateful bolt of lightning.  We'd look for remnants of Uncle Don's melted marble collection or whatever other treasures might have been thrown from the burning house in an effort to save what they could.  But every step around that concrete foundation was made cautiously, after an over-abundance of careful looking, lest we fall in the dreaded cistern.

Grandma, besides being small in stature, was outnumbered by us so she'd frequently tell us "little white lies" to help enforce the rules - except with the cistern - besides being true to a certain degree, she went out of her way to tell us what would happen if we didn't heed her stern warnings.  "Don't get too close, or you'll fall in!"  "The ground around the cistern is soft and it'll suck you right in!"  "You'll be stuck in a small little dark space with nothing but water!" and the worst - "We might not be able to get you out!"  It's still hard to even think of all the things she told us about the cistern without a little panic setting in.  I didn't even know what a cistern was, but I didn't care.  I wanted no part of it.  It was a hole right down to hell itself, as far as I was concerned.

A few years ago, I was looking at an old photo album with my mother and we ran across this photo - and she said, "There's my grandma holding my sister, there's Dorothy, there's me, there's Teddy the dog, and the cistern..."  My blood ran cold and my heart rate skyrocketed.  I had not thought about the cistern since I was about 10 years old.  I was horrified at how close they were all standing to it!  And how near it was to the house!  And the dirt - the soft dirt around it!  And no one seems to be terrified! 

Once I settled down, I fully understood why Grandma said what she said.  My first thought was, "I wonder what it looks like under that board!?"  Which is probably why someone put a heavy rock on it and started telling tall tales.  Love ya, Grandma, and I miss you every single day.

Sunnyside School - Readin', 'Ritin', and Romance

Sunnyside School, about 1920

Little Sunnyside School.¹  If it wasn’t for that little rural schoolhouse, I wouldn’t be here.  And if you’re one of my cousins, you wouldn’t be here either.  It was where my grandparents, Bill and Lillian Knutz, met and fell in love - and the rest is history.  Not only did Bill and Lillian (and their siblings) attend here, but their children did as well.  It was right here, in this little schoolhouse, here where Bill and Lillian “laid claim to each other” in the 3^rd grade, according to Bill.

The white X at the top of the map shows the location of Sunnyside School; the turquoise X below sits just to the left of the Christensen farm; the yellow X is just above the Will Knutz farm; the pink X is just above the farm where Bill and Lillian Knutz raised their family 20 years later.

When Bill and his brother Howard went to school, they went past the Christensen farm.  One morning, Bill and Howard, in their horse-drawn buggy, ran into Lillian and Raymond Christensen, also in a horse-drawn buggy.  A race ensued, but unfortunately, the wheels of the two buggies became entangled and locked together.  Needless to say, the next day (and every day thereafter), Bill and Howard could be seen riding a single horse to school.  The same thing held true for Lillian and Ray.  But down the road a distance from the Christensen farm, out of sight of everyone else, they would do a switch; Ray and Howard would end up on one horse, and Bill and Lillian on the other.

Interior of Sunnyside School, 1997

On one occasion, when the kids were in third grade, Bill got sick and missed a few days of school.  The teacher asked Lillian to sit next to him and show him the lesson.  Bill said, “I got a feeling all through my body, like I wanted to put my arm around her waist and give her a hug.”  That pretty much sealed the deal.

Lillian is the dark haired girl at the end of the row, and Bill is 3 kids to the left.

Years later, Bill and Lillian purchased a farm just one mile east of where Bill’s family had lived.  Their children also attended Sunnyside school.

The whole student body in the Young Citizens' League Parade -
four of the five students were from the same family. 
From left, Teacher Mrs. Tanger, Betty Knutz, Wilma Knutz,
Billy Knutz, Don Knutz, and other unknown girl.

After the kids were grown, P. C. and Ella Christensen sold the farm to Paul Meyer and moved to California.  By this time, the school had been known more widely as the Meyer School.  When the school was no longer used, it was purchased, presumably by Paul Meyer, and moved to that property, where we saw it in 1997.

**********

©Karen Seeman, 2018.  For personal use only.  Do not republish or post elsewhere without permission.

¹This school was also known as Meyer School and was located in Clyde Township, not to be confused with another rural school known as Sunnyside, in neighboring Dearborn Township.

Sources:

Personal Photos

Google Earth

Interviews with Bill and Lillian Knutz

Interviews with Betty Hammer

A People’s History of Beadle County, SD, 1986

A Place-Name Study of Beadle County, South Dakota (Leta May Janes), 1929

The Bill Knutz Orchestra and the Barn Dances of the 1930s

In the 1930s and 1940s, with dust in the fields, worries galore, rebuilding what was lost, and war, It was a time to put your worries aside.  It was a time to socialize with your neighbors, tip a few, kick up your heels.  There was no shortage of these dances on the prairie, and on any given weekend one could have their pick of where to go and what band to enjoy.  Ladies often were admitted free, while the gentlemen might have to pay 25 to 30 cents to get in.

Among the popular local bands in and around Huron, South Dakota were such groups as the Golden Pheasants; White’s Red Jackets; the Rhythm Ramblers; Doyle and His Old-Timers; the Sod Busters, and the Bill Knutz Orchestra, in whom I have a vested interest.   While these bands did sometimes play in larger venues, such as the Band Box east of Huron, they frequently booked their jobs in the barns of their neighbors.  Henry Meyer, who lived north of Wessington, Ed Langbehn, near Wolsey, Bill Schwartz, west of Huron, and Albert Baum, southeast of Huron, were frequent hosts of these weekend escapes. 

I’m not sure when my grandfather, Bill Knutz (pictured at left), first became interested in being a musician.  As a young man, he farmed himself out (pun intended) as a hired man, and did some traveling around the midwest during harvest time.  He lived frugally, and when the season was over, he treated himself to a saxophone he’d found in a pawn shop in Nebraska, as well as a ring for his favorite girl.  Both the saxophone and the girl ended up being “keepers.”  He was a self-taught sax player, and eventually formed his first band, “Bill Knutz and His Harmonians”, including his future brothers-in-law Ray Christensen playing the fiddle and trumpet; Clarence Christensen playing the clarinet and Bill’s brothers Howard playing the bass fiddle, and Richard on the drums. Bill’s mother, Virta, kept track of their bookings.

The Harmonians were rearranged to form the Bill Knutz Orchestra, when the band leader discovered his girlfriend was also a mean piano player, and a good-looking girl in the band never hurt business…  Unfortunately, it was not so easy where the drummer was concerned, and he had to settle for a fellow without much rhythm, who liked to keep a bottle by his drums for an occasional “swig”.  When the drummer would speed up or lag behind with the tempo, fortunately all Bill had to do was wander back to the drum set and blow the sax into the poor man’s ear until he was back on pace.  Realistically, none of these people were professional musicians, just working folks with a day job, most of them dirt-poor farmers looking to make a few extra bucks for groceries and have a little fun in the process.

Both my mother and my mother-in-law grew up on South Dakota barn dances, and described similar situations throughout the 1930s and 1940s.  Large crowds, comprised of whole families, would attend these outings, and often it was here that youngsters learned to dance.   Sonny Baum taught both his daughter and my mother a three-person dance called the Butterfly Dance; similarly, my mother-in-law, a lifelong dance fanatic, would dance with her father, Casper Kluthe, when he wasn't busy on stage with his accordion.  The smell of hay, the noise, the applause, the rowdy activity, with the younger children curled up and sleeping blissfully in any available corner, all while the band rocked out “Swingtime In The Rockies” and oldies like “Little Brown Jug.”  “I’ll never forget those dances in our barn,” my mother-in-law said.

The Bill Knutz Orchestra, after a nearly 20-year run, eventually dwindled to just the two main members, Bill and his favorite pianist, and an occasional granddaughter (moi) warming the piano bench next to her grandmother, learning the chords to such favorites as “Hang Down Your Head, Tom Dooley,” while the the more talented of the duo played the melody.   The leader of the band always tooted along on his sax.  I was blessed to be a late part (although a very small and unofficial part) of their orchestra.  I’d love to have seen them in their heyday, and experienced the excitement of one of their dustbowl-era barn dances.

A Perfect Storm

 [Note: The Conductor of Train #412 was my great-great uncle, E. E. Hittle of Huron, South Dakota.  He was married to Maude Graves, sister of my great-grandmother Elvirta Knutz, and at this time lived in Huron, South Dakota.  As far as I know, he walked away from the crash without injuries.

****

                Webster defines the term “Perfect Storm” as a critical or disastrous situation created by a powerful concurrence of factors.  And that is precisely what culminated on the morning of Sunday, April 25, 1937, when Chicago and North Western passenger Train #412 plowed into the rear of Train #504 just west of De Smet, South Dakota, killing one and injuring several others.

                It was described as a “freakish late-April storm” that rolled into the area on Saturday, April 24, bringing strong north winds of 60-65 mph.  Only an inch of snow was deposited in the city of Huron, but massive drifts high enough to cover the fence line could be found east of Huron between Iroquois and De Smet.  Highway 14 was quickly impassable, with dozens of cars stalled and abandoned near Manchester, as their inhabitants made their way into town to catch the eastbound train to their destinations.

Map of pertinent area in eastern South Dakota, courtesy of Google Maps.

                Late Saturday evening, Train #504 left the depot at Huron for its eastward run, hauling a passenger car plus five other cars, with a gas-electric motor coach that was hitching a ride, or “deadheading,” to Tracy, Minnesota, at the end.  All was uneventful but for a few small drifts until they were within three miles of De Smet, when the train met its match in snow and became stalled.  Conductor Arthur Howard, of Huron, and his Engineman Mr. Key, thought the train might have a better chance without the deadheading motor coach, so it was detached and they attempted to thrust the train through the deep snow, but this effort was unsuccessful.  The crew then attempted to get the detached motor car back to Manchester to summon help, but the high winds and heavy snow only allowed about 50 feet of movement before it, too, was stuck.  Engineman Key sent out the flagman to the rear of the train, and they made the decision to have Conductor Howard try to walk the three miles to De Smet for help and to notify the proper people of the stall.

                The Flagman Mr. McIntyre sprang into action to minimize a very dangerous situation.  This area of track was single-rail; trains were operated on a timetable, with train “orders” and a manual block-signal system during the day.  During other times, “time spacing rules” were in effect to prevent accidents.  Flagman McIntyre situated a red fusee (very similar to a flare) about 500 feet behind the train, and continued walking until he found another clear spot on the rail on which to put torpedoes to alert any oncoming trains.  Continuing, he put another two torpedoes down about 1/4 mile from the train, then went back to the train to warm up.  He went out a second time, this time 3/4 mile from the train.  Overnight, he made several trips back and forth, standing guard to get the attention of any approaching train, and returning to his train when his eyes and face were covered with the freezing heavy snow.  In the early morning hours, he and baggage man Fred Behrens, of Tracy, decided to try to get to a nearby farm house in hopes of being able to contact the depots in Huron and De Smet to let them know of their predicament, and bring back some food for the passengers, despite their conductor already being on the way to summon help.  In his absence, Flagman McIntyre enlisted Baggageman Venard to take his place as flagman.  Although Venard’s 16-hour “tour of duty” would soon be expiring, McIntyre did not consider it of importance during an emergency situation, and departed with Behrens. They were ultimately not successful in locating the farmhouse, and leaving Behrends behind, McIntyre proceeded to De Smet. 

                Meanwhile, Venard acted as flagman, but informed Conductor William Innes, who was in charge of the deadheaded motor car, that his 16 hours were nearly up, expiring at 7:40 a.m.  According to Venard, Innes replied that he would take over the flagging duties at that time.  When 7:40 rolled around, Venard came back to the train, and made a sign to Conductor Innes, who nodded back.  Venard took this as a sign that Innes would take over, and he proceeded to the mail/baggage car and went to sleep.

                Sharing responsibility with Innes for the deadheaded motor coach was Engineman Frank Carpenter, also of Tracy.  He and Conductor Innes alternated going to the engine for coal.  Carpenter was preparing for his turn and Innes went to the passenger compartment of the motor car, located at the rear, apparently having no knowledge that there was no longer anyone at all acting as flagman.

****

Depot and Rail Yard of the Chicago and North Western Railroad at Huron

                Meanwhile, at the Huron Depot, the crew of passenger Train #412 was preparing for its run.  Dispatcher Kelley came on duty at 6:30 a.m., and discussed the situation with the night shift dispatcher, who informed him that all communication east of Huron was down.  However, he had no reason to believe that the previous nights’ train, #504, had not been successful in reaching its destination.  As Dispatcher Kelley was preparing to issue orders for the outgoing train, he was distracted by a train patron inquiring about shipping animals, and he inadvertently issued the conductor a clearance card reading “block clear” rather than issuing a caution order. 

                At 8:18 a.m., Conductor Hittle and crew left the depot 13 minutes behind schedule.  Engineman J. C. Shephard noted the severity of the storm, but the visibility was at least good enough to see the front of the engine, and the train had no trouble attaining its regular speed.  But all that changed as they went through Manchester; the snow on the tracks caused the train to lose speed, and Fireman Hoffman expected a stall, but Engineman Shephard was able to use more steam to get the speed back up and keep the train moving.  Their speed was up to about 20 mph, but visibility was so poor that the front of the engine was now a blur in the blizzard conditions.  

****

   

             In De Smet, Train #504 Conductor Howard discovered that communication lines were down in the whole area.  He knew he would not be able to contact the depot in Huron, but was at least hoping to contact someone in Iroquois to warn of the stall.  He stayed in De Smet until 5 a.m., then headed back toward his train, but discovered the drifts had become 2-3’ deep and was forced to return to De Smet.  He was surprised shortly after that when his Flagman McIntyre showed up at the De Smet depot.  When Howard inquired who was doing the flagging, he was told that Venard was handling it.  They were in the train station when the mail clerk came over and told them that the unthinkable had happened.

****

                There was nothing the crew of Train #412 could have done to stop the crash.  They heard no torpedoes, and saw neither fusees nor a flagman.  After the accident, Train #412’s Flagman Shanahan went to the rear of the train to flag, and found an unexploded torpedo about a half mile behind the train – his train had slid right over it.¹  He walked the 6 miles back to Manchester, and his face became covered with ice in the nearly 3 hours it took to get there.

                The deadheading motor car with Conductor Innes and Engineman Carpenter was the first to be hit, and it was hit hard.  Made of steel, it was crushed like a piece of aluminum foil, “telescoping” it.  Conductor Innes was in the rear part of car, and was critically injured.  Engineman Carpenter, in the front part of the car, sustained a broken nose, numerous head lacerations, and bruises.  After the motor car was hit, it propelled into the main train, partially derailing it and causing minor injuries among the passengers.  Had the motor coach not been detached, the situation would have been much more serious than it already was.

                A plea was immediately made in the passenger car for anyone with any medical skill to help.  A young Huron College student, Paul Besselievre of Pierre, was traveling to Irwin, South Dakota to preach a Sunday sermon, and his scouting experience gave him some basic first aid skills.  A nurse, Miss Beulah Vostad of Rapid City, was also aboard.  Nurse Vostad attended to the more seriously injured Condcutor Innes while Besselievre cleaned and dressed Engineman Carpenter’s wounds, stating that the hardest part was keeping Mr. Carpenter still – he was compelled to go to the main train to see what he could do to be of service, despite his wounds and dazed condition.  Unfortunately there was not much that could be done for Condcutor Innes other than an injection of morphine to ease his pain.  He was talking coherently Sunday night, but took a turn for the worse and passed away the following day.

This was the Perfect Storm of conditions – snow, wind, lack of visibility, downed phone lines, and a number of critical human decisions that went wrong.  The investigation questioned why the flagman would leave his job, which was paramount to the safety of everyone on the train, to duplicate the efforts of his conductor.  His replacement went “off-duty” in an emergency situation.  The next replacement apparently did not know he was expected to act as flagman in addition to what he was already doing.   In a moment of distraction, the depot clerk did not caution the outgoing crew of a potential problem down the line.  These were all factors that came together resulting in a large amount of damage and most importantly, the loss of Conductor William Innes’ life.

****

¹Pg. 63 of Accident Bulletin, Issues 63-82, by United States Federal Railroad Administration, Office of Safety.

                “When a train is stopped by an accident, obstruction, or from other cause, the flagman must immediately go back with stop signals to stop any train moving in the same direction.  At a point one-third of a mile from the rear of his train, he must place one torpedo on the rail; he must then continue to go back at least one-half of a mile from the rear of his train, and place two torpedoes on the rail, 60 feet apart (two rail lengths), when he may return to a point one-third of a mile from the rear of his train, and he must remain there until recalled by the whistle of his engine; but if a passenger train is due within 10 minutes, he must remain until it arrives.  When he comes in he will remove the torpedo nearest to the train, but the two torpedoes must be left on the rail as a caution signal to any following train.  At night he will also leave a green fuse burning on the track.  If there is not a clear view for one-fourth mile to rear of train, the train must start before calling in the flagman, and move ahead at a speed of not less than 4 miles per hour until it reaches a point where the view is unobstructed for one-fourth mile in its rear.”

The 1880 Agricultural Schedule Sheds Light on William Graves

Years ago, I found digital copies of the 1880 Agricultural Schedule for my direct-line ancestors, William Graves and Lawson Lair in Peoria County, Illinois.¹  The headings of the schedules were impossible to read, and I wasn’t terribly sure how valuable any of the information would be, so I stashed them to deal with later.  Yesterday I decided to put the effort into seeing exactly what was on those schedules.

William Graves

I was able to find a document online with information on the agricultural schedule and blank forms for several years²; then began the work of going back and forth between the blank form and the schedule until I had extracted the information.  I repeated the process on the second schedule I’d downloaded for Lawson Lair – but discovered that William Graves was also listed on that schedule as well!  Princeville Township only had one William Graves during that time period, so I assumed he had a second farm somewhere in the township.  I was aware that William, through thrift and hard work, had given each of his children (including his daughters) their own 80 acre farm when they became adults.  I began looking at plat maps for various years, and looking at neighbors both on the plat maps and on the agriculture schedules to determine which schedule entry pertained to which of the farms he owned.

As it turns out, one schedule entry notes that William does not own this particular farm, but is leasing it for a share of the profits produced.  Looking at the other entries on the schedule and comparing them to neighbors listed on the plat maps for 1873 and 1896, I was able to determine the farm was located in Section 4 of Princeville Township, land that William owned in 1873 and his daughter Sarah A. Cox owned in 1896.  Sarah was married to Charles Cox in 1874, and may have been given that farm at that time, or at least prior to 1880.

1873 Plat map of Princeville Township, Peoria County, Illinois.  The red "X" in the upper left corner shows the location of land that would later belong to William's daughter Sarah; the green "X" toward the center shows the location of William's farm, with land he'd later give to Tom and Oscar; across the road, denoted by the purple "X" is the land that would later belong to Austin.

The second entry is a bit harder to explain.  Again, looking at those around him both on the schedule and on the various plat maps, this farm appears to be his personal farm.  William had purchased land that was clustered around his primary farm in the western half of section 2 and the eastern half of section 3.  On the earlier 1873 plat map, the section 2 land had been divided into two farms – one owned by his daughter, Martha Cox, and the other in his name.  Later that land would go to his son, Austin, who was just 3 at the time this map was created.  Across the road, in section 3, he owned a 240 acre farm, which would by 1896 have been divided into thirds – 80 acres for his son Oscar, 80 acres for his son Tom, and 80 acres for himself.  But this does not explain the findings on the 1880 agriculture schedule – William’s farm was described as 80 acres.  Twins Austin and Oscar would have been just 10 at the time of the schedule, and Tom would have been 18.  It is conceivable that Tom had gotten his farm by 1880, but unlikely that Austin and Oscar’s would have been in their names.  Perhaps these 240 acres of unaccounted-for land was rented out and appears on the schedule under the renter’s name.  Thus, William’s second appearance on the schedule with 80 acres of land would make sense.

William Graves' land, photo taken about 2007 by author.

Regarding the specifics of William’s farming, he tilled 79 of the 80 acres on Sarah’s farm, but only 30 of his own, keeping the remainder as meadow or pasture.  Each farm produced about $700 for the year in profits.   He kept horses, pigs, and chickens at both places, but also kept cattle on his own farm – 2 cows for milking and 16 others to sell or slaughter.   Butter was produced on his home farm – 150 pounds in 1879. 

Crops grown on both farms include Indian corn, oats, and Irish potatoes (as opposed to sweet potatoes).  100 bushels of apples were sold from the orchard on Sarah’s land, and 125 gallons of molasses were produced from there as well.

Besides an interesting snapshot of what a typical workday for William may have looked like, finding these two entries on the agriculture schedule really forced me to take a good look at William’s land ownership and how his land acquisitions were divided among his children, and when that may have occurred.

I have one question I wish I could ask William’s wife: Who really churned all that butter??

¹ Both these men were great-grandfathers of Bill Knutz Jr.  William Graves’ son Tom married Lawson Lair’s daughter Nettie, and they were Bill’s grandparents.

²https://www.census.gov/history/pdf/agcensusschedules.pdf

"It's your turn."   "Okay ... OW!!!!  Let's play checkers instead!"

And so went our games of Carroms at our grandparents' house.  Most of the time when Grandpa would play a game with us, it involved the Carrom board, either playing our own version of the game on one side of the board, or flipping it over and using the other side for a game of checkers.  We never did know the real rules for Carroms but instead would play it like billiards, only on a board.   The little pool cues that came with the set disappeared long before we started playing with it (or did Grandma decide the last thing she needed was three wild children running around with little sticks?) so we'd "snip" the carroms with our fingers into the little net pockets.  The first game usually wasn't bad, but after that our fingernails really, really hurt.

I never thought about where the carrom board came from, only that it was always there, and still is (somewhere).   Last week, while cleaning out a closet full of games, I found a rusted coffee can filled with the old wooden carroms, and I started wondering how this relic made its way into our family.  A few days later, I was going through family photos and there it was, in the background of several photos from Christmas of 1958!   It was perched under the Christmas tree, all pretty and new, just waiting for someone to try it out.  And later, apparently someone did - my aunt June and her boyfriend (and future husband), Everett, were playing a game of checkers on it in one photo (I wonder if Grandma took the sticks away from them, too...)

Christmas, 1958.  If you peek behind Everett, under the Christmas tree, you can see the Carrom board in all its sparkly newness.

June and Everett checking out the new game.

I will have to remember to drag out the Carrom board when my granddaughters are visiting, just to see how long they put up with "snipping" those hard little carroms around the board.  I'm guessing just once.

The Wig

Aunt June Hammer loved wigs - I remember visiting her in Phoenix and she and my mom would try on the different ones she had.  It got to the point where a strange looking woman would walk into the room and I'd have no idea at first who it was!  When Aunt June and her family came back to South Dakota for a visit, she brought her blond wig, and we all had fun with it ~

Three Generations of Blonds

Lillian - Betty - Karen

Ironically, the only one who doesn't have her picture in the wig is Aunt June!

Bill Knutz and His Orchestra

      Bill Knutz and his bands supplied the Beadle County, South Dakota area with dance music for more than 20 years.  The first band, “Bill Knutz and His Harmonians,” was documented as early as the summer of 1934[1], and consisted of Bill playing saxophone, his brothers Howard on bass fiddle and Richard on drums, Raymond Christensen on fiddle and trumpet, and Ray’s beautiful sister Lillian, on piano.  Lillian would eventually become Bill’s wife.  Ray and Lillian’s brother Clarence, who played clarinet, joined them as well sometimes as well.  Bill’s mother, Elvirta Knutz, would handle their calendar for them.

     Howard and Richard Knutz both eventually left for the west coast, and Raymond went off to college, so Bill reformed the band around himself and Lillian, with various other local musicians.  The new band was called “Bill Knutz and His Orchestra,” and they continued to play at barn dances as well as regular venues.[2]

     His daughter, Betty, described the dances:  “Most barn dances were usually quite crowded!  Depending on the popularity of the bands, but most of them took turns at different places each week.  The crowds were ordinarily quite sizable since most everyone did bring their kids, baby sitters and grandparents.  Everybody came!  Teenagers came with their parents to learn to dance.  Other kids depending on their ages brought their toys, pillows, etc., whatever they wanted to play with.  And then they found a corner to fall asleep in!  Some of those little guys were pretty good dancers, too!”[3]  During the years of the Great Depression, barn dances were affordable ways to have some fun.

     Occasionally, younger members of the family would get a chance to showcase their own musical talents.  Bill’s younger sister Dorothy, and his daughters Betty and June would sometimes join the band to sing.[4]

     Nearly 120 tunes are among the several set lists played by the band.  When, exactly, Bill Knutz and His Orchestra stopped playing isn’t clear, but one of the songs on that list was from 1953, making their run at least 20 years.

---

[1] See newspaper ad at top left, from the ad for the dance at Honrath’s barn, from the Daily Plainsman (Huron, South Dakota) 16 August 1934, pg. 5

[2] The newspaper ad for Albert Baum’s barn dance was from the Daily Plainsman of 17 June 1937.  The ad for the VFW Club was from the Daily Plainsman of 31 Dec 1948, pg. 5.

[3] Interview with Bill and Lillian’s daughter Betty, about 2002.

[4] Betty also noted that her sister June played Hawaiian guitar and sang second soprano, while Betty had a Spanish guitar and sang Alto.  Bill’s sister Dorothy sang soprano.  The three girls would get together and practice songs.

Bill and Lillian - a 70-year Love Story

My maternal grandparents, Bill and Lillian Knutz.

Raymond - Project Complete

     For some time (~ 10 years), I have been trying to learn more about my maternal grandmother's brother, Raymond Christensen, who dropped everything after the Pearl Harbor attacks and enlisted in the Army.  He went from a non-traditional agriculture college student to a radar observer in a night fighter crew - one of the most dangerous jobs a soldier could have.  Thanks to a number of people who have helped a long the way, I felt my research was complete enough to begin writing his story.  And I recently completed that mission.

     If you are interested in Ray's story, let me know and I'll send you a copy.  It's a short book (~62 pages) with photos.  Again, thanks to all who helped in any way during the last 10 years.

Bill's New Tractor

Bill Knutz's new tractor, 1937.  No heated/air-conditioned cab, no CD player, etc.  Just Bill and the elements.  I remember watching the news back in the 1970s with Bill, and hearing any story about farmers going broke would elicit a tirade on all their fancy equipment, no wonder they were going broke, and back in *his* day, etc.  It took a special breed of man to be a farmer in South Dakota in that era.

Old People Used to Party Too (Knutz Ancestors)

     For those of us growing up in or around Huron, South Dakota, partying at Stony Run is nothing new.  We all went out there on a summer Saturday night for some fun from time to time.

     And, those of us who knew dear old Aunt Lulu Graves, remember her as  a quiet old lady who had a Christmas party every year and gave unusual gifts.

     Now, put those two concepts together, and watch your head spin.

     Yes, that's Aunt Lulu running around in her underwear early one Sunday morning having a swim in Pearl Creek.  I won't ask what those articles of clothing were on the ground, or exactly what transpired the night before.

     But I do know that Aunt Lulu could have told some stories...

A Letter from Clarence (Knutz Ancestors)

The article appeared in the November 10, 1943 issue of the Evening Huronite, the local Huron, South Dakota newspaper.  Clarence Christensen was the brother of Lillian Knutz.

SERVICE MEN'S CORNER

     Mrs. P. C. Christensen, route 4, Huron, received the following V-letter written Oct. 32, from her son, Corp. C. A. Christensen, who is believed to be stationed in New Guinea.

     Dear Mom and Dad: It was another hot day today.  It still stays cool at night but as soon as the sun comes up it's a different story.  When it rains it cools off a little.  Lately it rains mostly at night, especially when there is a show in the area.  We take our panchos with us when we go now so we see the show rain or shine.
     I received your letter of Oct. 2 today and also one from Raymond.  I also received three Huronite papers.  I hope you'll be able to get some film.  It doesn't make much difference which size for I'll find a camera to use them in some place in the regiment.  I want you to use the next money I send you to get Christmas presents all around.  It will probably be all I'll send home for awhile as I'm taking a furlough in a couple of months and I don't think I'll have much left when I get back.  I wrote a letter to George Schroeder, so I may find out where he is.  If I do I'll try to look him up.
     Everybody is building sail boats during their spare time so it's going to look like a shipyard around here. They don't all stay right side up but some of them navigate pretty well.  We have a lot of fun with them anyhow.  I'll have to close for now.  I'll be looking for a letter from you soon.

     Love,
     Clarence

Ideas for Kids, from Grandma Lill (Knutz Ancestors)

I was going through a steno notebook my Grandma Lill kept with recipes, and came across these ideas for kids, clipped from a newspaper.

Creative Clay
    2 C. cornstarch
    2 C. baking soda
    1 1/4 C. water
    Combine ingredients, cook till it reaches consistency of whipped potatoes.  Put mixture on a plate, let cool and knead.  Store in airtight container.

Bit O'Honey Playdough
    Mix together:
    1 jar chunky peanut butter (18 oz)
    6 Tbs honey
    Non-fat dry milk (to the right consistency)
    Knead until pliable.  Eat your creations when done!

Finger Paint
    3 Tbs sugar
    1/2 c. cornstarch
    2 c. cold water
    Food coloring
    Mix first two ingredients, then add water.  Cook over low heat, stirring constantly, until well blended.  Divide into 4-5 portions, add food coloring to tint.

Silly Putty
    2 parts glue to 1 part liquid starch
    Pour starch into a bowl, add food coloring or tempera paint to tint the putty.  Add glue to the starch mixture.   Mix well; it will look stringy.  Keep kneading until it's no long sticky.  If too sticky, add more starch.  If too stringy, add more glue.  Refrigerate in tight container.

Lint Modeling Clay
    4 C. clothes drying lint
    3 C. water
    1 2/3 C. flour
    oil of wintergreen
    Mix lint and water in pan; add flour and mix thoroughly.  Add oil of wintergreen.  Cook over low heat while stirring constantly.  When mixture holds together, pour out onto newspaper and cool.

Clown Face Paint
    1/8 C. baby lotion
    1/4 tsp. powdered tempera paint
    1 squirt liquid dish washing soap
    Mix and paint!  Easily removed with soap and water.

Magic Goop
    1 C. cornstarch
    Add enough water so that the consistency is similar to glue.  Tempera paint may be added for color.

Gelatin Shapes
    4 4-oz pkgs gelatin
    2 4-oz pkgs Knox gelatin
    2 C. hot water
    Dissolve gelatin in water, pour into a jelly roll pan.  Refrigerate until firm.  Using cookie cutters, cut out your favorite shapes and eat!  Guaranteed to shake the sillies out!

Bread Clay Recipe
    Remove crusts from 6 pieces of white bread and knead them together with 6 Tbs of white glue and 1/2 tsp. dish detergent.
    Knead mixture until it is no longer sticky.  Separate into portions and tint with food coloring.  Shape when done, and brush with equal parts flue and water for a smooth appearance.  Let dry overnight.

Chilly Bananas
    Bananas
    Peanut Butter or honey
    Crushed cereals or rice krispies
    Roll banana thirds into thinned-down peanut butter or honey, then into cereal.  Insert popsicle stick, put on a tray and freeze prior to eating.

Fish in the Sea
    Saltine crackers
    Cream cheese (tinted blue)
    Fish-shaped snack crackers
    Spread the tinted cream cheese on a saltine cracker.  Add 2 or 3 fish crackers to the top - fish in the sea!

Tablets of the Missing (Knutz Ancestor)

Tablets of the Missing in Florence, Italy.  A stone exists here to commemorate the service of Flight Officer Raymond Christensen of the 417th Night Fighter Squadron, whose body was never recovered after his plane went down between Corsica and Italy on the night of May 13, 1944.

A letter from Raymond Christensen (Knutz Ancestors)

Note:  The following is a letter from my great-uncle Raymond Christensen to Mr. Bauman of State Farm Insurance of Minneapolis, where Raymond worked before enlisting in World War II.  Raymond was a radar operator in the 417th Night Fighter Squadron, one of the most dangerous jobs a soldier could have.  This letter was written while he was stationed in North Africa, and he was killed months later.  Many thanks to my cousins for sharing it.


417th Night Fighter Squadron
A.P.O. 525, C/O Postmaster,
New York City, N.Y.

Dear Mr. Bauman: -

True to form Uncle Sammy doesn't want us boys to get bored or stale by staying in one spot.  From a social point of view I don't know why he picked North Africa for me.  Otherwise it is mildly interesting.  We've only lost a few boys, so I feel quite optimistic about a long life as yet.  I've got quite a bit of faith in my pilot and we get along as well as anybody could with me.    We've got to have perfect teamwork to live out this blessed war, so we pay as much attention in our teaming up as we would to getting married - probably more.  In this case "until death do us part" doesn't seem to lend any humor to the situation whatever.  It's a good sport going up in the black of the night and scaring bad little Nazis, just like when we were kids, only the Nazis don't scare any to d------ easy.
England was a good host - in most cases too friendly to soldiers..... It's quite a shock to the boys to come over here (North Africa) and have these lovely French African girls ignore them completely.  It's a fact, the girls here don't smoke - I never saw one intoxicated, and I never saw one flirt on the street.  It isn't all a difference in language either, however, I will admit it is a handicap to not be able to converse.  Oddly enough as few of these people speak English as there are of us who speak French.
The architecture here is quite modern looking and the streets quite wide.  The poorer class of natives inhabit the older parts of the city, but they are off limits to Army personnel.  One couldn't possibly imagine the sights in one of these areas.  There are Arabs lying in the street in the blazing sun with flies all over him.  He is unwashed, ragged, no one bothers him, he is left to finish his sciesta [sic] as he sees fit.  No sight disturbs the calm and steady movement of pedestrians.  Either a man is just lying around or he has an objective.  There seems to be a singleness of purpose like an ant- an utter lack of imagination or interest in events around about.  There is every type of uniform and insignia from all the allied countries, jeeps - cars- trucks - donkeys with huge loads or carts ridden by natives - horses - oxen hitched to all types of odd vehicles.  The better class arab in flowing gown and turban, veiled women - quite a number of civilian whites and me.  A hell of a mess if I ever saw one.
The Red Cross has started and is operating several very nice clubs, some for officers and some for the enlisted men.  They offer a varied program from speech classes to dancing - a swell place to kill a few hours and certainly an oasis for me out here.  A credit to the organization.
We are on American rations now and have our own kitchen.  Until now we have always lived with the British Air Force.  They can't get the food that the Americans do get and of course prepare it in their own style.  Whether it was good or not made little difference an American wouldn't approve it.  It is good, though, to get a bit of canned fruit.  In England grapes sold for $5.00 a pound and no tinned fruits - very poor peaches were 50 cents a piece.  Clothing was rationed unmercifully.  Little do the U.S. people know what rationing is, much less war.  I've only had a sample and that wasn't good.  Some of the events here that never get back to the U. S. would make your flesh crawl.
The food situation is better here - there are loads of good grapes - tomatoes - peppers, etc. and of course being French, plenty of wine and champaign.  The latter is about $2.00 a quart.  As in England the boys still pay the black market $10.00 a quart for Scotch.
We aren't allowed to buy any food or fruit in town so the Red Cross has snack bars for the boys.  All our food has to be approved before we get it.  And so much for Africa.
I finally got my discharge and appointment to Flight Officer.  Aside from a financial gain it's not too exciting but one more step - also a gaudy uniform.  The best to you and the Co.

Ray