Good Living in West Frankfort Dec. 2009

Good Living In

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West Frankfort

Volume 3 No. 3 December 2009

Showcasing the People, Places and Pride of West Frankfort, Illinois

Winter • 2009

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Winterr • 2009

Letter from the

Publisher

T

here are several surprises in this issue of Good Living in West Frankfort magazine. The funny thing about that statement is that they may be surprising to our readers, but this issue even has surprises for us. That hardly seems possible, since we put together the magazine, but let's just say that you can lead a story where you intend for it to go, but you don't always end up where you thought you were going.

Esther Faletti must have been a little surprised when I called to tell her that we were going to write the story of her work in the shipyards during the war. I had interviewed Mrs. Faletti at least six months ago. She probably thought I left her house and got run over by a bus, but Surprise! Finally, the time was right, and I love the story of a young girl, just out of high school. taking off across the country to support the war effort.

I love stories about West Frankfort's changing Main Street through the years. A tip from Myrna Warren eventually directed me to Rev. Bill Fox in West Frankfort, the grandson of M. M. Fox, who built the building that now houses E. R Brown Furniture and operated a general store there for nearly 25 years. Rev. Fox was interesting, knowledgeable and generous in sharing his time and his memories.

A pleasant surprise for all readers this holiday issue. It's a double shot of Sherri. We loved Sherri Murphy's Christmas stories so much that we couldn't decide which one to run, so we ran them both.

Another surprise to us was the articles submitted to the magazine by the high school journalists on the Red Bird Notes staff. We had no idea what to expect and thoroughly enjoyed all 15 of the stories. We chose three of them to share with our readers.

A few light hearted pokes of fun at Clement C. Moore is a classic example of the stuff my husband comes up with when he is in the right frame of mind. He has written so many humorous pieces over the years, as articles, speeches and letters to the editor. It was a nice surprise to me to see he still has it in him. Don't miss “Pondering Donder.”

There are no surprises, however, in the Hometown Heroes story of the Community Thanksgiving held this year. It is a story of selfless residents and their fearless leader, Kathy Heim, spending their holiday working hard to provide food and fellowship for the community. We already knew that West Frankfort has an enormous heart and we see evidence of that every day of the year.

Finally, I think of the story of the Franklin County Poor Farm as being the cornerstone of this issue. There are over 3,000 words here, telling only a fraction of the story of the county shelter that stood between West Frankfort and Benton for probably 80 years. As Paul Lampley of Benton would agree, every time we talked to another person, or received a new piece of information, it was a surprise. The story has more twists and turns than an old country road, and I'm sure we have uncovered only a few of them. I have been researching it for months, but it is an account of decades, years and years of the stories of people lives almost shrouded in secrecy. It is a part of our history, a part of all of us. We welcome any new information or memories that you may have. This may only be part one published here.

I leave you with a last thought from Sherri Murphy who wrote a piece about a Christmas she remembers when many tragic things had happened in the community, and she was wondering how anyone could be in the mood to celebrate the season.

“Then a revelation came to me... Christmas is not about family, and festivities and joy in the season of magical things. It is about the BIRTH OF A SAVIOR! Yes, it is a time we set aside to focus on those we love, but that is not what the meaning of this season is about. My heart changed that evening, realizing that oh, yes, we all can celebrate the true meaning of this Holy Season. It is not about who is with us, or who we have lost. I chose that year to celebrate the arrival of my Savior and nothing else. "He is here, Hallelujah!

He is here, Amen! He is here, Holy, Holy, I will bless, His name again. He is here, listen closely. Hear Him calling out your name. He is here, you can touch Him, you will never be the same!"

Still today, I choose to dwell on Him. I will honor His coming to our earth. I will celebrate the arrival of my Savior. I will turn up the music, turn on the Christmas lights, and sing—at the top of my lungs—”JOY TO THE WORLD, THE LORD HAS COME”!

Gail Rissi Thomas, Publisher Winter • 2009

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Winterr • 2009

Merry Christmas from All Your Friends at

Note to Subscribers: Due to many additional publishing projects which Good Life Publications was involved in this year, we were only able to print 3 issues of Good Living in West Frankfort. Your subscriptionwill still be good for 4 issues. We apologize for the delay.

Good Living In

West Frankfort

Vol. 3 No.3

WInter 2009

Table of Contents 6 Why would anybody scribble out the face of Baby Jesus in the family Bible?

6 10

18 30

8 Welcome to Wal-Mart. A mother and daughter share a shopping experience on Christmas Eve.

8

10

Some interesting history and trivia about America’s beloved Christmas Poem, “A Visit from St. Nicholas”, is pondered on a cold winter’s night.

14 The spirit of sharing was never more evident than it was this Thanksgiving when dozens of ‘Hometown Heros’ volunteered their time and talent for a community feast.

14

18 FCHS Journalism students write about Christmas Memories.

24 Until the late 1940’s, The Franklin County Poor Farm was home to many people who had nowhere else to go.

Now an effort is underway to find out more about this place and the people who lived there.

24 34

30

M. M. Fox and Son sold everything from caskets to candy.

34

In 1943 Esther Faletti joined 11 other young women and traveled to Portland, Oregon, to build ships for the US Navy during WWII proving that women could indeed do a man’s work.

38 Parting shot. Jan Grant puts the finishing touches on the Christmas Tree at the CUSD #168 office.

38 Good Living in West Frankfort is a magazine about the people, places and pride of West Frankfort. Our goal is to showcase interesting, unique and previously unpublished stories about the citizens, events and places in our community in a positive manner.

Good Living in West Frankfort provides businesses the choice to advertise in a high-quality full-color venue at affordable prices. This magazine is free to our readers because of those advertisers.

No portion of this publication, including photos and advertisements, may be reproduced in any manner without the expressed consent of Good Life Publications.©2009 Printed quarterly: Spring, Summer, Fall and Holiday Season.

Cover Photo by Michael Thomas: A winter sunset on West Frankfort’s Main Street captures the beauty of the recently remodeled sidewalk, street lights and benches.

Good Living In

West Frankfort

A production of Good Life Publications 309 East Oak Street West Frankfort, IL 62896 (618) 937-2019 Published Quarterly: (Spring • Summer • Fall • WInter)

e-mail Contact: GoodLifePublications@Gmail.com Winter • 2009

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The Confession

What would cause someone to scribble out the face of Baby Jesus?

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By Sherri Murphy e all have skeletons in the closet. I’m pretty certain that I’m not the only one who has some things they would rather pretend never happened in the past. Many of us may have some similar looking skeletons tucked away, however, one of my skeletons may be an original. I don’t think I’ve ever met another human on the planet that shares this same transgression...at least no one who will admit it, anyway.

So, I have a confession to make. But first, I will warn you that after reading this you may view me differently and decide to run for the hills! But, it is certain that as always, I will try to justify my sins, because...well, that’s how I roll.

Ahem. This one goes WAY back. I was like 3-4 years old (NOT 34!) I was only 3 or 4 years old. My brother and sister were 8 and 10 years older than me, so I was

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given more than a fair share of love, affection and attention around the house.

of baby Jesus’ miraculous birth, and she would always tell us how she loved him.

My siblings were much like extra parents.

I was also one of the few small children in the family at the time, and I come from a LARGE family, so the doting just went on and on and on. I guess the term some uncaring person would use to describe me would have been “spoiled.” Jealous people always use the term “spoiled.” If another baby or child came along, and I would catch my precious Momma, “oohing and aahing” over my perceived competition, I would become VERY jealous. So basically, I was jealous of any babies because they received attention from my Momma- Attention that was rightfully mine!

Any babies included BABY JESUS, I’m ashamed to say.

Momma had a large family Bible that stayed open on the coffee table. It was often opened to the picture of the Holy Family depicting Jesus’ birth. During the Christmas season, she would read The Christmas story to us, telling the story

Other families would send us Christmas cards with baby Jesus’ picture on it. Then there were the stained glass windows in the Catholic Church downtown with the blessed Baby Jesus artistically portrayed.

Sadly, rather than growing fond of baby Jesus, I began to grow envious of the attention my Momma was paying to him.

In my mind, all I heard was “Baby Jesus this...and Baby Jesus that.” He was perfect! How could I compete?

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Well, I am ashamed to admit this, but the green-eyed monster got the best of me. One night while my family was in the other room, I grabbed an ink pen. I had one agenda, and one agenda only. I was going to tell this baby what I thought about all this attention He was stealing from me, and that my Momma was MY Momma, and He should just back off. He had his own Momma! (I Know, I know.

This sounds blasphemous, but keep in

mind I was only 3-4 years old).

our Savior’s face. Was it you?”

I walked closer to the bible. Looked at the holy baby staring up at His mother, and did the only thing a jealous 3-4 year old could do to settle the score. I SCRIBBLED OUT BABY JESUS’ FACE! (Gasp!) I know. I dropped the pen and ran out of the room. I thought no one would be the wiser. How could they prove it was me?

“No.”

Well, it took a few days for anyone to notice, but as I knew it would, judgement day came for this spoiled little baby girl.

My Momma came to me and our conversation went a little something like this: “Sherri, did you scribble out Baby Jesus’ face in the bible?”

“Huh!?”

“Sherri, look. Last time I checked, Baby Jesus’ face was fine, and now you can’t see it because someone has scribbled out

“Really? Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Why would ANYONE want to scribble out the face of baby Jesus?”

“Because he has his OWN Mommy and I want him to leave you alone!” And I started crying.

She smiled, hugged me, told me of her great love for me AND for Jesus, and explained to me that it was a different kind of love and I need not be jealous of him, for he loved me too!

So, that day in my young mind, I decided I would share my magnificent mother with Jesus, because it looked like he was here to stay and I was just going to have to deal with it. And I did. I’ve come along way!

It’s funny, she still has that Bible, with my graffiti in it.

Now, I don’t find ANY scriptures against putting graffiti in the Bible, or more specifically, crossing out Baby Jesus’ face keeping you out of heaven. I’ve looked several times, it is NOT in there. So I think I’m good. (Pastor Mark? Are you there? What say you?)

But during this Holy season, this little “transgression” popped in my head and I thought I might need to confess it and move on. I’m a changed person now. I’m mature. I am willing to share my awesome mother’s love with Jesus, or any others she chooses to adore. I believe I’m forgiven, and all Jesus’ jealousy is gone!

Momma was right. He is awesome!

I have this feeling I will no longer be teaching Sunday school at my church. It’s just a hunch.

Winter • 2009

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Welcome to Wal-Mart

By Sherri Murphy

I

Sherri Murphy with her mother, (photo Provided)

used to love to shop. I really did. I could shop for hours. Even without much money to spend, I could spend all day searching out bargains and stretching a dollar, always bringing home a prize as a reward for a day of hard work.

I think my love affair with shopping ended when I owned my own gift shop. After tending to a store all day, the last place I wanted to be was in another store, so the fun just kind of wore off.

When I choose to shop, I never go shopping during peak hours. I prefer a late night Wal-Mart run when the store is deserted. I can take my time, focus on my list and avoid the added stress of other frustrated shoppers getting in my way. I stopped shopping on the day after Thanksgiving and the day before and after Christmas, regardless of the marvelous bargains I would miss. It just isn't worth the trouble; long lines, rude shoppers, horrible parking, just to name a few of the pitfalls of the day. There are times though, that no matter the amount of pre-planning I do, I still may need to venture out on a day or at a time that I would otherwise forego.

Fast forward to Christmas Eve, 2008. I needed to pick up one last minute gift at the mall. I had prided myself on finishing up all my Christmas shopping early, but

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had decided to add one more special gift to my well-organized list. I had planned a quick trip in and out of ONE bookstore.

It worked! No long line or real hassle.

I even found a great bargain or three! I was beginning to think that shopping on Christmas Eve wasn't a bad idea after all.

Then my mom mentioned that she needed to pick up one item from Wal-Mart—a pair of knee highs. I had something to return there as well, so I thought we could kill two birds with one stone. It would only take a few minutes and I would be home in plenty of time to prepare for the big event I had planned for the next day in my home for all of my family—around 30 guests.

The parking lot was jam packed (of course) and I didn't want my elderly mother to walk all the way from the far end of the parking lot to the front door, so I let her out at the door and told her I was going to park the car and would quickly return. She said she would purchase her knee highs first, then meet me later. I told her I'd be at the service desk returning the item and she could come there when she was finished. I guess she didn't hear that last part.

I parked in the nearest parking spot I could find (nearly seven miles away!)and

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walked the long green mile to the store and quickly found the very long line at the service desk. It was the day BEFORE Christmas and everyone was already returning their unwanted gifts! I stood in line for what seemed to be an eternity and finally was able to return my item.

I waited there a bit longer, just in case my Mom would show up. She didn't. I looked for her as I walked across the 25 aisles while cashiers rang up the purchases of those tens of thousands, last minute holiday shoppers, but she was nowhere to be found. So I started over to the ladies' accessories aisle, just in case it had taken her 45 minutes to find just the right knee highs. It did not.

She wasn't there. I went back to the service desk, in case she was there waiting for me...nope. No such luck.

I started searching for her down every aisle horizontally. Then I ran a vertical check of every aisle. Back and forth vertically and horizontally until my high heels reminded me that they are not to be worn for a marathon. (Of course, I thought I was only coming in to take care of one simple task. I didn't realize I would fit in a five mile walk for the day! I would have worn a different shoe!) I was lost in a bad crossword puzzle with no thesaurus or dictionary to be found.

Did I mention that Marion, Illinois has one of he largest Wal-Mart super stores in the country? Did I mention there were tens of thousands of people there shopping on Christmas Eve? Did I mention that my mother is pretty short and sometimes the displays are taller than her, so she is hard to spot? Did I mention that I forgot to bring my glasses and I have 20/200 vision, so I don't know why I was even bothering to look for her? Did I mention that this was Christmas Eve and I hate to be out in large crowds on Christmas Eve? Finally,I thought of a great idea to help me locate my mother.... the customer paging system. I figured I could have a clerk try the customer page. They could page my mother, have her come to the service desk and all would be well. Christmas would be saved. Did I mention that she wears hear-

ing aides but she wasn't wearing them that day?

I asked the weary looking clerk if she would mind paging my "lost" mother. Then I added that I needed her to speak slowly, and clearly and turn up the volumn because my lost mother may have a hard time hearing the page. From the look on the clerk's face, I think she felt I was asking a bit much, but she dutifully obliged.

Hello Santa, Do you have two of those front teeth left?

They paged her...I waited. They paged her again...I waited some more. She did not turn up anywhere. My blurry eyes were frantically searching for her, fearing I would be stuck in Wal-Mart for possible hours on end! What if we never met up? What if we continued to run circles around each other and never connect?

Would Christmas ever be the same?

I really hated to file a missing persons report, although it was beginning to feel as if it were my only option. I finally called Big Al at home and asked him for some suggestions, hoping that he would solve this Wal-Mart Christmas crossword puzzle, but just as I thought, he offered no solution. Really, what more was there to do? I couldn't see, she couldn't hear, we were both wandering aimlessly through the 50,000 sq. foot mega-store!

Did I mention that I was WORN OUT? Did I mention that I believe in prayer? Yeah, even those frustrated little "kinda" prayers like, "God, PLEASE! Can you help me find her? I don't know what else to do!"

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After the prayer/gripe, I decided to do one more horizontal sweep.

No luck. Just as I was about to start the vertical sweep, and give up all hope and resign to sleeping in the store until she possibly stumbled over my lifeless body, I looked over at the Subway deli within the store... and there she sat... eating a turkey sandwich!

Subway became heaven to me on that cold winter day. And she was glowing like an angel when I spotted her!

"Were you looking for me?" she asked.

"Um, yeah, for a LONG TIME!,” I said loudly (only so she could hear me).We both laughed when I told her about the customer page that of course she didn't hear. I shared my frustration as my blurry eyes searched for her while she remained hidden behind larger clothing racks and shelving units. I told her that if this should ever happen again, that after a reasonable amount of time looking for me (about 10 minutes, tops) SHE should have ME paged. At least I could hear the page.

She shared her sandwich with me, like a good mother would, and we slowly walked out to the car TOGETHER... (seven miles away!)

I made her stay with me that time. Now, each time I hear a customer page while I'm shopping in Wal-Mart, I have to giggle a little as I remember this frustrating little incident. And just in case you're wondering,you won't see me out shopping anymore on Christmas Eve...not without my glasses, anyway. And did I mention that I have never been a fan of crossword puzzles?

Winter • 2009

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Pondering Donder Thoughts to help while away a Long Winter’s Night

Illustration courtesy of www.santaclaus.com

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Winterr • 2009

I

By Michael A. Thomas recently discovered that there is a

website dedicated to Donder.

You know, one of Santa's eight reindeer. Although most people call him Donner, the name's Donder, which is the Dutch word for thunder. The website owners think Donder has been getting a bum steer, if you will, over the slighting of his name. They want to set the record straight and restore Donder's rightful place in Christmas lore.

But Donder is not the only reindeer thus slighted. Blitzen was originally named Blixem. That's the Dutch word for lightning, in case you're wondering. Unfortunately, while there is a www.donder.com, there is no www. blitzen.com, although it is available for sale. And if you investigate other websites for reindeer names, let me warn you that www.vixen.com is not a place you want to go to unless you are already on Santa's naughty list.

Which brings us to that classic Christmas poem, A Visit from St. Nicholas, the real title of the work which most us of call Twas the Night Before Christmas. The Troy Sentinel, a New York newspaper, first published it on December 23, 1823. The author wished to remain anonymous and it wasn't until 1837 that Clement C. Moore took credit for the piece. He claimed a family friend, Miss B. Hess, took the poem to the Sentinel under the condition that the author wished to remain secret. Why Moore waited to claim authorship years later has led to some controversy although some say that Moore was a modest man or may have felt that being published in a newspaper was beneath a scholar.

Public anonymity was often a sign of gentility.

Moore is an interesting fellow. He was a writer, a scholar, very wealthy and a friend of the writer Washington Irving.

Moore's father, Benjamin, was an invited guest to George Washington's

Presidential inaugural so the family had some connections.

ally wanted to get rid of the custom of wassailing.

There are a few legends on what inspired Moore to write the poem about Donder and his friends. My favorite has Moore being driven around the snow-covered streets of New York in a sleigh by a fat bearded Dutchman as they shop for a turkey for Christmas dinner. Ah, a sleigh, a fat man with a beard. Could there be a connection?

Well, historians point out that before Moore's poem, St. Nicholas was por-

Think of wassailing as a Christmas version of 'trick or treat'. The common folk would call on their rich neighbors at Christmas time. It was expected that the well to do would be good hosts and provide food and drink for their guests. It was a good deal for the poor. Not so good for the rich folk like Moore. And by drink, we mean some real Christmas cheer. As the years

Some historians think Moore’s simple poem was intended to be more than just a cute children’s fairy tale.

Moore, and many of his wealthy friends, really wanted to get rid of the custom of wassailing.

trayed as a tall, somewhat stern man who wore bishop's robes. Not jolly at all. And while he did give gifts, he rode a white horse. Moore's magic was to transform this figure into "a right jolly old elf." And yes, though he did break into your house, you had nothing to dread because he came to give, not to take your things. And gosh, those eight reindeer pawing and prancing are cuter than a solitary horse.

Now things get really convoluted.

Some historians think Moore's simple poem was intended to be more than just a cute children's fairy tale. Moore, and many of his wealthy friends, re-

Clement Clarke Moore was a wealthy New York landowner and scholar. He is generally given credit for writing the poem “A Visit from St. Nicholas”.

The beloved Christmas tale set the standard for the modern portrayal of Santa Claus as a jolly fat man who delivered presents to girls and boys by means of a sleigh pulled by eight reindeer.

went by, the tradition of wassailing got out of hand. There is at least one newspaper report that tells of a near riot.

Whether the guests were too drunk to Winter • 2009

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Illustration courtesy of www.santaclaus.com

Illustration courtesy of www.santaclaus.com

Illustration courtesy of The Coca Cola Commpany

Moore’s description of St. Nicholas has become the basis for our present day concept of Santa Claus. In 1862 cartoonist Thomas Nast drew a cartoon of Santa for the Harper’s Weekly Newspaper. It was Nast who first gave St. Nick a red coat, a color that for the most part stuck. But even as late as 1902, some artists preferred their own interpretation. W.W. Denslow gave Santa a black fur coat and a green vest. In the 1930’s the Coca Cola Company began an advertising campaign to get more people to drink Coca Cola in the winter. Illustrator Haddon Sundblom portrayed a jolly and ‘pleasantly plump’ Santa based largely on Moore’s poem. Sundblom’s creations over the next 33 years did much to further solidify the current Santa image.

care or too envious of their neighbor's wealth, we are not sure. But there was destruction of property and although it is doubtful that Moore himself was ever a victim, it most surely gave him cause for alarm.

So enter Moore's poem. A different way to celebrate Christmas. Let's keep it simple. Just the family. No uninvited guests. The only surprise visitor would be just the jolly old elf bringing gifts, not several rowdies asking for a mug of brandy and some plum pudding. I don't know about you, but I haven't been wassailed lately so Moore's poem seems to have worked. And for that, Target, Wal-Mart and Kays are forever grateful.

But Moore is not completely off the hook. Enter Don Foster. You may have never heard of him but you know him.

He is the guy in all the courtroom dramas who takes the stand as the expert witness and proves guilt or innocence based on some obscure fact. "My analysis of the evidence indicates that the dirt found underneath the fingernails of the victim could have only come

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from the alley behind Joe's Bar and Grill." Don Foster is that guy. He is a word sleuth and has actually testified in courtrooms as an expert witness, so the man does have some credibility.

Foster claims that Clement C. Moore did not write A Visit from St. Nicholas.

It was really written by a contemporary named Henry Livingston, Jr. How does Foster know this? Using computers, he has analyzed all of Moore's work. Among Foster’s findings is the claim that the poem is the only example of Moore’s work written in anapestic tetrameter (the da da DUM, da da DUM, da da DUM, da da DUM rhythm) Wouldn't Moore have used it in some of his other works?

Besides, Foster claims, Moore hated children and noise and would not have included both snuggled kids and clatter in his poem. Then we get back to the Donder thing. The original poem published in the Sentinel called them Dunder and Blixem. When Moore included the poem in a collection of his published works years later, the names had been changed to Donder and Blitzen. Hmm, maybe that mouse

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in the house is really a rat.

On the other side of the argument, it was Livingston's descendants who asked Foster to pursue the matter.

They claim the family history tells of old man Livingston emerging from his 'writing den' with poem in hand.

Unfortunately, the manuscript was destroyed in a fire in Wisconsin in 1859. Moore never was able to produce a manuscript, saying only that all 56 lines were penned perfectly on the spot. Strangely, Livingston never publicly claimed authorship of the poem while he was alive. Another unsolved part of the mystery.

So we may never know who wrote the poem. Does it matter? Whoever wrote those words did much to transform Christmas into a magic time of year for children young and old alike. From stockings to sleigh bells and mice that don't stir to Santas and reindeer that fly in a blur, Twas the Night Before Christmas will remain an integral part of how most people celebrate Christmas no matter how Donder spells his name.

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Winter • 2009

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HOMETOWN HEROES West Frankfort Volunteers Serve 300 Meals at Community Thanksgiving

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Winterr • 2009

By Gail Rissi Thomas Photos by Michael A. Thomas

R

egardless of how Thanksgiving traditions vary from family to family, the best way that anyone can hope to celebrate the holiday involves a hot hearty meal and someone to share it with. That ideal holiday celebration was offered to anyone and everyone wanting to share it this year, when a community Thanksgiving was held at the Wit and Wisdom Senior Citizen Center on Thanksgiving Day. Kathy Heim was the chief organizer of the dinner. She and more than 50 volunteers served turkey, stuffing, and all the traditional trimmings to over 100 people at the center as well as dishing up 127 carryout s and 112 meals delivered to the home bound in West Frankfort and rural Franklin County.

Organizer Kathy Heim first began thinking about a Community Thanksgiving in West Frankfort two years ago. She has made a 3-year commitment to continuing the dinner annually.

“We just didn't really know what to expect,” Heim said after the event. “I was worried about having enough volunteers to come and work on Thanksgiving Day, but it just wasn't a problem at all. We had plenty of help. We even had volunteers come from Carbondale and Herrin. I was worried about getting the word out. I didn't want to do all that and then not have people to come and eat. But they came.

We had a few families; we had couples and we had people who came alone, looking not so much for a meal as for a sense of community. I think they found it.”

This was not the first time that a community Thanksgiving was held in West Frankfort. In 2001, Tom and Mary Beth Woolard, along with members of Trinity Methodist Church, held a similar even. It was also free and open to the public. That dinner was held successfully for two years.

Heim started planning this year's project with the support of St. John's Catholic Church where she is a member and the help of her daughter, Meleah and the St. John's youth group, but never intended from the beginning for it to remain a church-hosted event.

“All the food was donated by various churches, businesses and organizations,” Heim explained. “We had volunteers from several different churches in town. We also had kids from the high school and from the high school classes at John A. Logan.

Georgia de la Garza and Tammy Westin from church were very helpful. I think the fact that we were able to hold it at Wit and Wisdom made it much easier on us, and Zane Garner who we worked with there could not have been more cooperative and helpful.”

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Michael Smart checks the temperature of a turkey. Smart used a professional portable cooker and started cooking 27 turkeys at 5:00 AM in the morning.

Heim has been working on this Community Thanksgiving, at least in her mind for a couple of years. She and Meleah attended the Mt. Vernon Thanksgiving Day dinner for the past two years, the first year to volunteer and the second year to talk to organizers and learn what to do and what not to do. She already brought with her a wealth of experience, having worked for a year as manager of Pass Your Plate in Marion, where she oversaw the catering of large and small events, often several a day.

“We got rave reviews about the food,” she said, “especially the stuffing and the gravy.

I knew the food had to be good. I wouldn't have done if it hadn't.”

Michael Smart, another St. John's member, brought his mobile cooker to the site and

made the preparation of the 27 turkeys and 10 turkey breasts much easier then it would have been.

Mt. Vernon. got home about the same time and made the mistake of telling me he wanted something to eat,” she laughed.

“He put them on Wednesday at 5 am. and by 9:30 they were done,” Heim said.

A native of St. Anne, Ill., Heim has lived in West Frankfort for 25 years. “I have always had it on my heart to feed this community,” she said. “I know business is down and unemployment is high. People are hurting, and there are always people who are hurting because they are alone.

I'm often alone on holidays. Our family is separated that way and it just isn't possible for us to be together. I've made a commitment to try this for three years. We'll see how it goes.”

When dinnertime came on Thursday, 500 hot rolls and 50 pies rounded out the meal with mashed potatoes, vegetables and cranberry sauce, with more than enough food to go around.

All leftovers were donated to shelters in Marion and Carbondale, and unopened, uncooked food was donated to Wit and Wisdom.

“By 4:30 that night, we were home, and my husband, who had worked all day in

Volunteers Rose Marie Sack, Georgia de la Garza, and Vivian Frazier were some of the volunteers who helped make the Community Thanksgiving a huge success.

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Hannah Hancock, 7, of West Frankfort, enjoys a bite of her Thanksgiving dinner.

Gina DeMattei entertains the crowd on the piano with holiday favorites.

from

The Clarks

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Christmas Memories

After seeing a copy of the FCHS Redbird Notes earlier this year we were impressed with the quality of the writing and thought it would be a good idea to ask the high school journalists to submit Christmas stories. The students submitted fifteen stories and we chose three of them to publish in this issue of the magazine. We would like to thank Redbird Notes sponsor, Mrs. Tara Sullivan for her cooperation in the project. We hope to do it again in the future.

overcomes a youngster during the time of Christmas, brought about by the colored lights shining so brightly, those few select movies that are only shown throughout that time, and, of course, the anticipation of tearing into those beautifully wrapped presents lying beneath the tree. As if these emotions were not enough to drive a child mad, the snowfall only enhanced the magical feeling of Christmas.

© Kerrie Hubbard

The Best Snow Day Ever

O

By Zach Frazier ne fond memory I have about Christmas occurred many years back when I was a little tyke. This exciting moment could only have happened with the snow that fell on the night of Christmas Eve. As I am sure one knows, a certain feeling

Pg. 18

I awoke that fateful morning of December 25th only to realize that the snow had created a white sheet that coated everything in sight. The overcoming rush of delight was almost too much to handle, yet I somehow processed enough thought that is necessary to go and throw on every single piece of clothing that is possible and dash out into the wintry wonderland.

During that great snow, which produced the perfect consistency, that is exact for snowballs, snow forts, and snowmen, I had the time of my life.

My mom and dad later joined me in the merriment, which culminated with the making of one of the most hideous snowmen ever created, although to me it appeared as the greatest creation of all

Winterr • 2009

mankind. It stood between three and four feet, but it was larger than life, complete with sticks for arms, rocks for the eyes and mouth, and, yes, the staple of the snowman, the carrot nose.

That snowman stood in my yard as a symbol of the joyful exuberance, until the sun melted that perfect snow and he slowly dwindled in size until all that remained was a small puddle reminding us of the delight we had on that Christmas Day. Although I have yet to attempt a snowman that held such a high place in my heart, there is not a single snow day that goes by that does not bring me to that incredible morning of family, fun, and the celebration of the holidays.

Zack Frazier is a Senior staff writer for the Redbird News, having been on staff since the paper was reintroduced. He attended The University of Missouri’s summer media workshop last summer, receiving an award for the multi media project he created and presented.

The Clark Family Christmas

By Micah Broy hristmas is said to be “the most wonderful time of the year,” it is filled with trees, beautiful snow, church gatherings, food and the joy of family. The Clark family, who is a family of nine, enjoys celebrating the birth of Christ as well as spending quality time together during

C

Christmas. To most people raising seven children seems like a hard-hitting job, but Kimberly and Browning Clark would not have it any other way. With seven children in one household, Christmas time is even more special and enjoyable. Twenty -year old Hannah Clark says, “There is never a lonely or dull moment,” when it comes to her large family.

When I asked Emily Clark, a sixteen-yearold sophomore, about her family she said, “Living in a large family is always like a big party.” They prepare for the holidays some time after December 6th, which is Clark number 1, Ashley Dial’s, birthday.

The rest of the time the Clarks are busy with shopping, attending church programs, and buying and wrapping presents.

They all enjoy decorating their house and putting up their 7-½ foot tree, which has ornaments from past Christmases plus new garnishes added each year. The children each have their separate trees, which they personalize and embellish on their own.

When Christmas finally comes around the Clark family is busy with food, Bible stories, and lots of love. The house is filled with cousins, aunts, and uncles, as well as friends who savor eating lots of great food ranging from boiled custard,

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which is prepared with great grandma Clarks’ recipe to Christmas favorites like mashed potatoes and ham. Twenty-three year old Zachary started another family tradition when he was just three years old, by naming his mom’s famous strawberry jello salad “ette.” The main cook of the house, Kimberly Clark, said, “The name just stuck.”

The first person that wakes up on Christmas morning has the job of getting all of the others downstairs to open gifts.

Before they open their presents Browning Clark reads the story of Jesus’ birth from the book of Luke, chapter two while each family member takes turns putting figurines in to the “State Rude” (nativity scene).

To finish off their early morning Christmas they sing “The Friendly Beasts” together as a family.

Although living in a large family can often be hectic, Emily Clark said she adores her family because, “For me it’s like living with a bunch of friends, because that’s what my family is for me, my best friends.”

Many people get caught up in the hustle and bustle of the holidays and do not realize the true meaning of Christmas or the quality of family time but Emily says she loves how fun her family is and said that, “God has blessed me beyond my wildest dreams with a great family who has stuck through everything, leaning not only on each other but most importantly, God, and over the years we’ve become best friends.

So Christmas in our house is like a big continuous party.”

The Clark family cares about each other like a true family should, and even though Emily is known to most as just Emily, she knows no matter what, she will always be Clark number five.

Micah Broy is a sophomore at FCHS and is a first year member of the Redbird Notes Staff.

She has been a valuable asset in her contributions to the paper and they are looking forward to having her on staff for the rest of her high school career.

Pg. 10 20

to the wedding, and the Matron of Honor and Best Man.) Berneice recalls that Homer, “sent her the most wonderful diamond ring.” Today the rings that young women wear on their left hands made her token seem as if it came from a Cracker Jack box, being as though the diamond was very small. However, Mrs. Fellman says, “I was the first girl in town to receive a diamond engagement ring, and was the envy of all my girlfriends.” Most young women in the 40’s received only a small band. It was not common for an engagement ring to host a diamond until the middle of the 20th century. So, nearly Berniece and Homer Fellman were married on Christmas ten years ahead of the Day, 1945 game, Berniece modeled a prized possession, one she still wears every day of her life.

Homer and Berniece celebrated 56 Christmases together before Homer passed away. She is still surrounded by the love

By Luke Ward of her family who continue her traditions of spreading love and laughter at this ou’ll be doing alright with sacred time of year. Berneice Fellman is your Christmas of white, but my great-grandmother and she still deals I’ll have a blue, blue Christwith the loss of her only love that remains mas.” These famous lyrics underneath the celebration of the season sung by legend Elvis Presley do not only year after year. The Christmas holiday describe feelings of those you love during will remain special to Berneice and to me, this holiday time of year, but also tell a but these words will continually resonate story about those Christmases past; at least in her mind until that Christmas when for Berneice Fellman they do. On Decem- they are reunited again… “I’ll have a blue ber 25, 1945, Berniece Mayer and Homer Christmas without you; I’ll be so blue just Fellman said their “I Do’s” surrounded thinking about you. Decorations of red on by their friends and the joy of Christmas a green Christmas tree won’t be the same that we all know and love. On that night, dear, if you’re not here with me….”

Berniece did not wear the ordinary white dress, she wore a navy blue dress. The tradition in that time was to wear a blue Luke Ward is a Junior at FCHS. This is his gown or dress because, “If you wear blue, first year on the Redbird your man will always be true.”

Notes staff, using his Although Christmas seems to be the expertise in video editperfect time to say your vows, the young ing and production to assist in the production couple chose this day because it was the of Redbird News. only time that Homer, his sister Thelma, and her husband Robert could be home on leave from the military (Thelma and Robert Simpson were the only witnesses

The Christmas of I Do

Y

Winterr • 2009

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Luke 2: 1-20

Winter • 2009

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Pg. 22

Winterr • 2009

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• Downtown Location • Convenient Parking Lot • Drive Thru Window • Fast Friendly Service • Free Delivery

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The Bakers: Robby, Kim, Chelsey, Taylor, Calvin, Graham, Beau & Lydia

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Winter • 2009

Pg. 23

The Franklin County Poor Farm

Photo Courtesy of Benton Public Library

“I

t was the best of times. It was the worst of times.” As often as I have heard that opening sentence from Dickens' Tale of Two Cities, I have never understood it more clearly than in applying it to the research I have been doing about the Franklin County Poor Farm.

For most area residents, the poor farm was just a figure of speech, something they

Pg.24

heard a grandparent or parent say years ago. “If you don't quit doing that, you're going to end us all up in the poor farm.”

“If the price of gas gets any higher, I'll just have to go live in the poor farm.” But the poor farm was much more than a threat, a joke or a statement of the financial situation. For the greater part of a century, it was a larger than life presence in Franklin County, the only legislated assistance for the poor, and for many the last stop on a

Winterr • 2009

road to total anonymity.

I remember when I was a child, I would often sit in the kitchen while my mother cooked and read aloud to her from “The Family book of Best Loved Poems”. One poem that I returned to time and again was a ballad called, “Over the Hill to the Poorhouse,” by Will Carleton. Written in 1897 it tells the sad tale of an old woman who no longer has a place to go. She has made the rounds of her children, living

For the greater part of a century, it was a larger than life presence in Franklin County, the only legislated assistance for the poor, and for many the last stop on a road to total anonymity. with each for a short time, but was eventually forced out of each home and was headed to her last stop, the poorhouse. We didn't know at the time that the poem was inspired by an actual poor farm at Hillsdale County, Michigan, “Don't read me that poem; it makes me cry,” my mother would nearly always say, “drying her eyes on her apron.”

But it captured my imagination, and I thought about it often. Little did I know that a building still stood in our own county that had probably been the setting of hundreds of similar stories.

The Franklin County Poor Farm stood out on North Benton Road (18 Bottoms Road) at the intersection of New Hope Church Road between West Frankfort and Benton. The 120 acres of property

were purchased by the county board in accordance with the state of Illinois legislation in 1861. The actual order to take on Government care of the poor was issued as early as 1819, when county governments were authorized to establish “poorhouses,” to keep those who had no means of support.

This was a substantial change in taking on the responsibility of their care. PreviWinter • 2009

Pg. 25

ously the destitute had been auctioned off at public auction to the lowest bidder, meaning those who would charge the least for their room and board in exchange for home or farm labor. In 1839, the county boards were authorized to hire caretakers and to levy county taxes to support and maintain houses and farms for their comfort. In 1861, when the authorization was renewed, Franklin County joined the ranks of those Illinois counties who became “the keepers of the poor.”

An early account of the establishment of the poor farm tells us that the parcel of land was purchased for $1200. “The buildings on said farm are common log houses which are in dilapidated condition. The county, however, is preparing to construct such buildings as the necessities of the case require. At this present writing, there are 23 paupers supported on the farm. Of these three males and three females are insane, and one lady, Mrs. Sarah Maddox, is 100 years old. The balance are middle aged persons and children. The average number of inmates of the poorhouse for the last six years has been 18.”

It's impossible to imagine what life might have been like for the homeless or helpless individuals who found their way to the poorhouse during the 19th century, but the dilapidated log houses were eventually replaced with the large stately brick home that is shown here, and it stood at that location to house the poor until some time in the late 1940's. There are so many conflicting stories surrounding the date and the circumstances of it's closing that it would take much more extensive research to sort the fact from the speculation. So much of what it included here is taken from very little available written and oral history.

Earvine Simpson, who lived in the area much of his life, authored a self-published book titled, “Looking Back.” Simpson is deceased, but an excerpt from his account reads, “In 1930 I remember a cold December winter and over into January.

There were several hobos in Benton with nowhere to go in the extreme cold. The county judge sent them to the county farm to stay until spring. When the weather got warm in the spring, they all thanked the caretaker and left.”

“The best of times” it probably was for

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men who lived their life on the tracks and needed a roof over their heads for a brutal winter.

The U.S. Census reports give us a glimpse into the population of the poor house in census years from 1870 through 1910. In 1870, neither government nor society had ever heard the term of being “politically correct.” The residents of the poor house are listed with reasons for commitment.

Pauper, of course is a common reason, but the census ledger also lists residents as being idiot, fits, old age, blind and incurably insane. Ages range from one month to 79 years with many children and teens.

The few local residents whom I have talked to who have had any contact with the poor house came away with a lasting memory, regardless how insignificant their connection may have seemed. West Frankfort resident, Ruth Cutsinger says that when she was very small, she accompanied her mother and aunt to the poor house where they spent the entire day. “I was sent to play outside while my mother and my aunt stayed inside to talk to the people and pray with them giving them encouragement. I don't really know if the children I played with were residents there or children of other church members who were visiting.”

Florence Butta recalls an elderly woman who lived in her neighborhood on Midway street when she was a child. “She lived in an old run down shack at the back of another piece of property. One day, a big car pulled up and two men got out and went inside and when they came out, she was with them. They helped her into the back seat of the car and drove away. Later the neighbors said that they had taken her to the poorhouse. I thought that was very sad and never forgot it.”

The most difficult thing about stringing together the few details available about the Poor Farm is that the oral histories and even the recorded stories seem to collide when it comes to comparing dates, especially the date the poor farm closed it's doors. Until we can prove otherwise by documented legislation, we are assuming that the poor farm remained open until the late Forties, possibly even as late as 1951.

We have heard of evidence that proves it ended earlier than that, but since we do not have it in our possession, that is only

Winterr • 2009

speculation.

Paul Lampley of Benton has been interested in this topic for some time and has recently been enthusiastically collecting details and remembrances from individuals in the Benton area. Again few facts coincide.

Lampley's family not only lived in the area near the poor farm, but he knows personally a man who, with younger siblings, was a resident of the poor farm for a couple of years during his childhood in the later Forties. The stories he tells are of difficult times, poor care, and not enough food. He recalls being treated cruelly by some of the older residents and being almost entirely responsible for the care of his baby sister, although he, himself was only a child. He tells of details of the day to day life there, going out to bring in the farm animals in the evening, helping with the tobacco which was raised on the land, twisted and laid in the barn to cure.

He also says that a relative was responsible for making government officials aware of the conditions and petitioning the governor to force the home to close.

Lampley is witness to the fact that letters exist concerning the legal closing of the home, but those letters were not available at this writing. Nevertheless, it isn't difficult to believe that for many children over the 75 or 80 years the farm was open, it was truly the worst of times.

Ida Hiscox, a West Frankfort resident was willing to share the stories of her knowledge of the Poor Farm. Her parents, John and Ida Avery, were caretakers of the home for about a two year period which ended in 1942, when they moved to Washington so that her father could work in the shipyards to support the war effort. Ida was already married to Frank Hiscox at the time, but vividly recalls weekend trips to visit her parents for Sunday dinner.

“There was a women's side and a men's side upstairs, kind of a dormitory,” Ida Faye says. “It seems that there were about 20 people living there at the time and there were two very long tables in the dining room where they ate their meals. They were mostly very elderly people, and I believe there was one woman who was bedfast. Thee was one young boy, a teen-

ager, and a young woman with a son about three years old.

She was pregnant, and my mother delivered twins to her while she was living there.”

“The job of caretaker was a political appointment, and I remember before my mother and dad moved in the conditions were terrible. My mother refused to move in until the place was completely exterminated and cleaned up. I know that while they lived there, it was very clean. I know the wooden floors gleamed, because I polished them myself,” she laughs. “I did go stay there a week with my father once when my mother was away. I remember he and a woman who helped out there did most of the cooking, but I washed a lot of dishes!”

Ida remembers the caretaker's residence on the main floor as being comfortable and quite roomy. “There was a large living room and several bedrooms. There was a private bath and a very large kitchen. There was also a glassed in porch along one side.”

Across New Hope Church Road (earlier called Poor Farm Road) was the Poor Farm School. The school was not a part of the Poor Farm, but rather a Benton school, named as schools often are, for the location, drawing it's name from its proximity to the Poor Farm. According to an account by Simpson in “Looking Back,” the Poor Farm School was opened for the Fall semester of 1881. “When the school first opened, families would not send their children, and only seven or eight children attended.”

Whether that was due to the unfortunate name given to the school or to the fact that the children would be rubbing shoulders with those unfortunate individuals who lived in the county home across the street is uncertain. However, attendance did grow. According to Paul Lampley, the school was very small, being a one room school house and he has been told that the county children went to school five days a week and children who resided at the Poor farm attended school only three days a week, probably in split shifts due to lack of space.

Lampley was also told by the man who recalls attending the school as a child that in about 1947, the children began attending school in the city of Benton and walked to and from school every day. “That is a story that I do know about first hand,” Lampley says. “My older brother attended the Poor Farm School while we lived out there and although he was just a kid, maybe nine or ten years old, it was his job to stoke the furnace to warm the place up in the morning before school started. Well, one morning he accidentally caught the school on fire. He was so afraid that he ran home and didn't say anything about it, until years later when he confessed it to my father. Anyway, the Poor Farm school burnt to the ground.”

To the east of the Poor Farm, lay the Poor Farm Cemetery.

There was a time when apparently stones made of sandstone or granite marked many of the graves of those who were buried there. The stones are gone now with not even one marker remaining to tell us who died there while they were Winter • 2009

Pg. 27

under the care of the county. Although it

Pres-

Left: There is little documentation about the Franklin County Poor Farm. One source available is Earvine Simpson’s “Looking Back” which has some photos and history of the poorfarm. (Above) An unidentified man holds a horse that was used on the Poor Farm.

(Photo courtesy of Ida Hiscox.)

is doubtful that all graves in the pauper's cemetery were marked , stories abound as to what may have happened to the many tombstones that were there at one time.

One oral account suggests that when the county sold the property and the land was cleared that the stones were used as fill for the basement of the the old Poor Farm School across the road before it was filled with dirt.

A recent project begun by Mark Franklin of Benton has been underway for over a year to attempt to raise enough money to place a large granite marker at the site to announce to the public that that is the hallowed ground where paupers who lived there, and died there and are buried there.

Pg.28

ently there is only a small sandstone with the words, Poor Farm Cemetery at the northeast corner of the lot. That small marker was placed there years ago by Kenny Lampley of Benton.

Bob Varis, of Varis-Stone Funeral home in West Frankfort has worked to make it economically feasible to complete the project, providing a substantial slab of granite over four feet tall and eight feet wide at a much reduced price and the engraving on the stone which will include a picture of the Poor House itself. He h as also domated two large urns to decorate the monument.

Varis used a dowsing rod to attempt to determine how many graves are on the property and arrived at a number of 309 graves, onlya few off from the number

Winterr • 2009

recorded by an individual who attempted to determine a number about 14 years ago.

Perhaps there are more graves farther back into the woods. Ida Hiscox recalls graves on both sides of New Hope Church Road.

In “Looking Back”, Simpson speaks of a memory that made an impression on him as a young boy attending Poor Farm School.

“I remember at lunch time men coming from the home to dig a grave. Some friends and I went over to watch, the teacher catching us, gave us orders to return to the school grounds. The next day the funeral was held. We watched as the funeral hearse came down the hill from the home with the body to the cemetery.

There was no family or minister to give

last rites.”

“We boys were very sad. My mother had died that summer with the minister coming to the house and saying prayers for Mother and our family. He told us Mother was in heaven and was not coming back. I was seven. The poor farm funerals were very bad, sometimes family would be there but seldom a minister or priest. At one time I remember a row of cedar trees on the south side of the boundary, some markers and stones. But they are all gone today.”

It was the worst of times. It is hard to imagine today that for probably 80 or more years, little children who were orphaned, unwanted, uncared for shared a living space with elderly, mentally imcompetent, mentally ill, transients, and probably in many instances criminals.

They were the last level of society. Few cared enough to know what went on there, perhaps few even wanted to know. We can only imagine the destruction of the human spirit that was repeated over the years.

It was the best of times. Any kind of public institution, even today with all the regulations and watch-dog agencies in place, is only as good as the person in charge makes it to be. We can not even imagine in the decades the Poor Farm existed how many times the caretakers changed. Sometimes for the worse. At others for the better. No doubt, over the years, the county Poor Farm was a comfort and a salvation to many. At times, in spite of the stigma which has no doubt led to the mystery that surrounds it, it was a safe haven, the last resort. “It was a warm bed and a hot meal,” Ida Hiscox sums it up. It was one of the first attempts to legislate welfare.

All too often, when serious effort has been put into researching a subject on which little public information is recorded, the most accurate information becomes available after publication.

Perhaps that will be the case with this article. We hope that this publication will stimulate interest, memories and conversation that will cause new information to emerge.

For a time, in Franklin County, as in every county in Illinois, there was a place for people who had no money, no resources, possibly no family. They had no advocates, no visitors, no heritage, no identity, and as proven in the census reports, some had no name. They were anonymous in life and now are anonymous in death.

So they have shirked and slighted me, an' shifted me aboutSo they have well-nigh soured me, an' wore my old heart out; But still I've born up pretty well, an' wasn't much put down, Till Charley went to the poor-master, an' put me on the town.

Over the hill to the poor-house - me child'rn dear, good-by!

Many a night I've watched you when only God was nigh; And God'll judge between us; but I will al'ays pray That you shall never suffer the half I do today.

From “Over the Hill to the Poorhouse,” by Will Carleton

Winter • 2009

Pg. 29

I

By Gail Rissi Thomas t’s always an interesting journey to go back to the early days when a community was growing and businesses were thriving. It's fascinating to hear of a time when Main Street was bustling with activity, especially at this time of year, when there were no malls or shopping centers to divert the local residents’ dollars from being spent at local

Pg.30

businesses. One of those local businesses that helped shape West Frankfort back when it was still referred to as a “boom town” was the M. M. Fox & Son General Store. For 24 years M. M. Fox and his son, Uel served the residents at the corner of Main and Jackson Street, and even after selling it to a family member, the store continued to do business under the same name until sometime during World War II When local resident, Rev. Bill Fox, shared

Winterr • 2009

the story of the general store, it became obvious that so often when reminiscing about the story of a family business, the story of the family becomes even more intriguing than the business. That is certainly the case with the Fox family, an essential pillar in building the community of West Frankfort.

Even the circumstances of the first member of the Fox family migrating to Southern Illinois stir the imagination,

bringing to life a story that we have heard many times in accounts of the Civil War. “My great-grandfather was from Kentucky and came to Southern Illinois through the Cumberland Gap,” Fox explained. “ He was a buyer for the American Tobacco Company. He owned many, many acres of land, barns and out buildings and many teams of animals. Well he was a Union sympathizer, and at the end of the war, a Col. John Mosby, who was really nothing but an outlaw, beat him up and left him for dead. He burned everything and left only one old team of animals. My grandfather was about 11 years old at the time.”

“My great-grandfather had speculated on 1500 acres of land in Southern Illinois,” Fox continued, “so my great- grandmother put together that “plug team” of mules, took a few household belongings that she could get together and moved the family to the land in the Harco area, south of Galatia. It's little more than a wide space in the road now, but they managed to build a home and raise a family there. My grandfather entered the merchandising business.”

“My father (Uel) grew up to become a teacher,” Fox said. “He earned $30 a month, and was expected to stay at the home of one of the children in his class each weekend. While he was staying at the home of one of the little girls on his list of students, he met my mother, who was her older sister. After they married, my grandfather talked him into joining him in the merchandising business and helping to manage stores in several locations.”

So was born an M. M. Fox & Son General Store chain, which included stores in Harco, Akin, Rileyville, Raliegh and Thompsonville. In 1914, the growth of West Frankfort encouraged him to sell all stores, move here and have a new store built at the site of E. R. Brown Furniture.

“If I remember correctly, Mr. Brown took the east 20 feet of the store and my father took the largest section for the general store.”

“It was a very successful venture,” Fox said. “The coal mines were just beginning to develop and there was a lot of money flowing through West Frankfort. The

Uel Fox, son of M. M. Fox. is the father of local resident Reverend Bill Fox.

coal miners were paid in script, but the Coalfield store was right across from us on the other side of Jackson Street, and if someone wanted to buy from us, we could take script and take it over to them and trade it for cash.”

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ation became available we put in a refrigerated case near the front of the store for meat. We hired a butcher, Butch Reynolds, to run it. I don't think I ever knew his real name, but we loved him to death.”

Although the general store carried a lot of food, they also carried lines of merchandise that any wage earner might need for his family.

“This store had a lot of shelves in it,” Fox recalled. “In the other stores the produce was displayed in baskets on the floor.

Can goods were just becoming common, but we really had to watch them closely because they wouldn't hold a seal very well and they would sometimes spoil easily. Like the peanut butter.” he added.

“It was in glass jars and we had to turn it every couple of days because the oil would separate. We sold probably every variety of fresh fruit and vegetable that was available.”

Christmas was a busy place at the general store, just as it would be today. “I believe every school treated the children at Christmas. They gave them a sack with an orange, a banana, an apple and candy. We sold candy too,” he added. “I remember Horehound, peppermint and lemon sticks.

Every Saturday night my dad brought home a big sack full of different kinds of candy. We didn't decorate the store at Christmas, but I do remember we had a tree at home and strung popcorn to decorate it with.”

Fox said he spent a lot of time in the store and helped out a little. “I straightened the shelves.” But he listed many of the items that were sold there as if he were walking the aisles and naming them as he passed.

Coal buckets, harnesses, dirt shovels,

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Necessity was usually the dictator of what the store made available to the local residents.

“We sold overalls, but no dress clothing,” Fox said. “We sold Star Brand shoes which were made by the Brown Shoe Company in St. Louis. The Brown Shoe Company even furnished a big wooden bench for customers to sit on while they tried them on. We even sold caskets for a while,” Fox says. “But then Union Funeral home opened, so we stopped selling them.”

M.M. Fox (with cane) stands next to Dr. Ben Fox, a son. Editor’s Note: Ben Fox and Uel Fox, the father of Rev. Fox, were brothers Dr Ben Fox was the father of the late Dr. Richard Fox, a well known West Frankfort physican. Ben Fox was also a prominent physician in the Southern Illinois area.

house paint, barn paint, pots and pans.

“We had the first coffee grinder in West Frankfort; it was electric too. You could buy two different types of grind, percolator or a finer one. Later on, when refriger-

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During the earlier days of the M. M. Fox & Son Store, Main Street was still a dirt road.

“Later on they poured two strips, but there was still a dirt strip down the middle. Then still later, when Len Small was governor, they built Route 149, which started in Royalton and went to Thompsonville.”

The Fox Family left their mark on the community in many ways, one of which was the homes they built and lived in.

“In 1911, my grandfather had a beautiful

home built at 902 East Poplar,” Fox said.

“I was born on the south west corner of Cherry and East St. Louis Streets. Jack Elliott, a carpenter and preacher, built that house in 1921; it weathered the tornado of 1925.”

“When I was pretty small we moved out to a huge farm near Walltown School. I went to school there through seventh grade; we had 70 kids in a one-room school. In 1934, when my father sold the farm, we moved back to town and lived at 802 East Oak, which was another fine home that is still standing.”

The world and the country were headed for some hard times, and Fox remembers all of them and the way they affected his life.

“In 1929, one weekend, the coal mines had put out a very big pay. My dad carried a lot of them on the books at the store so it wasn't unusual after a big pay for some of them to come in and pay off a bill which might have accumulated to seven or eight hundred dollars. And of course after a big pay, they spent money. I remember my dad coming home that weekend with $44,000. That was a whole lot of money in those days. Well four days later came the crash, and the banks closed. He had deposited every last dime of it. I remember him saying, 'Well one good thing, Mother, we've got all our inventory and it's all paid for. So he just started over.”

Fox graduated from FCHS, and went to a local cosmetology school that was owned by his aunt, Stella Summers. He opened another very successful business, Mr. Billo's, a beauty shop in the Masonic Building on Main Street. He served in World War II as an electrician and welder.

“It was while I was stationed in Guam that I received the call from God to enter the ministry.” After the war he attended college, first at SIU and then theological school. He and his wife, Mary, lived in East St. Louis where he served as a Southern Baptist minister at four different churches, the last being in Fairview Heights. He and his wife retired to West Frankfort, where she passed away a year ago.

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W

By Gail Rissi Thomas hen Esther Faletti graduated from Thompsonville High School she answered an ad in the newspaper, and accepted the offer to take classes to support the war effort. The year was 1943, and there were 12 other young women who responded to the ad and joined her in learning the skill that would take them across the country to build the ships for the U.S. Navy during World War II. “We had a choice to learn either riveting or welding. I didn't want to do the riveting because I thought it would be too noisy,” Faletti said. “I learned to be a welder.”

“I don’t recall seeing drunkenness or hearing crude language around us or anything. Maybe that was just a sign of the times, but it was more than that. It was kind of a somber time and a serious job. We all had a mission to do and we knew it.”

--Esther Faletti--

In spite of the promise of a “free ticket” to California, that's not quite how things turned out. Faletti and the group from Franklin County ended up in Portland, Ore., and that's where they remained for over two years.

“It wasn't even a free ticket,” she laughs.

“They checked it off our pay every month until it was paid off just like our rent and uniforms we needed for welding.”

Faletti worked on Swan Island on the

Photo Provided

“I grew up in a big family,” she says. “I had never been anywhere. We lived on a farm and times were hard, but we always managed. We raised our own cows, pigs, and chickens. We even raised lambs and ducks. We grew our own wheat and corn and took it in to Thompsonville to be ground. My mother always made our bread. Why I never even saw a loaf of store bought bread until I was 18, and went to work at the dime store. But everyone helped one another. If a neighbor got sick, my mother would take them fruit and fresh vegetables and chicken broth. My father would help them get their hay in if they weren't able. I learned a lot just by watching how they lived.”

Photo by Michael Thomas

A 1942 wartime song “Rosie the Riveter” popularized the women who left home and went to work on the assembly lines of the munitions factories and shipyards to build the machines of war. Faletti wasn't a “Rosie the Riveter,” but her completion of the training promised her a free ticket to California., a long way from Southern Illinois and the only life she had ever known.

Shortly after graduating from Thompsonville High School in 1943, Esther Faletti joined 12 other women from the area and travelled to the shipbuilding yards of Portland, Oregon where she was trained as a welder. “We had a choice to learn either riveting or welding. I didn’t want to do the riveting because I thought it would be too noisy,” Faletti worked primarily on building tankers.

Columbia River in one of the seven major shipyards building vessels for the Allied forces.

“We worked mainly on oil tankers, “ Faletti says. “They were sent out to fuel the mother ships that couldn't come into port.

While they were being built, they were up on stilts, or what you might call rafters.

We usually had to climb up about 500 feet to do the welding on the smokestacks. We would have to climb into a small opening to work on a smokestack. In fact, it was so

small that I would have to take my helmet off and climb in, then pull my helmet in after me. We welded the frame onto the deck and then welded several pieces, one on top of the other. We did all kinds of different things, just wherever they sent you and whatever they told you to do. I didn't like welding down below deck where they kept the oil. I would much rather be up on top. I remember laughing the first time I ever saw one going down the river, and saying, “Look, there goes my smokestack.”

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sent money home to my mother.”

“We had to do our laundry and shop for food. Then it was time to sleep and get up and go to work again. It seems like we had our breakfast in the cafeteria and they packed our lunch for us. Then we had to cook our own supper. Gosh that was a long time ago. Oh, I remember now, we did have a baseball team, I played shortstop and we played games against other teams like us.”

“This was where they would launch the big ships,” she adds. “Every time they launched a ship, they would have some famous movie star there and we could all go watch. I remember seeing Doris Day and Rock Hudson, and several others. After a while, we didn't bother to go anymore.

It was just a chance to sit and rest. I don't remember being too homesick, although I never went home for two years. I know I wrote a lot of letters home. Yes, I guess that's what I did a lot too. I wrote letters.

When the war ended, I think some of the girls went on to California. I never did see California; I just went back home.”

Faletti has lived in West Frankfort since she returned home, where she and her husband, Joe, a coal miner, raised a daughter, Damita and a son Joseph. Her husband is deceased. She has one constant reminder of those days she spent in the shipyards.

As this cover photo from a 1943 shipbuilding magazine called “The Bos’n’s Whistle” shows, men and women worked side-by-side to produce oil tankers for the war effort. Some ships were built in as little as 10 days.

“I remember one time when I was welding down below deck and one of the lead men came in. It seemed to me that after he showed up I didn't see him for a while.

When I saw him again, I said, 'Well there you are. Where were you when I needed you. What I'm working on now is easy.'

He said, 'There was a dead man down here. I was taking his body out and I didn't want you to see.' I guess he was being kind of protective in case it would upset me or something. I don't know what was involved, but it seems to me that people were really nice. I don't recall seeing drunkenness or hearing crude language around us or anything. Maybe that was just a sign of the times, but it was more

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than that. It was kind of a somber time and a serious job. We all had a mission to do and we knew it.”

The women who worked in the shipyards were young, most just out of high school, but the life they lived there included little time and no resources for social activities.

“We didn't have much money,” Faletti recalls. “We had to take a bus to another bus to go into Portland. We couldn't just go out shopping or anything. We worked 10-hour shifts, and I started working the night shift, because it paid a little better.

We lived in dorms and they checked off money for rent and several other things. I

Winterr • 2009

“I was up on top welding one day and I kept pulling on my lead wire because I thought it was tangled. I slipped two discs in my back. You know in those days they didn't have MRI's or anything, not even X-rays where I was, I don't guess. They told me to go home for a couple of days and rest, so that's what I did. I had pain for a long time and now the doctors tell me that I have arthritis and sciatica in that space where the discs were. I have a lot of problems from that.”

“It was a different kind of time,” she says. “Everyone's heart was in America and there was a spirit that took hold of the country. Everyone felt the need to do something to help. I guess that's what I did.”

Teamsters Local 347 (618) 932-3191

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year Winter • 2009

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Parting Shot

Jan Grant puts the finishing

touches on the Christmas Tree

at the CUSD #168 Office.

(Photo by Michael Thomas)

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Merry Christmas

401 E. Main West Franfort

Open Mon -Sat 8a.m. til 5 p.m.

(618) 932-2012

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