Willow Mills, Indiana

Welcome to Willow Mills

2004-11-21T21:52:00.000-08:00

Welcome to the Willow Mills, Indiana. Willow Mills is a fictional town. It has no corollary in the real world. In fact, it intersects with the real world in only one place: a rock about three feet across out in the middle of the Eel River within six or seven miles of North Manchester, Indiana. It’s a rock on which I sat some years ago writing poetry and dreaming of what I would do with my life.

The dreams and poetry have gone the way of dreams and poetry. But the rock is still out there, resisting the gentle current of the Eel River. And it probably will still be there long after the village of Willow Mills has also gone the way of dreams and poetry. The citizens of Willow Mills hope you will enjoy your visit and invite you to come back often. You can participate in the story by writing your comments on this and future posts.

Welcome to Willow Mills, Indiana

A Guided Tour

Willow Leaves May 3, 1999

Willow Leaves May 10, 1999

Willow Leaves May 17, 1999

Willow Leaves May 24, 1999

Willow Leaves May 31, 1999

Willow Leaves June 7, 1999

Willow Leaves June 14, 1999

Willow Leaves June 21, 1999

Willow Leaves June 28, 1999

Willow Leaves July 5, 1999

Willow Leaves July 12, 1999

Willow Leaves July 19, 1999

Willow Leaves July 26, 1999

Willow Leaves August 2, 1999

Willow Leaves August 9, 1999

Willow Leaves August 16, 1999

Willow Leaves August 23, 1999

Willow Leaves August 30, 1999

Willow Leaves September 6, 1999

Willow Leaves September 13, 1999

Willow Leaves September 20, 1999

Willow Leaves September 27, 1999

Willow Leaves October 4, 1999

Willow Leaves October 11, 1999

Willow Leaves October 18, 1999

Willow Leaves October 25, 1999

Willow Leaves November 1, 1999

Willow Leaves November 8, 1999

Willow Leaves November 15, 1999

Willow Leaves November 22, 1999

Willow Leaves November 29, 1999

Willow Leaves December 6, 1999

Willow Leaves December 13, 1999

Willow Leaves December 20, 1999

Willow Leaves December 27, 1999

Willow Leaves January 3, 2000

This blog is a part of the NaNoBlogMo project.

Willow Leaves January 3

2004-11-19T23:39:00.000-08:00

Willow Mills Slides Joyously Into the New Millenium

Starting with the first broadcast from Kiribati on Friday morning and throughout the day and night, Willow Mills celebrated the turning of the calendar and “Partied Like It Was 1999.” Whether you attended an organized party at a friend or organization’s home, joined in the well-orchestrated celebration on Fountain Square, or just marked the passing in the quiet of your own bed, this was a day and night that few in this community will ever forget.

We thought that the best way to review the event would be to interview some of our long-time residents about their feelings and impressions of the changing millennium.

Agnes Leland (age 77)

When I was a little girl my grandpa told me about what it was like when they crossed from 1899 to 1900. It was a party the likes of which Indiana had never seen before or since. Of course times were simpler then. I don’t suppose they broadcast the changing of the year on television or in the center square. (You know there was no fountain there yet, don’t you?) But there was a parade. It’s too bad we didn’t have a parade this weekend. I love parades, you know. My grandpa took me to a parade in South Bend once when I was little. Oh it was such a glorious time. There were floats of every description. Do you have to leave now?

Ogden Filmore (age 101)

I (hack, cough) made it!

Angus Fergusson (age 52)

I’m happy to have been here in Willow Mills for this event. It was a pleasure to contribute in the small ways that I could, with the Milk Wagon and the bagpipes. My family has been here for many years, and I hope my son will feel confident in the future of Willow Mills and return here to start a future generation in this new millennium.

Tom Fergusson (age 19)

This was like the coolest year to graduate and then start college. It’s like such a rush to start a new phase of your life as the world turns another century older. I’m like really, you know.

Bessie Stackhouse (age 58)

We’ve lived through the worst that the world has to offer in the past century. We’ve seen two world wars, Korea, and Vietnam. We saw the unleashing of the atomic bomb. And I think we’ve learned from this experience. I look at the next hundred years with a feeling of great hope and excitement to a world in which there is no more war. It will be a world of peace and prosperity.

Alan White (age 57)

It’s pretty groovy.

Mary Pat White (age 57)

I married my high school sweetheart 39 years ago. It was a wonderful 39 years. So now I’m looking forward to being with my high school sweetheart for the next 39 years, too. And with my children and grandchildren as well, of course.

Elizabeth Harmon (age 69)

Oh yes. My, my. That was some party. Was that just yesterday? I remember how we danced. Did you see Emil? He is such a dashing young man. Don’t tell anyone, but I think we’ll get married. I’d like to be married before I’m a spinster, don’t you know. Oh, Emil would be quite a catch. That was surely some party.

Jackie Stoneburner (age 49)

I’m going to spend the first few days of the new year sleeping! But it was all worth it.

Wayne Thompson (age 53)

It’s all rather arbitrary. A line in the sand. We cross over it and then we draw another line just to mark the time out. It is not the beginning of the third millennium to the Jews, or to the Chinese. It is just another mark on the great calendar of time. Perhaps someday we will learn to treat everyday with the feeling of importance we had with this one day in the long march of time.

Althea Thompson (age 44)

Well, I’m looking forward to what the future holds in store. I’ve had my kids and one is married and out of the house already. The others are growing up every day. And every day I look around me and ask if we’re leaving our kids a better place to live, or if we’re just postponing paying up our debts for their inheritance. I hope and pray that our children will thank us for the legacy we leave them here. That they will see something in our community of value that is worth maintaining and building on. God bless the children.

Janice (Thompson) Townsend (age 18)

You know, I found out that the world is a really big place this year. Spending the Fall in Paris has been a real eye-opener. We’re so... little. But when it comes down to it, I don’t want to live in Paris forever. I want to raise my children, when I have them, here. That’s why Whisper and I are coming back next summer: To start laying the foundation for what we’re going to have in the future.

Whisper Townsend (age 20)

Janice pretty well said it all. Paris is fun, but it’s no Willow Mills.

John Townsend (age 59)

When I came to Willow Mills in the ’60s, I never imagined that I would still be here to see the turn of the new Millennium. But I found more than a hippie commune here. I found a home and a family and a career. It was like growing up and discovering that my childhood dream of becoming a fireman had become a reality. I can’t thank the people of Willow Mills enough for accepting us and making us a part of the community.

Billy Peoples (age 12—almost 13)

I got to stay up all night. It was pretty hard after midnight, but having the display downtown was really cool. I loved the stuff from Los Angeles at 3. Then it got pretty quiet and it was really hard to stay awake for the rest of it. We went home and played Monopoly for the rest of the night.

Bob Howard (age 33)

We’ve got a really good economic forecast for the coming Millennium. The stock market is strong, the dollar is strong against other currencies. It’s a great time to travel and see the world. And it’s a great time to buy a new car. We’ve got some great deals over at Faulkner Ford. Stop by.

Eldon Hayes (age 69)

Well, at my age you really stop counting the birthdays and the new years. But this one is one for the books. There’s something about turning over a new year that has all zeroes in it, like when the odometer of your car turns 100,000 miles. Yeah. I guess we’re out of warranty now.

Dick Johnson (age 70)

He’s just a kid. When you get to be my age, you look forward to every birthday. It means you’re still alive. I guess that’s the way it is with the world today. We had a birthday. It means we’re still alive.

Laura Jennings (age 62)

With Denis so sick this fall it’s been hard to look forward to anything or plan anything. I hope we’ll see another year together. He’s fighting back strong now.

Roy Johnson (age 42)

It’s been a privilege to serve as Town Manager through this period of great celebrations. We had the Sesquicentennial celebration in September, and now this Y2K celebration this week. It’s been a year we’ll all remember. But just because the big date has passed (and none of our computers have crashed yet) doesn’t mean there isn’t still work to be done here in Willow Mills. We need to look forward to improving our community a little bit at a time, just like we care for our homes and our businesses. I’m looking forward to continuing to serve as your Town Manager as long as the people of Willow Mills see fit to have me.

Ted Anderson (age 63)

I came here to Willow Mills to get away from it all. I guess I brought a lot of it with me. But no matter how I get ribbed about the beach, I still like it here, and I think the next hundred years will see Willow Mills really come into its own. It’s a little town that time forgot, but that doesn’t forget its place in time.

Rev. “Brother Andrew” Wilson (age 39)

We have to look at this passing of the 1900s as the beginning of the end-times. The Bible has told us what to expect. There will be wars. There will be famine. There will be abominations that we have no words for in our vocabularies today. We will see acts so ghastly that we won’t believe anyone could imagine them. And I don’t mean in movie theaters. We’ll see the end-times played out on our streets and then we will know that the Lord, He is God.

Suze Wilson (age 38)

I see God’s loving hand in everything we do. I don’t believe he will abandon us to our enemies if we remain faithful to Him.

Brian Greene (age 53)

I was a long-haired, pot-smoking hippie when I came to Willow Mills. It’s funny that now I’m a middle-aged dad trying to teach my kids how to make good decisions. When I protested against the war in Vietnam, I was told America Love It or Leave It. My version of leaving it was to come to Willow Mills. What I discovered was the America I could love. It’s not about politics or wars or money. It’s about acceptance and working together in spite of our differences. That’s why I’m looking forward to the new Millennium. I can’t wait to find out what we’re going to find to do for each other tomorrow.

Sally Greene (age 54)

I’m just “lighting a candle” for the future.

Carl Miller (age 53)

Gee. Wow!

John Davies (Age 51)

I can’t believe that we made it this far! The world gets older every day but we only measure it in millennia. It’s more than the turning of a calendar page, it’s the day we celebrate the world’s birthday. Happy birthday earth. May you have many more.

Johnny Grover (age 38)

I think we should plant grass all along Main Street and Market Street to celebrate the new century. I’d keep it mowed nice and neat.

Bill Rasmussen (age 33)

I’d like to thank all the volunteers who helped to make this Millennial Celebration such a wonderful success. If we continue to work together in the way that we’ve worked together this year, Willow Mills will see the turn of another century, maybe even another millennium. It was really great to work with all these fine people. Thank you to the members of the committee, the town council, the fire department, and all the businesses of Willow Mills that made this event possible.

Robin Greenwald (age 64)

To think I was “bullied” into living here! That first memorable night that Jackie and I spent on the banks of the Eel River planted a seed in us that this was the kind of place that we’d like to settle. It wasn’t what we’d imagined when we graduated from college, but it was what spoke to us deep in our hearts. I don’t see that spirit changing in the new millennium.

Jackie Greenwald (age 64)

I’m looking forward to retirement and having just the two of us able to travel again. Maybe we’ll camp along some other rivers in the new Millennium. But I’ll always know that this little river and this little town is home. (I’m looking forward to a second honeymoon in which he lets us stay in hotels instead of tents!)

Penny Parker (age 44)

Life just keeps getting better and better. It’s going to get better next year. And better the year after that.

Timmy Stackhouse (age 37)

I tried living in the city. I like it simpler. All I need to stay happy in the new millennium is food and a place to cook it and people to feed it to.

Steven Stackhouse (age 18)

I don’t really remember too much of the night right now. It’s cool though. Man.

Frank Lapinski (age 66)

They say that for every action there is an opposite and equal reaction. But what it is, is that there are always two opposing forces, two teams that want the ball. That’s what keeps us sharp and in shape for the future, knowing that there’s another team that wants our ball. We’ve got to train and be aggressive, because somebody out there wants our little village, our little lives, our little homes. We’ve always got to be ready to play the big game.

Robert Biehl (age 58)

I thought the fireworks at midnight were a fitting tribute to this new age. I was proud to be a contributor in this way. I had a concept to light up a path right down Main Street, but the council felt there would be too many people in the way. Maybe we can do that one for the Fourth of July.

Robert Stoneburner (age 60)

I’m just sick about what happened out here in Stringtown this week. What kind of neighbors are we that we didn’t see what was going on right next door. We’ve prided ourselves out there in being independent, no matter what the world or the folks in town might think. But Gosh! We just have to pay more attention. We can’t let our concern stop at the railroad tracks, or at the property line. I just hope we can do better in this century.

Darrell Long (age 28)

When you cross-pollinate a flower, you don’t always know in advance what is going to result. Oh, you can make predictions on the color or shape, but you never really know until a generation has passed. I guess we’ve been pollinating a lot of flowers this century. The next generation will be able to tell us what blooms.

Delbert Jones (age 57)

I see great hominy in this town. It is a well-bounced synphony.

Lynn Powers (age 50)

I think little towns like Willow Mills are going to become very popular in the future. We should make a good plan regarding how we will zone and control the growth that is bound to come. We should expand the city limits to cover the entire township, then assess where development could be successfully sustained and where it will just create a bunch of scattered eye-sores. Then we should act to protect profitable farmlands while still making the profit from land development sustainable.

Alli Cameron (age 16)

I hardly saw any of the last millennium. I’ll live most of my life in the new one. I kept thinking as I saw the celebrations starting in the East, and it was New Year’s Day in Paris, then in London, and so on, I kept thinking what’s it like in the future. Somebody call me up from over there and tell me what the year 2000 is like. Then it was here and it was cool. And I wanted to call somebody in LA and just say, “Don’t worry. 2000 is cool.”

Al Bailey, Jr. (age 53)

I see bright sunny beaches in my future, and they aren’t on Ted Johnson’s sinkhole. I think I’ll start looking at cruise lines and tropical islands. It’s time to take long vacations and have short work weeks. Get your haircut now, it may be a month before I get back.

Betty Daniels (age 53)

I see more in the new millennium than blue rinse. I’m going to spend more time with the people I love.

Robyn Ayers (age 53)

I’m looking for a buyer or a partner. Life is too short to spend all of it watching other parts of the world on a big screen TV. The new millennium has new places for me to go.

Donna Askins (age 53)

I’ll just keep doing what I need to do to be happy. I’ve got to work on my health a bit, then I can join the others on their Caribbean Island.

Donna Jones (age 49)

It’s all part of the cycle. Birth—Death. Summer—Winter. Male—Female. We don’t try to break the cycle, we try to make it flourish. A new millennium is one way to look at a larger cycle that we break down into centuries, decades, years, seasons, days. Whether we wait for the next cycle or pursue it, ultimately we are a part of the great wheel and it turns ever on and on.

Leslie Springer (age 18)

I just... I’m like hopeful, you know? I don’t know how to say it. I’ve never been hopeful before. I’m just so thankful for Donna and what she is doing for me. I’ve felt so alone for so long. I just... thank you.

Arnold Lambert (age 71)

Waalll, this hotel has been here over a century now and seems to be fit to go on another century. I doubt I’ll see the turn of the next century, though, unless someone installs one of those cryogenic tanks in town. I’d try that if I were given the opportunity. Just quick-freeze me and wake me when they’ve got a cure for what ails me. I’d like to see if this old place is still standing when we turn to 2100. I think it could last, even without freezing.

Alice Lambert (age 75)

I’m too young to have seen the last century turn and too old to see the next one. It happened to be my particular fate to see the turn of this century and this millennium. As choices go, I’d say I should enter the lottery now while my luck is good.

Uncle Chuck Allred (age 84)

I just love to watch the kids these days. They have so much ingenuity. Look at all the games and contraptions they have. But when they come into the hobby shop, they are all just as wide-eyed looking at the trains as I was when I was their age. That should tell you something about our future in this millennium. If we did a good job (and I think we got above 50% anyway) then they will do a good job, too. You only have to make one more good decision than bad decision to be successful in life.

Audrey Allred (age 79)

I don’t know how much of this millennium I’ll see, but as long as I’m seeing it with Chuck, I’ll be happy.

Barbara Brown (age 52)

There is only one way to find out what will happen in this century: Saddle up and ride into it.

Dottie Devlin (age 63)

I just think how happy Johnny Appleseed would be to see this day. And I know exactly what he’d say: “The Lord’s been good to me.”

Howard Bailey (Age 50)

It’s all about communicating. You see the pictures broadcast on the big screens on Friday and you have to think, “Hey! We can communicate with everyone in the world!” We need to reach out and talk to people. We need to communicate. Then we’ll turn the whole world into a village no bigger than Willow Mills. It will be a global village. That’s not my word, someone else invented it. We just have to be there to make it happen.

John Neidig (age 27)

Having a baby gives you a different perspective on all this New Year/New Millennium celebration. We’re celebrating new life with a baby that’s less than a month old. How can we have anything but hope for the new millennium. Hope is what we build our futures on.

Kay Neidig (age 25)

Jonah emerged from a blackout into a world of light. Maybe this New Year’s Eve was like us being born into a new world.

Albert Bailey (age 84)

Well, today is a lot like yesterday, isn’t it. It’s a little colder today. But that don’t mean the world is going into another ice age. In the greater scheme of things, we generally do what we have to do and enjoy it as much as we can. I expect that if the old bull got loose today, we’d still chase it down the river and all over town. Because we’re neighbors, friends, family. We’d still come to the aid of each other just like we did before.

So What Did Happen to Albert Bailey’s Prize Bull?

Well, like all stories, this one is about more than a bull that ran loose for a morning back in 1958. It’s more about how a town that had lost its soul found it again. It happens that in this story, the instrument of salvation was a thousand pound yearling bull.

After World War II we discovered that the world was a smaller and more frightening place than we had thought. A single bomb had destroyed an entire city. We had fought in Europe, Asia and the South Pacific-all at the same time. Boyfriends, brothers, sons, and buddies left one day and some never returned. Then it was over. And we replaced it with refrigerators and washing machines and TV sets.

And bomb shelters. Let’s not forget that.

Khrushchev swore he would bury us and our children would live under communism. We went to work with McCarthy to be sure none of those commies infiltrated our neighborhoods. It was a time of suspicion and fear.

I’m not saying there was a witch-hunt in Willow Mills. The closest we got to actually having someone called a communist here in town was when Coach Lapinski called Bobby Biehl a draft-dodger. That, by the way, was the real root of their animosity toward each other. And there were a lot of questions raised about the town’s preference for erecting a milk can in the middle of town instead of a war memorial.

Everywhere you looked someone was suspicious of everyone else. We were especially suspicious of all the newcomers camping out in Stringtown.

Even Albert Bailey had problems with his neighbor Bill Rasmussen Sr, felt that tinkering with the genetics of caws to breed more Charolais was something of a crime against nature. If what he heard had happened in Germany during the war was true, then maybe this breeding program was even Nazi.

Of course Albert thought Bills’ attitude was a little leftwing for this Midwestern town. They hadn’t spoken to each other in nearly two years.

Then there were the Hart Cousins. Their dads, Nathan and Samuel, had built businesses across Main Street for each other. Oh, the businesses didn’t complete with each other. They just each felt that using the family name for a meat locker on one side of the street and a funeral home on the other side did neither business any good. But neither were willing to write it off. Drew and Hayden Fergusson were at each others throats over whether they should keep the dairy operation or switch to beef production.

And the town began to die.

There was so much in this little village that could go wrong that something almost had to go wrong eventually. Half the kids who came home far the war left for the city. Local business were closing up shop as supermarkets and department stores opened in the city. Who could compete, and why try? The answer to the problem of small farms was big corporate farms, and we began to see family farms go into foreclosure or be auctioned off to the highest bidder.

So when Al Jr. turned the clippers on Mayfield the bull that early morning in August of 1958, it was like lighting a fuse--and Willow Mills was a powder keg.

When Mayfield took off running, with Benny and Barbara gallops behind and Albert running down the drive as fast as he could go, Liz Bailey saw her husband from the kitchen window and assessed the situation immediately. She picked up the phone and dialed the sheriffs’ office to ask for help. Say what you like about the speed of modern communication, nothing is faster than a three-party phone line. Within 15 minutes the better part of Willow Mills knew something was happening. They could hear the siren wailing up from the direction of North Manchester. The fire volunteers were already heading for the firehouse. People were coming out their doors with everything four brooms to shotguns. Few knew exactly what was happening but Willow Mills was mobilizes for action.

Bill Rasmussen Sr. was pulling his haymower behind a John Deere to get the east section cut. He saw Albert’s bull head east on South River Road and moved to intercept it. He lit out the throttle air the old John Deere and popped the clutch. He might not agree with Albert’s breeding program, but you didn’t let a man’s valuable livestock run loose where it or others could be hurt or killed. He got the tractor and haymower cross-wise of South River Road just east of the little roadside rest area that the kids used for camp-outs. The bull came charging down the road, saw the tractor and veered to the left down toward the river.

Benny and Barbary came galloping by next. Albert came puffing up and paused just long enough to say, “Thank you Bill. I should have him trapped between here and the water now.

At that time, the sheriff’s car came squealing up, almost broad-siding the tractor from the other side. He veered into the campsite and was almost on top of the campers before he got the big Studebaker stopped. He saw the bull, Albert, and the donkey in the water headed down-stream. He radioed into the fire department to get a ladder truck as close as they could to the dam, it looked like a rescue was going to be needed.

At that time, Al Jr. got there with the front-end loader and almost collided with a black Pontiac sliding in from town. Al was standing behind the wheel looking over the scoop when he saw the campers in front of him and veered down the river bank. What he saw next, though scared him stiff. His dad was splashing out after the bull, which was already at mid-stream and headed down-river with Benny right behind. But there was no sign of Barbara on the little donkey. Then he saw her surface out in the current. He knew 11-year-old Barbara didn’t know how to swim, so with the tractor still rolling toward the dam, he dove off into the river and swam toward her, yelling encouragement.

This was duly recorded by the newspaper photographer who had been hot-footing it out from town and had caught a picture of the sheriff, the tentless campers, and Al Jr. diving into the water. Keeping his head about him when he saw the girl struggling in the water and the run-away tractor, he yelled for the sheriff to get a rope as he ran after the tractor and brought it to a stop just at the edge of the dam.

The sheriff grabbed a rope from his car and ran out to the tractor. He tied one end quickly to the shear pin and began a careful walk out along the top of the dam with water running over his shoes to where Al Jr. and Barbara had come to a struggling halt pinned against the stonework. He managed get a loop around the two kids and dragged them back with him to the water’s edge where they lay gasping like two fish on the shore.

Wayne Thompson was delivering papers at the north end of the route when he saw the excitement out at the Bailey’s and started pedaling like mad to find out what was going on. By the time he reached the campsite, however, the excitement had moved further downstream and he decided to head back to the bridge by way of the road instead of the river bank. On his way out he told Bill Rasmussen, who was maneuvering his tractor and hay mower out of the road what had happened down by the dam. Bill quickly plotted what he thought might be the most likely place to leave the river and came up with the sandy beach at the oxbow. (This was before there was a Baptist Church out there.) He wound the gears up on the John Deere and headed west on South River Road determined to block the bull’s path into the farmlands west of the beach.

When the fire-truck reached the iron bridge, they were already too late as the action had moved west to the dam. There was no possible way to get turned around anyplace nearer than the abandoned farmhouse half a mile further north. But from the vantage of the bridge they could see a new chapter unfolding. As the bull got to the millrace on the far side of the river, he got purchase on the bank and lurched up out of the water and charged toward the Methodist Church. The volunteer in the driver’s seat of the fire-truck was none other than Lee Jenkins, the Methodist minister. He slammed the truck into gear and with siren wailing raced the bull to the church to block the entry which stood open as he had left it when he answered the fire call. The bull veered again and headed west into the woods.

Albert didn’t fare as well at the millrace because he encountered Benny the donkey there. After a brief confusion of feet and hooves, first Albert then Benny went over the millrace and slid into the fast current at the foot of the dam. It was fast, but also shallow by comparison with the deeper slow water of the mill-pond. Albert scrambled to his feet, and thinking that the donkey was still hot to chase the bull, pulled himself onto Benny’s back and gave him a good kick. Benny, however, had had enough of this and refused absolutely to move another inch. He planted his feet among the rocks and, no matter how Albert kicked, refused to budge.

Albert could just see over the embankment below the dam from his vantage point on Benny’s back and saw his bull head into the woods west of the church. He scrambled off Benny and sloshed his way along the shore struggling to find a place where he could get up out of the river. Just then, about fifty yards further down the river, the bull came out of the mouth of Willow Creek where it dumps into the Eel and continued heading down stream in the water. Albert slid back down the embankment he was struggling up and started sloshing after the Bull. But seeing his charge in front of him again stirred Benny into action and he bolted after Mayfield, knocking Albert flat in the current again.

Now the campers whose morning drowse had been so interrupted by the bull-rushing had finally dragged themselves out of their sleeping bag and followed the chase down stream in their pajamas and bare feet. They saw Albert go down under Benny’s charge, took one look at each other and ran into the river to help the stunned man. As soon as they had his face out of the water, Albert spluttered, looked around and escaped from their rescuing grip to continue the chase. The two startled people took off chasing Albert, afraid that he would fall and hurt himself.

Now Al Jr. had recovered enough that he could see that his father was headed for the sandy beach. The only way for him to get there was to back the tractor up to the campsite and head back by way of the road. He fired up the engine and with Barbara, the sheriff and the photographer hanging onto the fenders and hitch, he headed back upstream. They could tell before they got to the campsite that the sheriff’s car had sunk into the mud and would be going no place until they got it pulled free. But the sheriff waved Al Jr. past the vehicle yelling “Let’s pick it up later.” Unwilling to be separated from the action, the photographer eschewed his vehicle as well and the four hung on for dear life as Al Jr. opened the throttle all the way on the front-loader and headed back along River Road.

He got to the break where the sandy beach jutted out into the oxbow and could see Bill Rasmussen waving him down from his vantage on the other side of the break. It was an ideal trap. Between the two tractors, the bull would have no place to go as there was a six foot hedge-row on the other side of the road.

They had only a minute to wait as the muddy white bull rose from the river and charged across the sand toward River Road, Benny braying behind him, Albert running behind Benny, and the two campers trying to catch up with Albert. The bull turned west and found the same tractor that had been his nemesis when he started this run. He turned and headed east, but could see that he was cut off there as well. The donkey and man were coming up hard behind him. So Mayfield did the only thing that he could do. He charged straight ahead through the hedgerow with a tremendous bellow that shook apples off the trees on the other side. He zig-zagged side to side through the orchard clipping the porch of the house at the end of the orchard with his stubby horn and shocking the suddenly awakened Dottie Devlin from her Cider induced haze.

Right behind the bull came Benny, Albert, the two campers, and not to be left behind, the Sheriff, reporter, Al Jr., Barbara, and Bill Rasmussen.

The Devlin orchard backed up to River Road with the main entrance on Maple Avenue in Willow Mills proper. By this time Preacher Jenkins had gotten the fire-truck out of the church lot and was headed back into town on Grissom Mill Road which turns into Maple Avenue when it turns at the school. He was trying to raise the sheriff on the radio for further instructions on where he was needed when he looked up and saw the muddy white bull charging straight at him. He swerved to the right at Main Street and jackknifed the rig blocking both Main Street northbound and Maple eastbound. So the poor bull had no choice but to head right down the biggest broadest avenue in Willow Mills, right between Hart’s Funeral Chapel and Hart’s Pure Beef Meat Locker.

It happened that the Hart cousins had encountered each other that morning and were faced off in the middle of that street with each suggesting that the other find a different town for their business. But when faced with a charging bull, Chas Hart, the butcher, grabbed hold of Nate, the mortician, and threw him like a side of beef up on the roof of his car to safety. But there wasn’t time for Chas to take care of himself and he was hit fairly and directly by Mayfield in the middle of Main Street. Chas landed in a heap as Mayfield continued past. Nate was off the car in a flash and tending to his cousin protecting him with his own body from the rushing horde of Benny, Albert, Robin and Jackie, Al Jr., Sheriff Rogers, Noble Vining the photographer, Barbara, Bill, Preacher Jenkins, and Dottie Devlin.

Frank Lapinski had just been in the Post Office to check the early mail and was walking in front of the fountain toward Josephine’s looking at a Sports Illustrated magazine. When he looked up and saw a bull charging at him, he started to run, but slipped on the wet pavement in front of the fountain and fell. It looked certain that the charging bull would trample him, but at the last minute Bobby Biehl came barreling off the curb screaming like a banshee and waving his arms at the bull. The bull careened off to the right, slipping on the pavement. Bobby pulled Frank to his feet and they moved to the side.

In front of Mayfield was the fountain. Behind him were a horde of people who had chased him over two miles. And then from around the fountain on either side came Drew and Angus Fergusson, each leading two enormous Belgian draft horses, any one of which would make two of a yearling bull like Mayfield. A sudden peace came over Mayfield. He stomped a bit. Snorted. Then went forward and dipped his head in the fountain for a long drink.

In the process of his rampage, Mayfield had brought together some of the town’s fiercest opponents. He’d inspired three daring rescues. He’d been a vision to a woman in need, and an embodiment of the devil himself to a preacher needed inspiration. He’d healed wounds even as he created some. And in just an hour and a half he’d given this little town a new life and a symbol to carry it forward.

Willow Leaves, December 27

2004-11-19T23:30:00.000-08:00

Holiday Surprises

There were many surprises in Willow Mills this week as folks opened their gifts and answered their doors. At Solstice ceremonies on Tuesday, Donna Jones announced that Leslie Springer would be living at the Herb Farm for a while as police sort out the circumstances surrounding her months foraging in the forest and her mother’s apparent suicide.

Christmas Eve found Janice and Whisper Townsend on their families’ doorsteps. They flew home from Paris to celebrate the turning of the new millennium in Willow Mills. The festivities committee has already enlisted their help for the events planned on Friday and Saturday this week. Janice and Whisper have also announced their plans to return this summer to begin restoration of Albert Bailey’s old round barn with the intent of opening a theatre in it by 2001.

Ogden Filmore turned 101 years old on Christmas Day. As he munched the turkey and dressing dinner at Peabody Home where he now lives, he quipped that if he survives another seven days he will have lived in three different centuries and two millennia. When asked if he expects to make it, he answered, “What are the plans for 2008? I’d like to have a pig-roast for my, 110th!”

In the annual outing of the Polar Bear Golf Team on Christmas afternoon, Chuck Allred popped a hole-in-one on the seventh snow-covered fairway. Chuck was using a fluorescent orange MaxFlite and his number three wood to accomplish the feat. “I knew it hit the green,” said Chuck, “but when we got up there we could not find a trace of the ball or where it landed. We must have looked around for ten minutes before someone thought to look in the cup.”

Annie White and Don Bechtold announced their engagement to family and friends on Christmas Day. Both are teachers in Wabash. The couple plans a June wedding at the Holy Waters Baptist Church.

Case of the Mystery Camper Takes Bizarre Twist

Circumstances surrounding Leslie Springer’s half year of living in the out-of-doors around Willow Mills began to unfold in a revelation of abuse and suicide as the tormented teen gave her story to police. The story told of a mother who deprived her daughter of basic necessities, punished her for minor infractions, and made her live in a kennel. While undergoing this treatment, she was psychologically tormented by her mother telling her if the girl ever disappointed her she would kill herself.

Last spring Leslie began laying her plans to escape, secreting supplies in a dozen locations on farms throughout the community. After Baccalaureate Services on Sunday May 30, Leslie told friends she was off to see the world. She never returned home, but went to live in the woods.

When police approached the Springer home, a mobile secluded in the woods in Stringtown, they found the body of Matilda Springer. Police say that evidence points to a suicide. The time (or date) of death has not been fixed.

“The place was a squalid mess,” said detective Rob Brockman. “It’s hard to believe anyone ever lived there.”

The investigation continues, but Brockman added that there was no evidence pointing to foul play or to implicate Leslie Springer in any way.

There’s a New Look to Fountain Square

If you’ve driven down Main Street today, you’ll notice that there is a huge white box covering the fountain. Crews were on-site Sunday afternoon readying the square for Friday and Saturday’s New Millennium Festivities. Bill Rasmussen, Chairman for the New Year’s Eve Event, indicates that the white cube is actually a projection screen so that broadcasts from each of the time zones as they enter the new millennium can be shown to the public. Video projectors have been mounted in housings on the roofs of the four buildings surrounding the fountain.

“Granted, the daytime viewing will be somewhat limited,” remarked Rasmussen, “but the audio should still be working. And the pictures before dawn and after dark should capture most of the people who are participating. Our own theatrical stars, Janice and Whisper Townsend, will be narrating the broadcasts around the clock from a special booth we’ve built on the roof of Oppenheimer’s Drug Store.”

When it comes time for Indiana to enter the new millennium, the occasion will be marked with fireworks, music, and, of course, the mandatory kisses that will be given and received in the festive spirit of the occasion. The celebration begins at 7:00 a.m. on Friday with the broadcast from Kiribati, located in the Pacific Ocean right on the International Date Line. It will conclude on Saturday morning with the broadcast from French Polynesia, Kiribati’s South Pacific neighbor. A full listing of the locations and times is posted on the doors of the bank, post office, drug store, and hotel.

Willow Leaves December 20

2004-11-19T21:22:00.000-08:00

Mystery Camper Nabbed

In a pre-Christmas surprise raid on the Fergusson place just outside of town, County Sherriff’s Deputies apprehended the mystery camper whose campsites have been found on no less than 9 area farms. It was a great surprise to all to find that far from being a hobo or criminal, it was Willow Mills own Leslie Springer of Stringtown.

It turns out that she left home over a month before graduation and has been living in the woods near and around Willow Mills for over six months. She has been into town periodically over the past few months to gather supplies, which no one paid particular notice to since it was widely assumed that she was still living at home. In reality, she has been living off the land, occasionally supplementing her stores with hikes into Willow Mills or even North Manchester. She has picked up odd jobs in North Manchester, working part-time at the bindery.

With the onset of cold weather, smoke from Springer’s campfire became visible. Sherriff’s deputies were called on Wednesday this week and staged the raid late at night. Springer put up no resistance.

Reporters have been unable to reach Springer or her mother for comment. No charges were filed by any of the farmers once they found out who was using their property. They’ve always given the kids in the community permission to camp in their woodlots.

More when we have details.

Yule Celebration

For over 20 years, Donna Jones has led those who would join at the Herb Farm in a celebration of the Winter Solstice, the shortest day and longest night of the year. The ceremony has evolved over the years, but the basic elements remain the same. Guests who have responded to the invitation gather for the first champagne toasts of the evening, bringing with them their own contributions to the feast. Donna and the crew at the Herb Farm usually roast a turkey or two on the big outside charcoal grill. The feast is different each year, however, depending on what people bring.

When everyone has full plates and a drink, Donna begins the ceremonies. She starts by lighting Goddess candles representing the three aspects of the Goddess: Maiden, Matron, and Crone. Then she tells the story of Persephone in the underworld. Each year she has told the story a bit differently. But the basic points are still the same. The earth dies, the Goddess goes into the underworld to negotiate its rebirth with the God. He falls in love with Her and through Her is reborn as the God of Youth.

Then Donna takes a log from last year’s celebration, covered with candlewax and ribbons and she passes it among all the attendees. They speak to or silently hold the log and place upon it all the bad things of the past year that they want put behind them and forgotten. When all have had a chance to hold the log, Donna puts it in the big fireplace at the end of the Longhouse and everyone cheers as it goes up in smoke. They make very sure that the log has burned to ashes before the evening is through.

People finish the main courses of the meal, refill their champagne glasses, and turn to the Yule Tree that is set up at the opposite end of the hall. Each person is given a turn to put a decoration on the tree that they feel is representative of the things that they want remembered from the past year. This part of the ritual is often quite long as people seem to have a lot to say about their past year and what it meant to them. When this part of the Solstice ritual is completed, people gather around the tree and unpack the boxes of ornaments from years past. There are too many to fit all of them on the tree after over 20 years of collecting the ornaments. But it is not uncommon for people to pull out an ornament and say, “Oh, remember when...” After all, that is what people gave the ornaments for: to remember what they represented.

After a refill of the champagne glasses and some singing of holiday songs, the lights are cut to low and the focus switches to this year’s Yule Logs. Traditionally there would be just one log with thirteen different colored candles on it. Donna often decorates them with ribbons or other tidbits as well. With so many people coming to take part in the ritual, however, Donna tries to make sure that there are enough decorated and candled logs so that there is a candle for each person attending. It’s gotten to be a tradition in Mrs. Trickle’s third grade class for the students to make beeswax candles out of materials that Brian and Sally Green provide from That Hippie Candle Shop. Those are always the most colorful and interesting of the candles on the logs.

This is a relaxed and slow portion of the evening and often goes on well past midnight as each person attending the ritual is invited to light a candle on one of the logs and then give voice to their hopes and aspirations for the next year. There is something about saying what you are hoping for, whether it is peace on earth or healing for your mother or safety for your children that brings people closer together and makes them just want to sit together and watch the candles burn until it’s just wax puddled on the logs. Those logs are carefully stored by Donna until next solstice when they become the first logs passed around and burned on the solstice evening.

Sometimes folks just want to stay and talk, have another glass of champagne, and enjoy the warmth of the evening. They all help clean up the dishes and pack their own things away, sometimes singing carols or telling stories and jokes. Donna has even woken up in the morning to find folks crashed on cushions in the corners of the longhouse. She scrambles up eggs and ham and then sends them on their way with wishes for a prosperous new year.

It’s funny. There’s only two or three folks who come to this celebration who would dare call themselves pagans. Mostly they are people who go to the Methodist or Baptist or Unitarian Churches, lapsed Catholics, even a Buddhist. But they all seem to feel this is a high-point of their season. Even Adelaide Kitchener came to a few of these ceremonies in her later years. It’s not the kind of thing that’s for everyone, but it’s everything for some.

Willow Leaves December 13

2004-11-19T18:49:00.000-08:00

Christmas Parties Abound

Several groups are having their annual holiday get-togethers this week to celebrate the season and friendships. Those which are open to the public or social groups are listed here with a little bit about each group and event.

YAHS Christmas Dinner

The YAHS (Young at Hearts) will be meeting for a carry-in dinner Tuesday, December 14, 5:30 p.m. at the United Methodist Church in the basement. People with last names beginning with letters A-J bring salads or appetizers, letters K-Q bring casseroles or main dishes, letters R-Z bring desserts. The program will be presented by Rev. Hartford from over in Huntington who will tell the stories of the carols and play the autoharp as people sing along.

Baptist Youth Gift Exchange

The Baptist Youth will have a gift exchange and social time at their weekly meeting on Wednesday at 6:30 p.m. There will be singing and games in the Praise Hall at Holy Waters Baptist Church. Refreshments will be served. If you did not get a name on the exchange and would like to come and participate, bring a wrapped gift appropriate for a 12-18 year-old youth. There will be enough to make sure there is an exchange for you.

Holiday Lights Walking Tour

The Grange is once again sponsoring a walking tour of Willow Mills holiday decorations. Always a popular event, this year it will be held on Friday evening December 17. The tour starts at Fountain Square. A Map with suggested route will be available starting at nightfall. Starred locations have refreshments. We ask once again this year that tours be completed by 9:00 p.m. as folks start going to bed and would rather not be chorused after that hour.

Carolling at the Fountain

All singers and singer-wannabes are invited to join the many carollers that will perform in front of the Bank on Saturday December 18 from 11:00 a.m. till 8:00 p.m. local trios and quartets as well as larger ensembles have each taken a half hour block during the day. This is the last Saturday before Christmas, so many merchants will have special displays and it is rumored that Santa himself will stop by at 3:00 p.m. to talk to the kiddies. Bring your camera, or buy a picture from Santa's photo-elf.

Kwanzaa Celebration

The Unitarian Church will celebrate Kwanzaa at services on Sunday December 19. Special crafts are planned for the children with story-telling and a dramatization. Several members of the congregation have taken it upon themselves to learn about Kwanzaa and to present this celebration.

Christmas Pagents

Pagents at both Holy Waters Baptist and Willow Mills United Methodist Churches will occur at each church respectively on Sunday at 7:00 p.m. The Baptist Pagent is titled "How Far the Stars." The Methodists, assisted by the Pawns of Injustice, are presenting the rock opera "Rock that Baby, Mary." Both promise to be entertaining events.

Winter Solstice

The annual winter solstice celebration at the Herb Farm will be held on Tuesday evening December 21. First glass of champagne will be raised at 5:30 p.m. This celebration is strictly by reservation. Call the Herb Lady at 5712 no later than Sunday the 19th. Remember to bring your carry-in dish to share and your ornament for the tree. This celebration often goes until past midnight and the year there were 57 people at the celebration, they didn't break up until after 2:00 a.m. For details on the ritual, talk to the Herb Lady.

Christmas Eve Services

All three churches will hold Christmas Eve services on December 24 at 7:00 p.m. The Baptist Church Service will be a full worship service to celebrate the coming of our Lord. The Methodists will have a "Festival of Carols" at 7:00 p.m. and this year will hold a midnight communion service starting at 11:00 p.m. The Unitarians will hold a "Secular Christmas" service that will include a visit from Santa Claus as he makes his pass through Willow Mills. A favorite of this party is the White Elephant gift exchange. Creative wrappings are encouraged. Bruce and Edna will once again deliver the story of Mr. and Mrs. Right.

Willow Leaves December 6

2004-11-19T17:10:00.000-08:00

Power Restored After Brief Outage

Electrical power was restored to residents of Willow Mills early Saturday morning after a transformer failed Friday evening plunging the entire town into darkness.

The failure came after a power surge brightened then dimmed holiday decorations throughout the town at about 8:30 Friday night. Rural Electric spokesman Howard Biggs was unable to pinpoint the cause of the power outage, but postulated that the energy draw of holiday lights is much higher in the village this year than in previous years.

“With Millenium decorations as popular as other holiday lights, we are seeing a 30% overall increase in power consumption over previous years,” said Biggs. “It is an extraordinarily bright town this year.”

A lack of power did not dim the holiday spirit, however, as bands of carolers emerged on the streets with flashlights and lanterns offering to escort shoppers to their cars, and stopping at nearly every home to offer candles to shut-ins.

Fire trucks were pulled out of the fire house and stood idling in the street for the duration of the outage, but only one emergency call was received when Lola Neidig went into labor and had to call her husband at the firehouse to take her to the hospital. The Neidigs are proud of their 7 pound 8 ounce son, Jonah, who was born at one minute past midnight on Saturday morning.

“Somehow it seems appropriate that he was born during a blackout,” says proud father John Neidig. “But that’s another story.”

Power was restored at 12:27 Saturday morning.

Willow Leaves November 29

2004-11-19T17:06:00.000-08:00

Holiday Decorations Abound

Willow Mills is all dressed up for the winter holidays. With a light dusting of snow over the weekend, and all the festive lights, this sleepy little town could grace a Courier and Ives print.

On North Main St., the new Santa lights on our lamposts tie in well with the decorations in merchant windows from the Post Office to the Funeral Home. South on Main, Hanukah Menorahs light the posts from the Drugstore to the Fire Station. Hanukah begins on Friday evening this week and goes until the 10th. East on Market, the WiseMen and Shepherds mark the way to a manger scene south of the school, while west on Market holly and candles celebrate the coming winter solstice on December 22 (2:44 a.m. EST).

Of course at the center hub in Fountain Square, a 40' cone of some 10,000 lights illuminates the city center until midnight each night. Hundreds of flashing white lights lok for all the world like twinkling stars in a bright green sky. This year’s Fountain Square display is sponsored by The Grange and they really outdid themselves.

Be sure to follow the streets just one and two blocks off Main and Market to see how the homes of Willow Mills have decorated. Icicles and snowy roofs are a predominant theme this year, but an increasing number of “block clubs” are creating block-long displays that connect from house to house with a single theme.

Notable among the block clubs and worth a drive to visit is the Willow Woods community. Residents have once again recreated scenes from the Nutcracker. We remind people that during this season all streets in Willow Woods are one-way. Just keep to the right after you enter and you will see all the displays in order. We expect as many as 5,000 cars, some from as far away as Ft. Wayne, to make the trek to see the lights this year.

Just Another Season

There was once a time in Willow Mills when everyone celebrated Christmas… or nothing. Then the sixties came along. You remember: The Great Society, draft card and bra burnings, and the historic banning of prayer in public schools.

No one thought much about the fact that the Fountain Square was always decorated with a creche, a Christmas tree and Santas. It fell on Adelaide Kitchner to bring up at a town budgeting meeting that it wasn’t right for the town to be spending money on symbols of the Christian Religion just because Christmas was a popular holiday. She posited that the town should decorate only with merchandising symbols of the season, Santas and gifts, and not with wise men and mangers.

It created quite a stir. But Adelaide was a crafty negotiator. She let the uproar grow only to righteous protest and offered an olive branch before it reached religious outrage.

“Now I have nothing against Christmas or the Christian celebration,” said Adelaide. “I like a party as much as anyone. And I even enjoy the children carolling and have put many a dollar in the Salvaton Army bucket. But there are only two churches active in this town with a combined membership of about 300. And there are 700 people who live here. I think it is only right that we find out what the other half think and be fair to everyone, not just those who go to church.”

The furor died down and Adelaide proposed a door-to-door survey of the community to determine what symbols people associated with the winter holidays. If the majority of those surveyed listed symbols clearly Christian in nature, she would retract her objections. But if the majority were non-Christian, or ambivalent about the symbols, she would have to assume that using them as town decorations was a blatant attempt at evangelism and had no right being supported with tax money.

The meeting voted by a narrow margin to test Adelaide’s theory and lay this matter to rest once and for all. After some discussion about methodology, Adelaide presented a prepared survey form and a list of volunteers. The survey began the next morning, with surprising results.

Of the 310 households surveyed, a solid majority chose non-Christian symbols as their first pick of holiday symbols, but of these, there was no clear majority. They ranged from Santa Claus and snowflakes to holly, mistletoe, and Minoras. Wreaths, trees, lights, reindeer, stars, moon, candles, garlands, sleds, jingle bells, red, green, white, horses, skis, trains, and elves were all represented on the list. The list of Christian symbols was also varied: manger, wise men, shepherds, star, angels, steeples, choirs.

At the next town meeting, a newly emboldened majority, spoke their feelings of isolation and alienation. And, since no individual group held a majority, they started working on a compromise that is unique to Willow Mills. They would honor all the symbols of all the holidays celebrated in wintertime with the decorations in the town. It would be a time for everyone to celebrate and be included.

The decorating of Fountain Square is passed around from group to group in the town, each group being responsible for the purchase, creation, decoration, and maintenance of the square for that season. People have gotten so into the idea of expressing different celebrations of winter that entire blocks in the town get together to create a theme in lights, decorations, and displays. Last year we even had Kwanzaa and Ramadan decorations displayed in town, and Stringtown in its own off-center way has its own display of Chinese New Year symbols, though to our knowledge no one in Stringtown has any Chinese heritage in their backgrounds. Some years ago, Willow Woods established a theme of The Nutcracker and each house decorates with a different scene from the story.

And if it looks odd to have a different kind of decoration on every block in town, it is nonetheless a kind of tourist mecca between Thanksgiving and January 5th (12th Night) each year. And that’s the way people like it.

Willow Leaves November 22

2004-11-19T17:04:00.000-08:00

Lighting the Town Set for Friday

The annual lighting of the town for the Christmas Holiday Season is slated to commence at 6:30 p.m. on Friday, November 26. Lights and decorations are nearly all hung, says Town Manager Roy Johnson. This year new lighted Santas will festoon the lamposts in the city on Main Street north of Market St.

At fountain square, the grand tree of lights will rise 40 feet from the fountain rim and will include over 10,000 lights.

The festivities this year will include a performance by the Wabash Valley Madrigal Singers. The octet has been singing and performing together for over 20 years and are typically booked during the Christmas Season a year or more in advance. Willow Mills joins the rare group of venues that have succeeded booking the performers more than once. They last appeared at the fountain lighting in 1986.

“When you start the season with a wonderful event like the fountain lighting in Willow Mills, you just know the rest of the season will be grand,” said spokesman Will Carpenter. “We always love this ceremony.”

The schedule for this year’s fountain lighting is as follows:

5:00 p.m. Main Street will be closed. This will include through traffic on Market Street. The bandstand and chairs will be set up. Willow Mills merchants will begin serving hot cider and treats all evening.
6:30 p.m. Program starts with a welcome from Festival Chair Peter Nusbaum. Introduction of dignitaries.
6:45 p.m. Wabash Valley Madrigal Singers.
7:00 p.m. Lighting the Lights.
7:10 p.m. Continued Music by the Wabash Valley Madrigal Singers.
7:45 p.m. Program Ends.
9:00 p.m. Willow Mills merchants will close.
10:00 p.m. Main Street will reopen.

As a reminder, people are invited to wear Renaissance Clothing to the festivities. Librarian Rosalie Walters has pulled several books with samples of costumes in them and has posted a list of internet sites as resources.

Watch for a special new page at www.willowmills.com next week that describes Christmas Season in Willow Mills. Festive decorations at the site will mark the season.

WillTel Wireless

If you are driving through the Indiana countryside talking on your cell phone, you should be paying attention to where you are going and all the beauty that is around you instead. But, there is something else you should know. Remember when you looked at the map of coverage across the country for your cellular service and saw those intermittent gray areas that said “Roaming Charges Apply?” Well, one of those gray areas is Willow Township, Indiana. When you enter the township, your cell calls are picked up by our own cellular service, WillTel Wireless.

Aside from this being a minor inconvenience to you when you are traveling through our area, it was a stroke of brilliance by our local entrepreneur, Howard Bailey (Albert’s second son). Howard kept the cattle business his father started going after his brother, Al Jr., moved into town and became a barber. Howard inherited the inventive genes of his father who raised one of Indiana’s finest herds of Charolais cattle from a 12-head herd and 50 Herefords. And one prize bull.

Howard was always coming up with ways to improve things around the farm. He invented a small sensing device for the bottom of his disc that would indicate when he was cutting too deeply into the soil. He expanded the electric lines that ran to the round barn and other out-buildings so he could do indoor projects in the winter. He installed an automated lift for stacking hay-bales in the haymow, and a grain dryer so he could harvest whether the grain was wet or not and still get a good rate at the elevator.

When he first encountered the idea of cellular phones, he was all over it. He calculated what it would take to install cell towers all over Willow Township and estimated that it would be ten years before any major cell system covered their little backwoods corner of the world. But he wasn’t about to be left out and be unable to use a cell phone until they got around to putting towers up. Besides which, he’d seen the cell towers and could just imagine the hullabaloo that would be raised around Willow Mills if any outsider came in and tried to decorate their landscape with the monstrosities.

That’s when Howard came up with his great new idea. He started with the grain elevator in town and worked his way out to the farms all around. He took out exclusive leases for putting transmitters on top of all the silos in the township. Then he set about creating a telephone company. He mortgaged the farm, raised capital, hired a crew, and began installing transmitters. He set up a small office on Main Street next to his brother’s barber shop and started selling shoebox sized phones to the people of Willow Mills.

There was a lot of skepticism at first. Willow Mills had only gotten off party line systems a few years earlier and weren’t sure why they needed “walky-talky phones” as well. But surprisingly enough, it was Albert who’s sales ability turned the tide with the local farmers. All he had to do was relate how much easier it would have been when his prize bull got loose to have had cell phones to round up his neighbors and put up a barricade in front of where the bull was headed. Just think of the damage that would have been prevented and the safety of the community. Farmers started buying the new devices and the phone service that Howard sold. They installed the phones in their tractors and combines, in their cars, and in their homes. Once the townfolk realized how simple system was, Howard was in business. He originally named the company Willow Mills Wireless Telephone and Cellular Tower Company after the local penchant for business names that spell out all the details, but coming up toward the turning of the new century, Howard felt that WillTel Wireless was much more appealing.

So now when you drive through Willow Township, you get a little message on your cell phone that says Roaming: WellTel, and a little surprise on your phone bill as you pay Willow Mills roaming charges.

Willow Leaves November 15

2004-11-19T17:00:00.000-08:00

Veterans Day Observed

The Local VFW observance of Veterans Day was held at Elsie Hewitt Elementary School on Thursday at 1:00 p.m. The school assembled to hear an inspiring talk by Sergeant William “Lumpy” Phelps (age 91). Sgt. Phelps served in Europe in World War II and under Capt. Hayden Fergusson in Korea.

The program included displaying the colors of all units in modern wars that were served by men and women from Willow Mills and Willow Township. As each unit was called, the surviving members rose and a role-call of the dead was read. Of the 22 natives of Willow Mills who served in World War II, only three are still living, however two of the veterans who moved to Willow Mills after the war are also still living and were represented at the ceremony.

The Elsie Hewitt Fifth Grade Chorale sang “America The Beautiful” and the school band played a rousing rendition of Souza’s “Stars and Stripes Forever.”

Survivors on the veteran’s role include:

Private Diggory Denning, WWI, age 102
Corporal Layman Peters, WWII, age 92
Sergeant William “Lumpy” Phelps, WWII and Korea, age 91
Corporal Sylver Savanus Money, WWII, age 90
USMC Lance Corporal Joshua Denning, Korea, age 72
USN Seaman Jonathan Heavener, Korea, age 70
Staff Sergeant Michael Monroe, Korea, age 69
USMC Lance Corporal Lyle Smith, Korea, age 68
USN Petty Officer Third Class John Davies, Viet Nam, age 53
USN Seaman Carl Miller, Viet Nam, age 51
Private Sam MacDonald, Viet Nam, age 50
USAF Airman First Class Bill Williams, Viet Nam, age 50
USAF Captain Brian Cherry, Viet Nam, age 49
Major Patrick Abrams, Gulf War, age 37
USAF Captain Sam Erwin, Gulf War, age 35
Airman First Class Joe Thomas, Gulf War, age 34
Corporal Emily Jackson, Gulf War, age 34
Corporal Janice Woodridge, Gulf War, age 34
Sergeant Timothy Jones, Gulf War, age 32
Private Tom Oppenheimer, Gulf War, age 30
Reserve Corporal James Stackhouse, Gulf War, age 30

Our list of veterans may not be complete, and does not include those currently serving in the various branches of the service. If you know of people who were missed in this listing, please let us know and we will amend the list.

Decorations were laid at several gravesites after the ceremony at the school.

We join our children in their salute to the Veterans who have served bravely to protect our freedom. Thank you.

A Veteran’s Story

In 1967, Carl Miller was an energetic, fit, and enthusiastic football star at the newly consolidated North Manchester High School. He was an athlete in every way and played basketball as well as running hurdles on the track team. And he had every reason to be enthusiastic that year. It was the year that he would graduate from high school.

Carl looked forward to the coming year with great enthusiasm. Before graduating he enlisted in the US Navy to follow in the footsteps of his best friend, John Davies who had enlisted the year before. They hoped to be assigned together to a ship and see the world. John had already risen Seaman rank and was looking forward to a full six years and maybe a career in the Navy.

Carl couldn't wait to get started and waived the free two months off for the summer before enlistment for an optional month’s leave at a later date. The day after graduation, he kissed each of his several girlfriends goodbye and caught the bus to San Diego to report for training.

Carl did well in basic training and proved himself an apt seaman. He put in for assignment on the USS Bonhomme Richard and joined his friend on the carrier early in the fall of 1967 in Southeast Asia.

Near Christmas time, there was an accident on the deck of the carrier and a shell exploded. Carl was hit with a piece of shrapnel just above his left eye. It was touch and go for a while, but he recovered motor skills and basic cognitive functions. He was sent home early in the spring of 1968 with a metal plate in his head that looked like a big dent in his skull.

The whole town turned out at the town square to welcome Carl home. He stood and stared at people he used to know, unable to put names to the faces. All he could say was “Wow.” and “Gee.” High School friends didn’t know what to do around him. He didn’t seem to remember them or their associations with his former life. His parents didn’t know what to do with him. He wasn’t crippled, but he was no longer the bright, energetic, ambitious boy that had left them just 10 months earlier.

Carl began, by accident, to hang out with the hippies. A couple were cleaning up the old cemetery after the snow melted, picking up fallen branches and raking the ground. Carl just started helping them. They brought him in for food with them and he liked the folk songs they sang at night. No one was sure exactly when it happened, or who initiated things, but before long Carl was living in the Old Lutheran Church along with the rest of the commune. He was a good caretaker of the building, sweeping, painting, and cleaning. And he was especially good with the grounds. The cemetery was always freshly mowed. Flowers bloomed on graves that had been neglected for years. He even went so far as to clean and polish some of the older monuments, paint the gates and wrought iron fence each year, and plant new trees when an old one had to be removed.

John Davies finished his stint in the Navy when the Bonhomme Richard was decommissioned in 1972. He came back to Willow Mills, deciding against a career in the Navy. He started selling insurance and has a small office downtown. He goes over and has lunch with Carl, his old high school buddy regularly, or has him over to eat with his family.

As it turns out, a lot of people have Carl over for lunch or dinner, and he eats breakfast at the Hotel almost every morning. Carl still lives in the old church in the choir loft, the last of the hippies remaining in the building. He still cleans the church, shovels the walks, and maintains the cemetery. To our knowledge, he has never earned a penny since his return from Viet Nam. Nor has he ever gone without a meal or medicine. His disability check from the government is deposited automatically to his account at the Eel River National Bank, and the bank takes care of any bills he has, makes sure he has spending money in his pocket, and has paid for a couple vacations that Carl has taken to Disney Land and to see the Cubs play baseball.

Carl is simple. He likes simple things. He likes simple people. If you keep it simple, Carl is a great friend to have. And even though no one knew quite what to do when he came home, they did it. Carl is the town’s living monument to the war no one wanted. And the town cares for him as one of its treasures.

Willow Leaves November 8

2004-11-19T16:59:00.000-08:00

Batten Down for Winter

With a nip of frost in the air, Hoosiers are battening down the hatches for a hard winter. This is just as true in Willow Mills as anywhere else.

The Memorial Fountain has been drained and dried. This year for the first time, a water-tight canopy has been installed over the pool portion of the fountain in hopes of minimizing damage that could be done by thawing and freezig of rain water in the tank. During a particularly harsh winter some years ago, the tank sustained some damage when a hard freeze came before the October 31 draining of the fountain. Heaters were brought in to melt the ice, but were too late to avert damage.

This year the draining went without a problem though it was cold work for the crew. The new canopy is designed to keep water out during forecast heavy rains before a Thanksgiving freeze.

Having a hard time with drought this year, many farmers are still having difficulty getting late harvests in from low-lying bean fields where mud from last month’s rains continues to bog down the combines. But overnight frosts have left the ground solid enough at dawn to support heavy machinery. So the scramble to get crops into storage is taxing many locals.

Roofers are reported to be in short supply with average waits for reputable contractors estimated at eight weeks if the weather holds. This has led to a virtual invasion of fly-by-night tar-haulers offering to skim-coat flat roofs before winter. Businesses are warned to thoroughly investigate contractors before hiring them and to insist on completion of the job before payment is made.

Sweet Sixteen

It was the end of an era. In November of 1967 the good citizens of Willow Township approved a resolution to unite with theNorth Manchester School District along with its neighbor Laketon. That meant that the elementary school would continue operations but the Junior and Senior High School students would bus into the bigger schools in North Manchester. The Class of ’68 would be the last to graduate from Willow Mills High School. The class emblem showed the white bull breating red tinged smoke with the numbers 68 emblazoned in Gold against a Burgundy field.

It also happened to be the year that the Anglin broghers, Arnold and Ronald, moved to town. The twins had gotten in some trouble in Chicago where they lived. Not to serious, but their father decided to pick them up and move to the country. He took a job at Ford Meter in Wabash and moved into a nice home in Willow Woods. In the fall, the boys started their senior year in a new school with no friends and a “city attitude” about small towns.

But the boys were awkward—some would say downright clumsy—having experienced a late growth spurt over the summer. They crammed themselves into their desks the first day of school at a gangling 6'6" tall. Now in Indiana, and Willow Mills, especially, a 6'6" tall boy could only mean one thing—basketball. And two 6'6" boys could mean a winning season or even a sectional championship.

The mere fact that the boys had never played basketball was no obstacle. Coach Phelps let them know the first day of school that if they showed up, they’d make the team.

Now Coach Phelps was no great gift to basketball. He was even a pretty mediocre math teacher and was looking forward to retiring when the schools unified. His idea of coaching was pretty much to follow the drills in the book he bought about the subject, and to referee scrimmages, which was most of what basketball practice was all about at WMHS. Let's face it: Willow Mills didn’t exactly attract Big Ten quality coaches. But win or lose, the stands were always full at home games.

With the Anglin boys on his team, he had four seniors, five juniors, three sophomores, and a freshman. Almost every boy in the school played basketball. But Frank Lapinski chose the Junior Varsity team at random each week from the intramural squads who played on Wednesdays after school. That way, pretty much everybody got a chance to play.

Well, Coach Phelps watched the first few scrimmages of the season and saw right away that being 6'6" tall was no guarantee that there was any talent for basketball. What’s worse, the other members of the team seemed to expect even more from the big guys than he did. They expected the two to work as a team, to get the rebounds, and to be able to dunk the ball. Well, things weren’t exactly working out the way folks expected when the first game came and went with a pounding loss. It almost looked like the pick of the week intramural team could have beaten the varsity squad they fielded that night.

It was a sad week in Willow Mills as they approached their second game, and they were soundly tromped by Warsaw to no one’s great surprise. Then Coach Phelps wandered into Josephine’s on Saturday morning for a cup of coffee and a piece of Devlin Pie. He joined a group of men who were sitting in the corner for their usual. Most of these guys were farmers, with a few businessmen from town thrown in. The greetings started out pretty much the same as they had the week before when Ogden Filmore spoke up.

“You know, Coach,” he said slowly, “you can’t expect to win a basketball game if you only play with half your team.” The words fell on the table with that kind of almost profound thud that indicates that no one got the point. “Well,” continued Ogden, “think of it. You got a thirteen member team and the only ones that shoot are the Anglin boys. As soon as they get the ball down the court, somebody passes to Arnie or Ronnie and expects them to score. Now granted, they are getting better, and their height gives them a certain advantage, but they can’t be expected to win games by themselves. They just barely know the rules. Spread the work around a little.”

The comment got a good long discussion going about teams that the guys had known over the years. What made one team good and another poor? How did coaches manage their assets? What was the best thing Willow Mills had going for it? Coach Phelps left Josephine’s with his head buzzing. But the idea had been planted.

Coach started rotating players more. Sometimes he didn’t have either brother on the floor. The team had to start thinking like a team with many players. And they started to improve. They even started to win. When Sectionals came around in March, they approached it with a winning season and it was with great satisfaction that they beat North Manchester in the last game of the Sectionals to move on to Regionals. The North Manchester coach was heard to remark that he was glad Coach Phelps was retiring or he'd be out of a job next year.

In Regional play, the little team from Willow Mills astounded everybody by taking the first game from Plymouth. Then they came to the very team that had so humiliated them at the beginning of the season: Warsaw. Coach Phelps sat down with the boys during as the third and fourth place finishers were being decided on the court that Saturday night. I won’t go into all the details of his pep talk: how they were the finest team Willow Mills had ever seen; they were a real team; they were like family to him. But the main thing that he said was that they’d gotten further than anybody expected them to get and they were playing a team that out-classed them by a huge margin. There were rumors that one of the players already had a scholarship offer from IU in Bloomington. So they were going to approach this game as if it were the last game of a great season, which it probably would be. And the principle that they would follow was “Everybody Plays.” He’d rotate the whole crew into the game so everyone had a chance to play in the Regional Finals. It would be just like one of the rotating scrimmages in practice. Everybody’s family was out there in the stands, all the students from the school, and they all had favorites among the team players. Coach Phelps was going to make sure that everyone got a chance to see their favorites play. How they played was up to the boys.

Well, maybe it was Phelps’ pep talk, or maybe the planets were aligned right. But at the end of that night, eight of the thirteen varsity players were in double digits and Arnie Anglin slam-dunked the winning basket with just three seconds left on the clock. Willow Mills High School was in the Sweet Sixteen.

When they went up against Elkhart in the first game of the State Semi-Finals the next weekend, it was obvious that they were outgunned and outclassed. But they played a scrapping game of basketball and everyone went home proud of the home team. There were no tears in Willow Mills that night and on Sunday there was an impromptu ceremony at the school in which the Seniors cut the nets down out of the gym and held up their Sectional and Regional trophies and fourth place State Semi-Final trophy. Out of respect for the Baptists in town, the school didn’t usually hold dances on Sundays, but this one was spontaneous. Young and old kicked off their shoes and had a sock hop on the gym floor. Mrs. Sullivan brought the record player from the band room and Everett Thompson showed up with his collection of 45s. They spun every song from Benny Goodman to The Beattles. It was the night that the whole town turned Sweet Sixteen.

And the Anglin boys got their act together as well. Wearing their letter jackets with the white bull on the sleeve to the recruiter’s office, they joined the army together and after a tour in Viet Nam, applied for officer’s school. They made the army a career and travelled around the world. Last we heard from them, they were both retired after 25 years service, had families, and were living in Wyoming, just a couple miles from each other.

Willow Leaves November 1

2004-11-19T16:53:00.000-08:00

Time Change Trick or Treat

If you “fell back” Sunday morning and set your clock back, you were probably late for church, and the trick is on you. Willow Mills, like most of Indiana, does not go on fast time in the spring, so we don't have to slow down in the fall.

To all those in Ohio who have been racing ahead all summer, we welcome you back to real time.

However, having everyone change sides of the time zone always creates some confusion, so a recap is advisable. Ohio and points east are now back on Eastern Standard Time, so they are the same time as us. Illinois, and points west to the mountains are now on Central Standard time so they are an hour behind us instead of on the same time. If you have relatives in the Rockies, they are now two hours behind and the West Coast is three hours behind. that is all except Emma Jones’ cousin in Tukwilla, Washington where they are exactly ten years and three hours behind.

There is one other exception: We are still two hours ahead of Arizona, just as we were last week, Arizona being the only other state in the Union that sensibly doesn't try to speed up the clock in summer. However, having spent a summer in Phoenix, if there were a way to actually speed up that time, they would be well-advised to use it!

Summit Chapel and Cemetery

It was 1942. The nation was embroiled in the Second World War and Hayden Fergusson was sending home missives on his climb to Captaincy in the US Army. Sixteen other youth from Willow Mills had been or soon would be called up to serve. All but one would return unscathed.

But a different kind of war was brewing in Indiana. One that would be fought for nearly three decades and end in an uneasy truce between Gary, Indiana and the rest of the State: Time Wars.

The United States Government passed the War Time Act in February 1942. The entire nation would go on Daylight Saving Time at 2:00 a.m. on February 9. The purpose was to move more daylight hours late in the day so that people took greater advantage of natural light in the evening and cut their use of oil and electricity. They would go to bed sooner after sundown.

There had been many skirmishes in the State over time zones ever since the railroad started dividing the State up in 1883. In the years from 1884 through the first World War, the time zone boundary kept being moved from one side of the state to the other as people fought over whether they should be on the same time as the financial and stock markets in New York, or the industrial and agricultural markets in Chicago. Counties began passing laws themselves as to which zone they would follow, and cities in the counties sometimes moved to have a different time than the rest of the county.

But Daylight Saving Time was the shot heard ’round the State. Some businesses dutifully turned forward their clocks while others defiantly stayed on “real time.” Brother turned against brother and mother against daughter as Time Wars raged.

In Willow Mills, the battleground was Summit Chapel.

And so it was that before retiring in the evening of February 8, 1942, Milo Stoneburner dutifully set his clock ahead one hour, painfully begrudging the lost hour of sleep, but determined to do his part for the war effort in which his son was enlisted.

In the morning he rose at 5:00, and set about the task of convincing the cows that it was indeed milking time. He finished the milking, fed the pigs, collected the eggs, and went in to shower and dress for church. He and his wife, Agnes, walked up to Summit Chapel a mile and a half away in the still-dark morning to save on gas rations and arrived right on time at 10:00. Milo was surprised to find no one in the church. He and Agnes sat alone in the chapel. Eventually she played a hymn on the piano and Milo sang along. She played two or three more and he sang, but his heart wasn’t in it.

A few minutes before 11:00 people started to come in. They were surprised to find Agnes and Milo singing at the piano, and some joined in. But their surprise was complete when Milo laid a hand on Agnes' shoulder at exactly 11:00 and she stopped playing.

Now, many people would have shrugged it off, or even laughed about not knowing what time the church was meeting. But Milo was a man of strong convictions. He strode to the center of the chancel and motioned the Minister to just sit down and listen for a minute.

Then he began to speak.

He reminded his fellows that the legislature had passed a law decreeing war time. That the law was to turn their clocks ahead one hour on February 9th. He reminded them that it was no harder on any other farmer than it was on Milo, and that he had been up at 4:00 real time to do his milking and chores. He even managed to weave the quote of Jesus to “Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s” into his case for obeying Daylight Saving Time. Then he concluded by stating that if the church could not obey the laws of the land that his son was fighting to preserve, then it had no need of his attendance, his membership and his money, and that he would never darken the doors of this chapel again.

He finished by telling everyone to go home. God had been there at 10:00 and they missed him.

That, unfortunately was the beginning of the end at Summit Chapel. The congregation had a close vote after Milo left to stay on Real Time no matter what the law said—a bold act of civil disobedience. The next Sunday there were only about half the number of usual attendees as a sheepish half of the congregation joined Milo at the Methodist Church or the Lutheran Church in town.

Those who were left couldn’t pay their minister’s salary after about a month or two and he joined up in the army as a chaplain. With no preacher, there was not much reason to attend the church, and attendance died down even further. The next winter, the pipes froze in the church because there was no heat turned on. They turned the water off up there.

It looked like it would be a derelict of a happier time until Art Fergusson who was one of the last members took matters into his own hands and arranged to have the chapel donated to the town in 1951. He included an additional three acres adjoining the church yard as a town cemetery. Now Summit Chapel is a Funeral Chapel only, and when Milo died about 10 years ago, he was the last person buried in the old part of the cemetery. It was the first time the chapel had seen his shadow in 40 years.

By the way, to this day 77 counties in Indiana stay on Eastern Standard Time year round. A county near Cincinnati, Ohio, and one across from Louisville, Kentucky go on Eastern Daylight Saving Time when Ohio and Kentucky do. The counties around Gary and Evansville are on Central Standard Time in the winter and Central Daylight Saving Time in the Summer. Instead of a state where time stands still, it’s one in which time moves all over the place.

Willow Leaves October 25

2004-11-19T16:52:00.000-08:00

Halloween Set to Spook

Plans have been laid all over Willow Mills for a variety of spooky events on Halloween. This year promises to be a real trick or treat. Local merchants announced that all Main Street shops will be open until 7:00 p.m. for trick or treaters. This is a great way for parents to take out the little ones for a fun and save foray.

The Haunted Grange will open at 6:30 and will entertain young and old alike until 10:00. This year the Grange has added sensory experiences that will tease fingers, eyes, ears, nose and tongue. Responding to calls from parents, the Grange will not feature severed limbs or chainsaw attacks this year.

The Baptist Church Youth Fellowship will sponsor an All Saints Eve Party beginning at 5:00 until 9:00. Attendees, ages 5-12 are encouraged to come costumed as their favorite Bible character to participate in fun, food, games, and a brief devotional. “We are determined to reclaim this Devil’s Holiday for the Lord,” said Youth Leader Myron Holmes of the event.

Of course many homes will have treats and all residents of this township and their guests are invited to trick or treat any hom in the community. Outlying farms will not be expecting trick or treaters except in those instances where the grandkids come out. We remind you to respect the wishes of those who do not wish to participate. If there is no porch light on, do not ring the doorbell.

A Ghost Story

Every town has its ghost stories and with a cemetery in the middle of town, Willow Mills is no exception. And no, this time I’m not talking about the ghost of Tecumseh on the Devil’s Backbone, or the periodic resurfacing of the story of how the ghost of Albert Bailey’s prize bull still rampages down Main Street when the nights turn cold and the winds begin to howl. This ghost story has its origins in a very real tragedy that occurred out here about a hundred years ago.

At that time the town was a booming center of prairie commerce with a railroad station and a new grain elevator. The old wooden buildings along Main Street were being replaced one at a time with new brick buildings after the lesson learned from the fire at Grissom Mill. Board walkways elevated pedestrians above the muck of the main streets. And every shop was a specialty. In the height of the 1890s, one of the shops that was fashionable was Lucille’s Millinery, “Fine hats for ladies of every station.”

Lucille Engle was a lady with “a reputation,” and most of it revolved around her eye for fashion and her fine hats. A little of it revolved around her single status and involvement in business. That involvement often led her to gatherings where men were plentiful and on yearly buying trips to New York City, where, God knows, anything might happen.

In the case of Lucille Engle, dashing young Brian O’Brien happened. He courted Lucille by long distance from New York City after one of her buying trips, and when it appeared that his affections might be returned, he followed her to Willow Mills. In Willow Mills, Brian O’Brien stuck out like a beacon on a hill. He was six feet tall, red-haired, and cut a dashing figure in his frockcoat and top hat. All Willow Mills was atwitter when he hung his shingle above Lucille’s shop and opened his attorney’s practice “Specializing in Wills, Deeds, and Disposition of Assets.”

Lucille was resident in Agatha Adams’ Boarding house and Brian took a room in the new brick hotel. Brian accompanied Lucille to church on Sundays. Brian sat politely in the sitting room at Agatha Adams’. Brian dealt with the bankers and drovers, the farmers and shopkeepers. But mostly, Brian courted Lucille. By winter of 1899, the couple had announced their engagement with the nuptials scheduled for New Year’s day at the turn of the Twentieth Century. It was more romance than Willow Mills had ever seen.

It was thought to be most romantic that Brian rented a horse and sleigh to take Lucille to her mother’s house in Columbia City for Christmas. Several friends and associates gathered to see them off on Christmas Eve morning at Agatha Adams’. Lucile was dressed in an exotic fur that Brian had just given her for Christmas and Poinsettia red hat with a lace veil and matching muffler and gloves. Brian was dressed in a huge raccoon-skin coat and gloves with his ever-present top hat perched on his head. They looked like a Currier and Ives print as the rode out of town on that trip. Little did anyone know that it was a trip from which they would never return.

No one knows what happened to the couple, or how it happened that at midnight on Christmas Eve their horse arrived back at the stable covered in mud with a broken harness and the traces dragging behind. They mounted a search and found the sleigh just east of South Whitley, frozen in a backwater of the river. There was no trace of either Brian or Lucille.

Their bodies never did surface, nor is anyone sure if it was an accident or if there was foul play. But that spring of 1900 when the ice broke, Charles Hart was out at the ice house and happened to notice a bright red object caught on the dam. He got a long pole and dislodged it to find that it was Lucille’s Poinsettia-red hat and veil. Folks didn’t know quite what to do, so they held a little memorial service for Lucille and Brian and buried the hat in an unmarked grave in the Lutheran Cemetery.

Now it is said that in the darkest part of winter, in the still middle of the night, you can sometimes see a glimmer of white on white as Lucille glides around the cemetery looking for her lost hat. You might, if you are not one of those in bed waiting for Santa Claus on a Christmas Eve, happen to see her yourself.

Willow Leaves October 18

2004-11-19T16:49:00.000-08:00

In memoriam: Rev. Nigel A. Everett

Reverend Nigel A. Everett finished her term of service on earth and was called home last Monday, October 11, 1999, at the ate of 81 years, 8 months, and 18 days. She was surrounded by her family who were singing “It Is Well With My Soul” and “He Lives!” when she rendered up her spirit.

Born January 23, 1918 in Chicago, IL, to Elbert and Alice (Hart) Boyden, Rev. Everett led a life of service to others: first to her family, and then to the church. She became secretary of the Willow Creek Methodist Church in Mishawaka, IN in 1956 and began her studies for the ministry there.

In 1961 she was licensed as the first woman minister in the North Indiana Conference of the Methodist Church and began her first assignment at Etna Green and Summit chapel Methodist Churches in 1964. She served as associate minister at Elkhart Simpson United Methodist Church in 1968-69; pastor of Wolf Lake and Kimmel United Methodist Churches in 1969-71; and as pastor of Ossian and Prospect United Methodist Churches in 1971-77. It was at Ossian that Rev. Everett’s husband of 41 years, Wayne E. Everett, lost his battle with cancer and was buried at Prospect Cemetery.

From 1977-81 she served the Butler Zion United Methodist Church and then moved to Monon United Methodist Church where she served until her retirement in 1986. Retirement, however, was only the beginning of service as chaplain of the United Methodist Memorial Home in Warren, IN, from which she retired in 1997.

After this retirement, she served both as interim pastor of Warren and Plum Tree United Churches of Christ, and later as interim pastor for Poneto United Methodist Church.

After successfully surviving kidney cancer with the removal of a kidney in 1997, it was cancer that finally caught her again in the spring of 1999. Rev. Everett moved into the United Methodist Memorial Home in September to continue chemo-therapy, but her health deteriorated rapidly in the last few weeks and she succumbed to the disease at last.

Rev. Everett was preceded in death by her parents and her stepfather, Rev. Arnold N. Lambert; by her husband Wayne; by her brother, Clair Boyden; by one grandson and one great-granddaughter.

She is survived by her brother, Nathan Lambert; by her daughters, Mrs. DeOrsay (Lael) Russell, Rev. Mrs. R. Kenneth (Judy) Stevenson, Mrs. James (Sharon) Springer, Kim Hart, and Kimberlee Everett; by her son, Nathan (wife Michele) Everett; by 15 grandchildren, 29 great grandchildren, and 4 great-great grandchildren; and by her special friend Jay Dee Walters, who was like a son to her in his love and caring for her.

Services were held on Thursday, October 14th at the Applegate Chapel of the United Methodist Memorial Home in Warren, followed by internment at Prospect Cemetery in Wells County. Rev. Clyde Trumbauer (ret.) of Elkhart and Rev. Cynthia Reynolds, Huntington District Superintendent of the United Methodist Church officiated. Over 30 members of the Walk to Emmaus fellowship sang “On Eagle’s Wings,” and some 50 ordained elders in the church sang the Bishop’s Hymn as a farewell.

Rev. Everett left her library of 30 years of sermons to the church. Until further notice, volunteers from the congregation will stand in the pulpit on Sunday mornings and read one of the sermons. Annual Conference is still seven months away and they are not letting Rev. Everett out of her commitment simply because she is no longer among the living.

From Scratch

Rev. Ev. was a great storyteller. Her children and grandchildren loved to hear her tell stories. The children who gathered on the steps of the chancel on Sunday mornings loved to hear her tell stories. And adults sat caught up in the verbal pictures she painted as she told story after story. She would lace her stories with so much verifiable personal detail that no matter how implausible the story might be, you couldn’t help but think it might just have happened to her that way. This is a story I heard directly from her. You can decide for yourself if it is true, or just a forerunner to what we now call “urban legend.”

Wayne and Nigel were married in the late 1930s. Nigel was only seventeen and didn’t have much experience of the world. And although she was a smart student one thing she hadn’t learned was how to cook. She was much relieved that Wayne, for all his back of book learning, was a fine cook with an opportunity to go to Chicago to work at a restaurant his brother knew about. At least for the time-being, it appeared that Nigel was going to avoid cooking.

She was curious though. When Wayne came home laughing about a customer who came in and ordered a rare steak, then complained that it wasn’t cooked and she wanted it rare, not raw, Nigel didn’t get the joke. Couldn’t he make it rare and still cook it through? But the thing she puzzled most about was hearing what Wayne made from scratch. He made cakes, cookies, and pies all from scratch. He made a soufflé and even chop suey from scratch. It wouldn’t have surprised Nigel if Wayne had made that rare steak from scratch. Nigel desperately wanted to learn how to use that magical ingredient. But she didn’t want to let Wayne know that she didn’t know how to cook.

So she went down to her local grocery store on State Street and asked the grocer for a bag of scratch. The Hungarian grocer puzzled for a minute and then nodded. He didn’t have any at the grocery store but his brother carried it at his store at the other end of The Loop. He gave Nigel a note written in Hungarian because his brother didn’t speak English too well. He told her where the store was and off she went.

The brother took a look at the note and pointed out a 10-pound and a 25-pound bag. Nigel wisely chose the smaller so she could carry it the 22 blocks home to their apartment.

Now was the tricky part. When Wayne got home Nigel asked him simply if he would bake her a cake from scratch. She wanted to see a master at work. Wayne was flattered and went straight to work. He got out flour, eggs, sugar, and milk. He mixed them, poured the batter in a pan and put it in the oven. Not once had he reached for a bay of scratch. A sudden dawning broke over Nigel. As they sat to eat a slice of the cake right out of the oven, Wayne asked, “Well, what do your think?” Nigel thought, then seriously responded, “I think maybe we should raise some chickens.”

Well you may doubt the story I and I don’t blame you. I doubt it myself, but I know for a fact that right up to the end, Nigel struggled with anything that involved cooking and it just wouldn’t surprise me to find out the whole story was told just the way it happened.

Willow Leaves October 11

2004-11-19T16:47:00.000-08:00

Homecoming Weekend Celebrated All Week

This week is Homecoming Week in Willow Mills, an event that was once focused around the football schedule at Willow Mills High School. When the high school was consolidated with North Manchester back in the 60s, the community decided to keep the homecoming celebration. It has gradually expanded from a weekend to a full week.

Events this week include sales at all local merchants, plus a variety of civic and social activities. Homecoming is a time to greet old friends and family who come to visit, and also to clean up around home and village. Several projects are slated this week.

The Bucket Brigade headed by Fire Chief John Townsend, will be painting Agnes Hubbard’s house this week, beginning today. If you have some time to volunteer, call the Fire Station. Each year the Brigade chooses a home in need of paint as a homecoming project.

The Women’s Auxilliary joined by the WSCS and the Baptist Women’s Fellowship will sponsor a joint bake sale and bazaar at the Grange on Wednesday and Thursday. Proceeds from this year’s event will go to provide new chalkboards and much needed school supplies for the Elsie hewitt Elementary School. The combined women’s groups also underwrite subsidies for the school’s hot lunch program.

The Fountain Maintenance Group, headed by Angus Fergusson will scrub down the stainless steel monument on Thursday and coat it with a thin polymer for protection during the winter months. The fountain will be turned off on Thursday, but is slated to continue operations on Friday and will run through Halloween before being drained for the winter.

Of course, Friday night will be the traditional big bonfire at the school sports field, followed by a sockhop in the gymnasium. Saturday the Grange will sponsor a Jonah Club Fish Fry, all the fish and chips you can eat for $4.95. Proceeds go to the Historic Preservation of Willow Mills.

The Burning of Grissom Field

Robert Biehl and Frank Lapinski never got along very well. In fact, to see them together would remind you of nothing so much as two wolves circling each other ready to fight. Which was really too bad for Robert, because even though there was only 8 years difference between their ages, Frank was Robert’s history teacher. And football coach. And track coach. And ref for the intramural basketball games. And class sponsor. In other words, there was simply not much way they could avoid each other.

Frank was a first year teacher when Robert entered high school and at first it seemed things would be fine. Robert didn’t play football, but he “managed” the team. That meant that he ran errands, washed towels, packed equipment, striped the field, and generally “did for” the team. And he was pretty good at it, most of the time.

The problems started to arise in Robert’s sophomore year. Coach Lapinski could barely field an entire team for the football season and seemed always to be ragging on Robert to suit up and “join the men.” Robert, on the other hand, was more interested in pursuing his artistic career and would spend a lot of time sketching designs for new mascots or ink “tattoos” for the players. It was near the end of the season when the team made the forty mile bus ride on Saturday morning to North Liberty and the season had been nothing short of miserable. But it got worse for Robert when he stepped off the bus and realize that he’d forgotten the bag of practice balls in the locker room. There was nothing for the team to warm up with.

Lapinski blew up. He told Robert what a miserable failure he was and how he’d never amount to anything. Then he sent him across the field to beg and borrow a few footballs from the opposing coach so his team could warm up. It wasn’t the end of the humiliation. When they arrived back at school that evening (after a 40-0 loss) Lapinski sent Robert to the track and had him start running laps. Robert balked and Lapinski told him that if he wanted to continue as team manager on his team, or run track, or play intramurals, he’d start running. Well that was too much for Robert and he said some pretty nasty things and turned and walked off.

It was the beginning of a rivalry that has extended over forty years now.

Lapinski never let a chance pass to make things a little more difficult in class for Robert than they had to be. His papers were graded strictly. His projects looked at critically. Lapinski even criticized Robert’s designs for the prom invitations the spring of his junior year, and that may have been what drove Robert over the edge. Lapinski began to find things going wrong that could have been Robert’s doing, but couldn’t be proved. A flat tire in the parking lot. A missing playbook that surfaced at another school (not one that Willow Mills actually played). A broken leg on his desk chair.

The more accidents that happened, the more convinced Lapinski was that Robert was behind them. That was until the morning that Albert Bailey’s Prize Bull went on his rampage.

Much to Lapinski’s chagrin, when he slipped and fell as the bull came racing down Main Street that morning, it wasn’t a football player who saved him. It was Robert who jumped out in front of the bull and caused him to shy around the fallen teacher as he headed for the new fountain in the square.

Robert made bold to say that it was just a coincidence that he’d prevented Lapinski from being trampled, and if he’d known that Lapinski was in the path he’d have let the bull go. But Lapinski knew that he’d been at risk of serious injury, and that didn’t set well with him. He grudgingly eased up on Robert in class, but kept a close eye on him, hoping to prove that the kid was bad and the cause of all his problems, especially a 40-point shut-out.

But Robert was too busy his senior year to pay much attention to Lapinski, at least not so that it showed. He had a full class schedule and seemed especially intrigued by Chemistry and Accounting in addition to his art. His graphic art had improved to the point that when the school had officially adopted the white bull as its mascot and became the Willow Mills Bulls, they adopted Robert’s new drawing as its logo. Even Coach Lapinski was in favor when the board adopted Robert’s proposal to chalk the mascot and logo in the middle of the football field facing the stands for the Commencement ceremony.

You would think that a graduating class of only 26 students wouldn’t need a football stadium for its commencement, but in Willow Mills graduation was one of the things that brought the whole town together. With Indiana’s fair and warm June nights, it was a natural thing to hold it outside with a platform and podium set up on the track in front of the stands and the beautiful green football field in the background. Commencement was slated for Saturday night and Baccalaureate for Sunday morning.

Robert spent the day on Saturday, not out partying with his classmates, but working on his artistic masterpiece on the football field. What he had learned in chemistry was how to dye the lime used to stripe the field so that he could emblazon a full color maroon and gold emblem with a subtly shaded white bull in the center. And when the townspeople arrived they were suitably awed. But only Robert knew when the real gasps would come.

One of the things he learned in Chemistry was how to color the lime. The other what what portion of certain elements to mix into the lime that would make it highly flammable.

When the principal announced “Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you the Willow Mills Graduating Class of 1959,” and all the class members stood to toss their mortar boards in the air, Robert bent over and struck a match to the thin trail he had laid to his seat. As the mortar boards came down, the football field went up. The carefully laid lime trails arced into a glorious flaming logo in the background behind the podium. The audience was amazed and applauded.

Unfortunately, Robert had not accounted for the fact that after the last mowing there was an awful lot of dry grass on the field. Coupled with an unusually dry spring, it didn’t take long after the glory of the flaming logo began to die down, that the rest of the football field began to smolder. And when the smoke finally died down, there was nothing left but a perfect oval of burnt grass.

That was when Lapinski lost it and strode up to Robert yelling that he’d have him thrown in jail for arson. Robert returned as good as he got and swore that as long as Lapinski was alive there would be no reason for Robert to ever return to Willow Mills school.

Well, after it had all died down, there were no charges pressed as it was deemed that the display was done with the best of intentions and the damage to the football field was accidental. But the animosity between Robert and Lapinski never died completely. Years later when Robert had given up his graphic arts career in Indianapolis and had moved back to Willow Mills to become a banker at Eel River National Bank, Frank Lapinski had to suffer through an interview with him in order to get a home loan for his new house out in Willow Woods. The bank manager didn’t step in until Robert started asking Frank his shoe size and the number of times he stopped at Josephine’s for pie and coffee.

Some animosity is bound to remain until one or the other are buried in their graves, and then, they’ll both miss each other.

Willow Leaves October 4

2004-11-19T16:44:00.000-08:00

Fall Colors at Peak This Week

Fall colors are at their peak around Willow Mills this week. We’ve had good weather for changing fall color with pleasant sunny days and crisp, cool nights. Here is what you will see if you visit town.

Near the old iron bridge and Willow Mills United Methodist Church, the willow from which this town takes its name have turned an almost transparent pale yellow. The leaves are just beginning to coat the ground around the long sagging branches, making a carpeted bower beneath the trees. The water above the falls, where it is most still, is coated with a layer of the leaves, making it dappled with solid sunlight.

Further downstream near the Devil’s Backbone, you can see the sumac in the swamp flaring in a brillian scarlet against the golden yellows of poplars across the river. South of town, you won’t want to miss the hickory and walnuts as they are turning yellow around Anderson Lake, and closer to the road you find some stunning red maples that line Anderson’s driveway showing that mix of bright scarlet and orange that can be seen for a couple miles as you come from the south. Closer in to town, Angus Fergusson’s place has that massive red oak in the front yard that has turned a cinnamon brown that looks good enough to eat.

While you are in town, you will find a number of ornamentals showing their colors if you take the time to drive up and down our streets. Of particular note are the dogwoods in the old Lutheran cemetery that have gone almost maroon this year. There’s a stand of tamaracks at the end of market street, just past the cemetery at the edge of town that are just mixing their greens with the coming yellow.

In front of Dorothy Ogden’s place you’ll see the witch hazel in her yard that has every shade imaginable, moving from green to bright yellow on the north side on to orange and a few purples on the south side. At the corner of the library there is a massive sycamore that proudly wears the scars of nearly a century of climbing kids. It’s mottled green and yellow leaves are a reflection of the peeling bark and are still concealing the brown oval seed pods that will stay on the tree most of the winter.

If you are headed out east of town on Dry Well Road, keep an eye out for the orange and red sassafrass trees that Johnny planted near the green on the 8th hole. He’s put a yellow flag on that hole for contrast.

If you are into the fall colors, Willow Mills is the place to be at this time of year. Hurry on by.

Jess & Jim’s Pyramid Oil Company

What’s so interesting about Jess & Jim’s (aside from the fact you will spend five cents more a gallon for fuel than in North Manchester, but you can get any kind of car overhauled for half the price)? Well, it’s the pinball machine.

Jess started hiring high school kids in the 50s and they kept nagging him until he installed a Ben Hur Chariot Race pinball machine in the 60s. Later, he switched to the Mata Hari pinball machine which has been in the gas station for about 20 years now.

What’s unusual about a pinball machine in a gas station?

Well, the thing is, you don’t have to pay to play… unless you lose. You see, the kids got so good on the machine that they keep racking up free games. You can stop in and play a free game, and if you win a game, it stays in the machine. If you don’t, you deposit a quarter and it jumps the credit back up one. Last time I stopped in to look, the credit meter showed 17 credits. The last time it zeroed out was when Jim’s wife left him and he kicked the machine causing a tilt. He dutifully deposited three dollars in quarters to restore it after things settled down.

Willow Leaves September 27

2004-11-19T16:40:00.000-08:00

Happy Birthday Willow Mills

Willow Mills celebrates its sesquicentenial today — 150 years since the birth of the city in 1849. There was a big party over the weekend but the town plans to celebrate quietly today having family dinners and enjoying the start of its next half century.

On Saturday there was quite a big celebration planned, but as most events go in Willow Mills, the plan was nothing like the actual event. Town manager Roy Johnson addressed the gathering at the Elementary School gymnasium where an exhibition of town memorabilia had been prepared by Mr. Graves’s sixth grade class with help from the Grange and the Women’s Auxiliary.

A fifty year time-capsule was opened at the gathering. The capsule had been kept in a bank vault at the Eel River National Bank, where a 100-year capsule also resides. According to artifacts in the capsule, the big news was the town’s decision to put in a full sewer and water system extending from the railroad tracks to South river Road and from the Elementary School to the Old Lutheran Cemetery.

The movie at the old Willow Mills Cinema was The Third Man starring Joseph Cotten, Orson Welles, and Trevor Howard. It was followed by Katharine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy in Adam’s Rib. Harry Truman was President, and people were driving the new Buick Roadmaster in town. We listened to Alan Ladd sing “Mona Lisa,” and William Faulkner won the Nobel Prize for literature.

Materials for a new 50-year time-capsule were collected and sealed in a safe deposit box. The capsules were marched from the school to the bank vault accompanied by a bagpipe solo performed by Angus Fergusson.

Revellers moved to the Grange for a fantastic Ox Roast complete with all the trimmings. People were still eating at 8:00 when the concert on the square began. The concert went well into the night. The program was coordinated by Delbert Jones and our own Harmony Grits Gospel Choir added spirituals from the Civil War era to the program.

Also participating, the Millhouse Barbershop Quartet did music from the 1890s, The Wabash Chamber Chorale performed music of World War I, The North Manchester Marching Band did rousing marches of World War II, and the Triton High School Swing Band did both big band dance music from the 40s and 50s, and rock and roll from the 60s and 70s. Willow Mills' own Pawns of Injustice wrapped up the evening with music of the 80s and 90s, brining us into the "Grunge" era. Most of the older folks headed home before the Pawns started playing, but no matter where in Willow Mills they live, they were able to hear the music.

Josephine’s Cafe

There is a MacDonalds just 4 miles from Willow Mills in North Manchester. Across the street is Hardees. They serve hamburgers. So does Josephine’s Cafe. They serve chicken sandwiches and chicken nuggets. So does Josephine’s Cafe. They serve French Fries. So does Josephine’s.

So why is it that the high school kids flock to Josephine’s after school, the farmers come in to lunch at Josephine’s, and the locals all gather for coffee at Josephine’s? There are two equally good answers: pork tenderloin and Devlin Pies.

Either one would make the little cafe a hit, but put together they are pretty much unbeatable. Until MacDonalds starts serving pork tenderloins, there will always be a Josephine’s

Josephine’s serves pork tenderloin sandwiches breaded and deep fried the traditional way. But they also serve them grilled, barbecued, cajun, and terriaki. And in Indiana, there is always a preference for a good pork tenderloin sandwich.

As to Devlin Pies, they are the kind that are so thick in the center they look like a basketball was baked inside. Fresh daily, delicious, fruity and served at something less than thermonuclear temperature.

The Story of Devlin Pies

Dottie Devlin had nothing and it was mortgaged. She inherited the Devlin Estate when her mother died and discovered when she arrived in Willow Mills that the little farm she’d grown up on had grown much smaller over the years. After her dad died, her mother sold off the acreage in order to survive, but still what remained (the house and about 10 acres of apple orchard) was mortgaged to the hilt. It looked almost as though her mother had timed her death to coincide with spending the last penny she could possibly squeeze out of the place.

That apple orchard had been the scene of many adventures when Dottie was growing up. She’d built forts, climbed trees, eaten apples till her belly ached, and been kissed, all under the limbs that stretched out to each other from tree to tree.

Orchard was kind of a generous term for this little grove of very old gnarled trees. But around here legend is a powerful thing, and legend said that Johnny Appleseed had planted this particular stand of apple trees not long before he died in 1845. If that were true, these trees were over a hundred years old, and frankly they didn’t all look that old, though one tree back in the southwest corner of the orchard lorded it over the others like a venerable ancestor. Johnny Appleseed was known to plant trees in neat even rows, but these trees were randomly scattered across the ten acres, though you could see a hint of rows if you squinted just right.

Dottie had grown up calling the apples Pippins and wasn’t sure if that was the actual variety name or not. The came ripe late in August and continued to bear and ripen through September. The apples were good keepers but were small and didn’t seem to have that much flesh on the core. But they had the kind of tart crispness that makes a good baker.

Dottie’s family had acquired the farm in the ’30s when her father moved to Indiana from Ireland. Her mother had always canned apples, made apple pie, apple sauce, and there was usually a jug of apple cider hardening in the cellar. When Dottie got to the house after the funeral, she rummaged around and was glad to find there was still a jug of cider down there. She was just going to sample the brew, but it tasted so good that the sample turned into a tall glass that she sipped as she sat and rocked in her mother’s porch swing, looking out over the orchard and thinking about the past and what she would do. She found herself humming a tune as she poured her second glass. She wasn’t sure at once what the tune was, but she remembered it from her childhood. It had been a favorite when she was a child, but what were the words? After her third glass of the hard cider, the words started flowing out of her mouth and she realized it was the Johnny Appleseed grace that was often sung before dinner around the family table.

“Oh the Lord’s been good to me, And so I thank the Lord For giving me the things I need: The sun and the rain and the appleseed. The Lord’s been good to me.”

Her spirits lightened as she sang the simple tune over and over, well into the fifth and sixth glasses of cider pressed from that orchard. She wondered vaguely what year it had been made. It was a mild night and Dottie found herself dozing in the porch swing with her knees tucked under her chin as she did when she was a child. When she woke, she took another swig of the cider, tipping back the jug as she seemed to have lost her glass somewhere along the line.

Somewhere along the line she must have fallen deeply into a sleep riddled with dreams of her childhood, her mother and her father, all played out against the backdrop of that old orchard. The next thing she knew, the sun was shining in her eyes having just gotten over the tops of the trees in the east.

And that was when Dottie had a vision. A great white beast looking as if it had stepped out of the pages of The Revelations burst through the hedge row surrounding the orchard. It planted itself against the ancestor tree in the corner and bellowed as it shook the tree, apples dropping around it. It seemed to be telling Dottie that this was her legacy. This was her future. “Follow me,” it said, “and I will take care of you.” And then, bursting through the hole in the hedgerow came a host of people. The magnificent white beast bellowed again and ran past Dottie on the front porch, out toward the road. Dottie got up and joined the shouting mob chasing after the animal into town.

When the excitement died down, Dottie sat nursing a hangover and drinking coffee at Josephine’s cafe. It was nine o’clock in the morning and people were coming in off the streets talking loudly and laughing about the morning’s events. Dottie noticed that most everyone who came in ordered a cup of coffee and a piece of pie. The pies were being cut out of tin pans that were pulled out of a pie cooler, obviously brought in from some bakery a long ways away. And finally the message of the white beast became clear to her. She would bake pies.

She consolidated what assets she had and moved into her mother’s house. She ordered a new stove and oven from the Sears catalog center and when they were delivered, she began her experiments. Her own apples were not ready yet, but she bought apples from the IGA store and began baking pies. For the first three months she was in town, it seemed she lived on apple pie and coffee.

At last she had perfected her recipe. She took a pie into Josephine’s Cafe one morning and asked Jo if she would be interested in sampling a real home-cooked apple pie. Well, Josephine served a slice to the next six customers who came in for pie and coffee. There was quite a stir. Rave reviews, you might say. Dottie walked out that morning with an order for four pies a day.

She spent her days picking and storing the apples from the orchard. She went to bed early and got up at four to start baking pies. At six o’clock she delivered them hot and steaming to Josephine’s. By ten o’clock, they were gone.

Josephine started asking Dottie for more variety of pies. Well, I shouldn’t say asking. Dottie came in one morning and Jo just said, “I’ll take the four apple tomorrow and I’d like two cherry and a blueberry if you don’t mind.” Dottie never even thought to tell her no. She just went down to the IGA and got cherries and blueberries and made up the pies for the next morning.

Well, most of the apples for Devlin Pies still come from the old orchard. Dottie’s getting up there in years now, but she’s got good help and there is no sign that there will any shortage of Devlin Pies in the near future.

You can still hear her humming a tune when she’s in the kitchen. And whenever anyone asks Dottie how she got started baking pies, she’s likely to say, “Well, it all started with Albert Bailey’s prize bull…”

Willow Leaves September 20

2004-11-19T16:39:00.000-08:00

Plans Set for City Birthday

Plans have been made for celebrating Willow Mills’ 150th birthday next week. The major celebration will take place at the Elsie Hewitt Elementary School at 1:00 p.m. on Saturday afternoon. This will include opening the 50-year time capsule and viewing of the exhibit of Willow Mills memorabilia. Other events are as follows:

12:00 p.m. Opening the Vault at Eel River National Bank to retreive the Time Capsule.

1:00 p.m. Sesquicentenial Celebration

2:30 p.m. Exhibiton of Memorabilia

5:40 p.m. Carrying the new 50-year time capsule to the vault

6:00 p.m. Closing of the vault at Eel River National Bank

6:00 p.m. Ox roast at The Grange (donation $6.00 per plate)

8:00 p.m. 150 Years of Music at Fountain Square: concert by the Wabash Chamber Chorale, The North Manchester Marching Band, The Millhouse Barbershop Quartet, and the Triton High School Swing Band.

Eel River National Bank

Our local bank had its birth out of the rubble of the great depression. When the market crashed in 1929, Willow Mills wasn’t much affected. Times weren’t too great here to start with. There was a Savings & Loan that had built a bank on the corner of Main and Market, but when it went under it was more because no one had any money in it than because of the market. And the building stood derelict for close to eight years before anything went into it again.

That was when things were getting hot again. We’d gone through prohibition, and even though the it was legal to buy and sell alcohol in the State of Indiana since 1933, there wasn’t anyplace closer than Wabash to buy, nor anyone in Willow Mills brave enough to stand up to Elsie Hewitt and sell it.

But that doesn’t mean that no one in Willow Mills had it. And that is how the Eel River National Bank and Vault Company came into existence.

The official meeting of the Fraternal Order of the Patrons of Husbandry had just ended. Several of the farmers left the Old Lutheran Church where they’d met. (This was before the Grange Hall had been built.) They took a detour out through the cemetery. It was a casual stroll that had nothing more imposing to it than men examining the stones as they followed Isaac Taylor to the grave of his dearly departed wife Leah. They stood by as Isaac knelt by his wife’s gravestone to pay his respects. Then he rocked the headstone forward and reached beneath to extract a bottle of Bourbon.

Isaac rose with the bottle in hand, uncorked it and took a swallow. Then he poured out a few drops onto his wife’s grave with the words “Here’s mud in your eye, Leah,” and passed the bottle around to the rest of the fellows who’d accompanied him out there to “pay their respects.” They chatted as they passed the bottle around and began to discuss how it would be much better if they had a more secure and discreet place to stash their bottles. This week it was at Leah’s grave. Next week it would be in the fire station. The following week at the train station. Each member had his own special hiding place and reason to stop off there on the way home from the monthly Grange meeting.

That was when they pointed to the old bank and one of them said, “We should just keep our hooch in the old vault.” There was a lot of nodding around in the circle.

Well, once an idea is given voice, it seems to take on a life of its own. Within six months, the Eel River National Bank and Vault Company had been born. To make things legitimate, each member of the Grange put up $50 on deposit. They did a little remodelling of the old bank and expanded the vault as its major feature. It has just two teller windows. They set the hours for the bank to be Saturdays from noon till 6:00 and hired Isaac to be the banker. Each Saturday just before 6:00, a different member of the Fraternity would go to the bank with his vault key and remove his bottle to take to the Grange meeting and after the meeting he would serve refreshments. Isaac filled the secondary function of collecting “dues” from the members to replenish that brother’s supply in the vault and bank any profits to add to their deposits.

Well, as the war approached, folks became more interested in banking. The original stockholders incorporated and expanded the banking hours for daily business. The vault became a resting place for the money and valuables of the people of Willow Mills beyond the stash of liquor. They hired Henry Post after Isaac got too old to handle the business, and he succeeded in turning the Eel River National Bank and Vault Company into a real bank, conforming to the regulations and becoming FDIC insured. Ownership of the bank is still in the hands of the seven families who founded it in 1937.

They leave the management up to banking professionals these days, and not many folks keep liquor in the vault anymore. But the greatest feature of the bank is the large vault in which for $50 you can still rent a safe deposit box large enough to keep your valuable papers and a couple bottles in.

One point of the charter, however, has never been changed. The Bank will always be open until 6:00 p.m. on Saturdays “to accommodate the special banking needs of the community’s rural population.”

Willow Leaves September 13

2004-11-19T16:36:00.000-08:00

School Has Started

This year's statistics of students enrolled from Willow Township in public schools is as follows:

Elsie Hewitt Elementary

Kindergarten: 14, First Grade 12. Taught by Mrs Tomlinson, assisted by Miss Chapman
Second Grade: 16. Taught by Mr Phelps
Third Grade: 18. Taught by Mrs. Trickle
Fourth Grade: 13. Taught by Mrs. Fites
Fifth Grade: 15. Taught by Miss Williams
Sixth Grade: 18. Taught by Mr. Graves

North Manchester Junior High

Seventh Grade: 12
Eighth Grade: 15

North Manchester High School

Ninth Grade: 16
Tenth Grade: 17
Eleventh Grade: 11
Twelfth Grade: 9

Total public school enrollment from Willow Township is 186. Enrollment at Elsie Hewitt Elementary is 106.

Elsie Hewitt Elementary School

Elsie Hewitt Elementary School was named after the first school teacher that settled in Willow Mills back in the 1880s. she was the daughter of Bernard Hewitt who built the old train station and grain elevator. Both have long since been torn down and the elevator replaced. But the legacy of his daughter Elsie lives on.

She began teaching in 1882 when she was 18 years old. She continued for fifty years. She fought a tireless battle through the turn of the century and World War I to see that the children of Willow Mills got a fair education. She led the prohibition movement in Willow Mills, and the fight for women’s suffrage. There not having been much alcohol in our town, she was obliged to do most of her campaigning in Wabash. She was known to stand in the middle of Main Street just south of town and hold a sign forbidding men to go to Wabash on Saturday nights. The thing is that most of them had become so used to blind obedience toher in school that few had the courage to defy her. So Willow Mills was a dry community right up until the time our soldiers came home from World War II.

Elsie died in 1932, a spinster, late one night int he school that would come to bear her name. Her influence on the community was so profound that 30 years after her death—when the school board decided to close their high school class and buss grades 7–12 into North Manchester—the most seriously considered objection was when one member said simply, “I don’t think Elsie would have approved.”

The children these days don’t know much about the namesake of their school—even though among their grandmothers Elsie or Elizabeth is a more than normally common name. They do know, however, that even though their school is among the oldest school buildings in the county, it is a matter of community pride that keeps it well-maintained, freshly painted inside, and filled with both students and teachers.

Because that’s the way Elsie would have wanted it.

Willow Leaves September 6

2004-11-19T16:32:00.000-08:00

Disaster Narrowly Averted in River Race

Disaster was narrowly averted during the annual Labor Day River Race today when two hours after the finish of the race organizers realized that one racer had not come in. A river search party was organized at once and the missing racer was discovered hooked to a tree limb overhanging the dam.

Albert Bailey, 81, who has run in every river race since the founding of the event was freed from the precarious position after about 10 minutes of debate over what the best method would be to release the custom harness from the tree limb.

The race has been a testing ground for many kinds of floatation devices over the years. This year, Bailey ran in his own customized inflated waders. He was off at a good pace, though trailing the field by the time he reached the dam. His strategy was to slide down the millrace (a popular means of running the dam) when one suspender got hooked by the limb. Bailey’s own momentum freed the limb from where it was trapped beneath a fallen branch and it sprung out over the dam leaving Bailey high and dry.

The solution to the problem came from fire chief John Townsend who reached up with a trimming saw and cut the limb. Bailey then fought efforts to pull him out of the river, insisting that he hadn’t yet finished the race. Fifteen minutes later he crawled out of the water at HWBC with eight rescuers splashing and chasing after him.

Race organizers figure that the two hour and fifty-seven minute time is the longest in race history, making it the second record that Albert Bailey has set in the Labor Day River Race.

Winning time this year was 32 minutes and was set by Joan Armstrong, 26, who used a traditional innertube with three straps for stability. It was a chilly race this year as temperatures did not quite reach the predicted 85 degrees today. Thirty-six people entered and eventually all finished the race this year.

Benny’s View

Benny knew two things: Food and Work. And if there was a choice to be made between the two, food won hands down. But work came before anything else. Even before the nice kid who came and scratched his ears, fed him carrots, and then sat on him while he ambled around the fields, generally taking care of work.

Benny was a donkey.

Benny’s job, out on Albert Bailey’s farm, was to gentle the bulls that Albert raised and herd the steers that didn’t make the cut for reproduction. Each time Albert decided to leave a calf intact and raise him up as a bull, he tied Benny to him and Benny did the rest. The bull went wherever Benny went. The bull moved when Benny moved and stayed put when Benny stayed put. If the bull got out of line, Benny planted his front hooves and let loose with the back hooves in a kick that had been known to knock a yearling completely off his feet.

And Benny had gentled some fine bulls in such a way that when Albert walked into the field and clipped a lead rope to a bull’s nose ring, the bull knew enough to follow peacefully and not give Albert any… well… any bull.

This past year, Benny had been roped together to a fine Charolais calf named Mayfield. Albert had built a small herd of just 18 animals registered with the newly-formed American International Charolais Association. He had a big old bull that he’d brought up from Kansas in 1954 and was in the process of “breeding-up” a larger herd from a base stock of Herefords. He needed another purebred bull to move up a generation and trading a fine purebred Charolais bull with another herd was a good way to get new blood into his herd. (Breeders used purebred Charolais bulls to crossbreed with other breeds. After five generations, the calves were 31/32 pure and were registered as full-breed Charolais, being only 3% base-stock bloodline. But you couldn’t use the same bull for all five generations because of the dangers of in-breeding.)

Albert knew that the best way to get a good bull was to have a prize-winning show-bull to trade. So, Benny had been roped to Mayfield almost non-stop for 9 months. Now whenever Benny moved, the two-year-old went right along with him with no arguments. And now, Benny wandered the pasture with the Bull at heal even though the rope had been removed early in the summer. This was a well-mannered as well as a beautiful Charolais.

The kids had been coming around all summer, too. The little girl was fearless and would walk right up to both Benny and Mayfield in the pasture. She’d toss a halter around Benny’s neck with a lead-line and hop right up on his back. Mostly they just moseyed around the pasture, but sometimes she would take him up to the big round barn and she’d give Benny oats while she groomed and crooned. Mayfield always came along, too, though he much preferred the grazing in the open pasture.

It was on one of these trips, early in the morning that the little girl and Albert’s son slipped in and started doing some serious grooming of Benny’s tail and mane. He’d gotten himself into a patch of sandburs a few days earlier and the girl was determined to get him ready to show at the county fair in a few days. She’d enlisted the help of Al Jr. to clip the mane and tail sections that she couldn’t get untangled. (4Hers often borrowed animals from neighboring farms to show at the county fair as part of their club work. The girl would rather have had a horse, but wasn’t about to look a gift-… er… donkey in the mouth when Albert offered her Benny to show.)

They’d worked on Benny’s mane and tail for close to an hour with him contentedly munching a feedbag full of oats when they finally agreed that they’d have to reduce the mane with the clippers. Al Jr. was a careful and conscientious animal husband and was doing a fine job on the mane. The girl sat on Benny’s back holding up tufts to be trimmed and brushing out the clippings as Al Jr. stood beside the donkey and worked the shears. They hardly noticed how restless Mayfield seemed to be with the buzzing of the clippers. It came as a big surprise to Al Jr. when the half-ton bull gave him a butt with his head that sent him sprawling under Benny. Now horns hadn’t been completely bred out of the Charolais blood-line in 1958 and Al Jr. was lucky the stubby little horn on Mayfield’s head didn’t catch him square in the ribs.

But Al Jr. was only 12. And 12-year-olds don’t think quite the same as adults in these situations. He picked himself up and turned on the bull. “You don’t like the clippers don’t you?” he growled. “Maybe you’d better get to know them better.” And with that, he reached out and shaved the forelock right off the bulls broad forehead. It didn’t take long before he wished he hadn’t been so rash.

Mayfield spooked. He turned heels and ran away from Al Jr. along the wall of the barn. That sounds all right, but the barn was round, and in a few seconds instead or running away from the kids and the donkey, the bull was running toward them, and picking up speed as he came. Al Jr. took off running the same direction the bull had gone while Benny instantly came to attention, turned his heels and started kicking out as he moved forward after Al Jr. with the girl holding on for dear life on his back.

I don’t know how it would have ended if it hadn’t been for the fact that Albert was approaching the barn and heard the ruckus. He swung the big door open just as Al, Benny, and the girl passed. Mayfield, seeing the sudden breaking of light veered toward the door and brushed past Albert, knocking him to the ground as he passed. Albert, seeing his prize bull headed out through the farmyard toward South River Road, rushed inside to get a lead rope and give chase. That was when Benny realized his charge was on the run and took off through the open door with the girl still clinging to his back after the bull, knocking Albert off his feet again.

Al, realizing the situation pretty quickly for a 12-year-old, dropped the clippers and grabbed Benny’s lead rope and ran for the door just in time to collide with his father and knock him down again. This time Albert grabbed the rope from his son, yelled “Get the tractor!” and ran out after Mayfield, Benny, and the girl. Al Jr. wasted no time in jumping on the tractor and following his father down the drive toward South River Road.

And that was the start of the first Willow Mills River Run.

Willow Leaves August 30

2004-11-19T16:29:00.000-08:00

4Hers Go To StateFair

Thirty-seven kids, parents, and chaperones took the bus from the 4H park early Saturday morning a week ago to make the two hour trip to the Indiana State Fair. They spent the day eating, riding, playing, looking, and generally having fun.

We’ve heard this experience from one of the intrepid revellers: Billy People’s (12) convinced his big sister Sally (20) who was home from college to be his chaperone to the State Fair. Sally remembered the fun of the Fair and wasn’t too hard to convince.

What Sally didn’t know is that since she’s been away at college her brother has gone horse crazy. And one of his major missions at the fair was to see a Thoroughbred race horse like they run in the Kentucky Derby. Most everyone around here who has horses has Quarter Horses or Arabians. Surely at the State Fair there would be Thoroughbreds.

Sally likes horses, so she agreed to go through the horse barns in search of a Thoroughbred. Being a little inexperienced, they didn’t know that all the races on the oval here are trotters and pacers, Standardbred every one.

It seems that Sally and Billy went through 21 horse barns of Standardbred horses, two barns of Draft Horses, and one barn of ponies and didn’t see a single Thoroughbred. By the time they were done, there was barely enough time to get to Billy’s photography entry and find out he’d won a white ribbon merit award for his beginner black and white photos.

Congratulations Billy, and we hope you get to see a Thoroughbred soon!

Brown’s Arabians

The queen of horse-crazy around here is Barbara Brown who owns Brown’s Arabians ant on Dry Well Road. Like most of the kids around here, she grew up wanting a pony and dreaming of being a cowgirl. Well, it happened that after the “bull incident” Barbara’s father decided maybe a pony wasn’t such a bad idea after all. After all, that stubborn little donkey she’d been riding over at Albert Bailey’s place was likely to get her killed.

What Harold wasn’t counting on was the fervor of Barbara’s commitment to horses. Or how much this fatherly indulgence was going to cost him in the long run.

The first summer Barbara had her pony, she registered as a contestant in 4-H horsemanship. She registered as a contestant in pole-racing, barrel-racing, and rescue. She registered in the halter class and the costume class. She even borrowed an old pony-cart from a classmate in North Manchester and entered in the driving class. If Harold or Naomi couldn’t find their daughter that summer, they knew that all they had to do was locate the pony and she would be there too.

And the pony wasn’t that hard to locate. It acted like nothing so much as a big dog. When Harold went out to do chores in the early morning, Blitz would be standing at the kitchen door waiting for a carrot. When Harold was trying to repair his old Oliver tractor, Blitz stood next to him leaning on him. At one point, Harold found the pony with his front hooves on the first step of a stepladder reaching for apples on the crab apple tree.

The only reason the pony wasn’t more of a nuisance was because most of the time he was with Barbara learning more new tricks. Harold once stopped his tractor while cultivating beaus and grabbed his camera with a telephoto lens to see his daughter sitting under a tree reading a book. The pony was lying on the ground beside her with his head in her lap.

As inseparable as they were and as well as they did at the County Fair, you would think that Barbara would have been happy. But Harold soon found that Blitz was just phase one of his daughter’s master plan.

The fair was no sooner over than Barbara took her father to the barn and began laying out what she needed done this winter. She would need to build a box stall and lay in a supply of hay and oats. She needed the stall done by December because the January horse auctions would be the best time to pick up a good deal on an animal that no one wanted to board over the winter. She would also need one end of the big barn for training and schooling her new horse, so could Harold please park the big equipment neatly at one end, and could her brother please move his old Packard to the abandoned chicken coop.

Harold had never been good at saying no to his daughter and little by little he acquiesced to her requests. By spring there were two horses and the pony living in the little barn as the Arabian mare they bought at auction came with foal at heel.

Then they began to see the sense in the way Barbara had trained the little pony. She used him as her training companion. By summer, she could send the pony into the pasture and have him herd the mare into the barn. In training sessions, Blitz would pace alongside the bigger horses obeying Barbara’s commands as they she spoke them. And he was a great calming influence on the high-spirited Arabians as they paced in their stalls.

Barbara made a good showing at the fair, joined a precision drill team, and by high school had a stable of four Arabians and one little pony. In ’74 she married Jay Metzger and began slowly converting his beef ranch into a stable. Jay had no better luck denying her anything than Harold did. And the Arabians are part of the pride of Willow Mills with their tails held high and their necks arched as Barbara’s horsemanship classes ride in the annual parades. She has a rack of ribbons and trophies from all over the country and is as likely to be behind the wheel of her truck and horse trailer as to be in the saddle. She’s made a good business of breeding the stock, boarding horses for other riders, and giving lessons.

And hanging over her desk in the office of the stable is a large framed photograph of a girl under a tree and a pony lying beside her with his head in her lap.

Willow Leaves August 23

2004-11-19T16:27:00.000-08:00

Wedding! Reception! France!

The wedding of Janice Thompson and Whisper Townsend was celebrated at 2:00 yesterday afternoon with an estimated attendance of over 500, as most of the town of Willow Mills turned out at the 4H Park Pavillion to celebrate the nuptials.

The bride, resplendent in her grandmother’s wedding dress, arrived in a fringed surrey pulled by two dapple gray draft horses and driven by long-time friend Tom Fergusson. She was attended by her 14-year-old sister, Amanda, as maid of honor. The groom wore dove gray tails and a black T-shirt. Best man, Lee Bergman, a college-friend of Whisper’s escorted the maid of honor.

The ceremony was officiated by “The Herb Lady,” Donna Jones, who took a break from a 10-day seminar with the Dali Lama in Bloomington this week to conduct the ceremony.

The bride and groom exchanged vows in French, a language they have both studied since junior high, and which they have used for their private language, being the only ones in their families who speak French. That should have been a give-away for what was to come, but the couple caught everyone by surprise with their wedding conclusion.

Just before the couple returned to the carriage to be driven to the reception, Whisper took the microphone and made the surprise announcement that they will be leaving for Paris in two weeks. The couple further announced that they would be spending at least a year there as students at the American University in Paris.

As details were revealed during the course of the reception, we discovered the couple have been working on this for a year in secret, and received notice in June that they had been accepted on an experimental exchange program. Both will be studying theater with some classes conducted by the world-famous Commedie Francais.

The couple have promised to keep in touch with everyone here in Willow Mills through periodic updates in the Willow Leaves.

Adelaide and Lyle Kitchener

People think of Willow Mills as a “churchy” kind of town. Not so, say many of its residents. At least not more than is normal in Indiana. Folks are usually quick to tell the story of Adelaide and Lyle Kitchener who used to live right where Market Street runs into a cornfield on the west side of town.

Some years ago the service was interrupted out at the Methodist Church during the last hymn one Sunday by Adelaide bursting through the back door and marching straight up to the pulpit. As the hymn ended she stated loudly, “My husband is dying and wants to be baptized. Will you do it?”

Rev. Larson answered that if she would wait till they had the benediction and if he was alive and wanting baptism, he would do it. Adelaide stood beside him with her arms folded defiantly while he finished the service, tapped her foot impatiently as he greeted a few people on the way to the door, and then latched onto his arm and marched him to her car and drove off.

Adelaide and Lyle were hard livers and seeing her walk into any church was a surprise. Her favorite saying, over a bottle of beer at the Dowsing Rod was, “I go to the round church where the devil can’t corner me.” To literal thinking Hoosiers, that was a puzzlement because the only round building near here is Albert Bailey’s round barn where his prize bull…. That’s another story.

When the Reverend got to the Kitchener’s house, Lyle was still alive, but not doing well. He had a bad liver and a few months earlier he’d been diagnosed with lung cancer. After unsuccessful treatments, Adelaide brought him home to die.

This morning it looked like the end was near. Rev. Larson approached the bed and asked if Lyle recognized him and could understand what he was saying. Lyle said yes, he could. Then the preacher said he had some questions to ask Lyle. Adelaide broke in at this point and said Lyle couldn’t answer a lot of questions, just pour the water on him and be done. But Rev. Larson persisted with the whole ritual.

Do you want to be baptized? Repent of your sins? Believe in Jesus? Promise to be a faithful disciple? etc. To each question, Lyle answered yes. At last Rev. Larson sprinkled the water on his head and spoke a benediction and a prayer. As soon as he had finished, Adelaide rushed him from the room, pushed a $20 bill into his pocket in thanks, and pushed him out the door.

Well, sometimes the unexplainable happens. Lyle didn’t die that day. Nor that week. Nor anytime that year. By summer he began gaining strength, and that fall the UMC congregation got its second shock of the year when Lyle showed up in church, alone, and sat through the whole service. His health continued to improve and late in the year his doctors agreed that his cancer had faded and he was in remission.

Lyle attended the Methodist Church for the better part of eight years before he died in an auto accident while on vacation in Arizona. Adelaide never really forgave him for recovering in the first place, so his death was not as mourned by her as you would think.

She held that Lyle had been cornered and tricked into making a bad deal. That he’d lived his life so purely those last eight years that it couldn’t have been much fun. And that she’d be dead and buried before she was seen in a church again.

Which, indeed she was. She passed away quietly in her home a few years ago, sitting in her chair on the porch with a glass of beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. She was 96 years old.

Willow Leaves August 16

2004-11-19T16:15:00.000-08:00

Chuck Allred Turns 84

Welcome a new member to the ranks of octogenarians.

How, you might ask, can he be a new octogenarian at 84, and this not being leap year. Well, for years Chuck has been tight-lipped about his age. But it slipped out at a meeting of the Young at Heart (YAHs) at Willow Mills United Methodist this week.

It seems there was a contest to see who was second oldest among the group. (Whitey Miller at age 91 claims, uncontested, the title of oldest.) It was one of those mixers where they started seating by calling all those born before 1920 to stand on the right side of the room. Only 9 moved. Then they kept counting down to the oldest. When they reached 1915, only three were left. At 1914, Whitey was the only one standing so took his seat at the head of the table. No one knew between Chuck and Chauncy Gilmore which was oldest. So they began counting down by month. Both moved on August, so they began counting down the days.

It turned out that Chauncy is two days younger than Chuck with his 84th coming on Thursday this week. Chuck took the second chair honors with a birthday on the 17th. During dinner conversation, it turned out that only Chuck’s wife Audrey knew that Chuck had passed the 80-year mark. She was complicit in his deception. When asked why he hadn't let the group know about the start of his ninth decade so they could celebrate, Chuck answered, “Oh, I just wanted to save the big celebration for when I get old.”

Known as “Uncle Chuck” to most of the kids in town, Allred runs the Whistle Stop Hobby Shop in the old train station.

Wedding Invitation

Everett and Althea Thompson
and
Janet Biggs and John Townsend
invite you to join in celebrating the marriage of their children
Janice Thompson
and
Whisper Townsend
Sunday August 22, 1999
at two o’clock in the afternoon
at the 4H Park Pavillion
Reception at 5:30 p.m.
At and around the Grange Hall

The couple requests that no gifts be brought, but thanks all in advance for donations to the World Wildlife Fund in their name.

The Whistle Stop Hobby Shop

Hidden off Main Street behind the grain elevator is the old train station. It was never much to look at, and when passenger trains quit running through Willow Mills before the war, it was abandoned and stayed empty for several years.

After Charles Allred retired in the 80s, he got to playing with an old hobby: electric trains. He dug out parts of a train set he had when his daughter was little and began rebuilding the parts the cat had defiled, replacing grass, trees, switches, and little people.

A popular hobby around this part of Indiana is going to auction sales. Chuck discovered that local auctions were a great place to get more electric train parts, and soon he had an elaborate system that filled the guest room in his house. Audrey put her foot down, though, when he mentioned knocking out a wall between the guest room and his daughter’s old room, so Chuck went hunting for another place to house his hobby. And there it was: the old Willow Mills Train Station.

The train station comprised a ticket office, waiting room, and baggage room. The freight platform was used until 1965 when all operations were transferred over to the grain elevator. The building was available according to the folks at the elevator, and they’d lease it to Chuck for a moderate amount.

Chuck went to work. He soon discovered that it wasn’t enough to clean the cobwebs out of the place. There were some pretty serious repairs to be made. But, it was structurally sound, and with the same loving care that he put into his models, he restored the old station to its former glory. (Some of the old timers here say the station never looked that good when it was a train station.)

The place is open now as the Whistle Stop Hobby Shop. At last count, Chuck had eight different tracks running with everything from HO to Lionel 0.27 gauge. And since he still haunts auctions all around the northern part of the state, he brings the train equipment in, repairs and restores it, then sells it from behind the old ticket window.

Don’t miss the Whistle Stop at Christmas time when Chuck decorates the whole shop. It has become a favorite stop for the kids who all refer to him as “Uncle Chuck.”

Masterson’s Woollen and Dry Goods

Audrey Thompson (cousin of Everett and Wayne, I believe) visited Willow Mills in August for the first time. Her grandmother had told her stories, however, and Audrey asked this question: “Did you know about Old Sylvia Masterson's Woollen & Dry Goods store that used to be on Buckeye Lane, just off of Main Street? The library might have some old photos of it. Or check the town hall records. Far as I recall, she had quite the reputation for quality imports from Boston.”

Well, that was a new one for me and I had to do some research. Not only had I never heard of Sylvia Masterson, I didn’t know Buckeye Lane. So here’s what I found out.

Sylvia, it seems, came to Willow Mills with the railroad in 1892. She was one of the many passengers headed west to start a new life. She was headed for Chicago according to an old Pacific Northern manifest. But it turned out that there was a mix-up in Cleveland and Sylvia changed trains along with all the merchandise she was transporting to start a dry-goods shop on Michigan Avenue in Chicago. The train she switched to was headed southwest to St. Louis.

The error went undetected until the train had pulled out of Fort Wayne. For the next hour or so, she frantically argued and pled with the conductor who insisted that she had intentionally stowed away on his train and owed $14 fare. The upshot was that Sylvia, eighteen bolts of fine wool, a trunk full of lace, ribbons, and notions, and her two suitcases of clothes were all put off the train at the next stop—Willow Mills, Indiana. There on the platform she sat, not knowing where she was or what she would do.

Enter the tall dark stranger.

The term is relative in this case as it was actually a short little dumpling of a man named Aldous Oppenheimer, the first druggist of that name to occupy the corner of Main and Wabash Streets.

Aldous was there to receive a shipment of various things for his drugstore and found Miss Masterson sitting beside his consignment. After listening to her tale of woe blubbered through hot, angry tears, Aldous had his man load her things onto the buckboard and cart them all over to his shop. There, Aldous turned Miss Masterson over to his capable wife Louise.

Various alternatives were investigated, but in the long-run, Aldous was convinced to let out the back room of the drugstore to Miss Masterson for a drygoods shop (on a temporary basis, of course). The back room had a connecting entrance from the drugstore, but also had its own private entrance off the alley that runs parallel to Main Street. In those days, the alleys were as much used as the streets, and although she never had a shingle or a beautiful storefront window, Sylvia found that she did have a thriving business in Willow Mills, and she stayed.

The alley (as you have probably guessed) was called Buckeye Lane, a name that has long been forgotten in the modern town of Willow Mills.

In 1910, Louise passed away. A year later, to no one’s surprise, Sylvia and Aldous were married. The drygoods shop was amalgamated into the drugstore and a couple years later the whole thing was turned over to Aldous’s son Samuel. Sylvia and Aldous retired and moved to Chicago fulfilling Sylvia’s twentyfive-year-old dream. Aldous died in 1919 and was returned to Willow Mills for burial beside Louise in the Old Lutheran Cemetery. I was unable to track Sylvia any further. To my knowledge she never returned to Willow Mills.

Willow Leaves August 9

2004-11-19T16:11:00.000-08:00

Labor Day River Race

The Grange announced plans for the annual Labor Day River Race this week. The race will occur on Labor Day, September 6 at high noon. The race starts at the Bull Run Campsite a mile and a half east of town and ends at the sand beach at Holy Waters Baptist Church.

Here are the rules:

No boats, rafts, canoes, kayaks, or other closed-bottom vessels are allowed.
Every racer must wear a personal floatation device.
You must be at least 16 years old to participate. Men, women, and all ages race in the same class.
Some kind of shoe is recommended.
Racers run into the water at the starting gun and run and float downstream to the finish line on shore at HWBC.
Racers must stay between the river banks from start to finish, (including over the dam). No portages are allowed.
Maximum innertube size is 38" outside diameter.

The record time for the 2-mile course is 27 minutes and 12 seconds. The river is low this year, so times are expected to be a little slower.

To sign-up for the race, show up at least 30 minutes before the start and receive a number. You have to wear something on top to pin your number to.

A Pox on Them!

On the Thompsons, we mean. Chicken pox to be precise. “This will surely be the most memorable vacation our family ever had,” said Althea when they returned from the Grand Canyon last week. “Six kids, one Caravan, and chicken pox.”

The Thompson family was stricken with the childrens disease over a thousand miles from home as they neared the Grand Canyon. Faced with an imminent disaster as one child after another broke out with the itching rash, the Thompsons acted quickly to comfort their children and still salvage their vacation.

They located a remote campsite, acquired some yellow caution tape and strung it around the perimeter, and lathered the kids with Calomine lotion. After a couple days, they decided they’d rather keep traveling than stay confined to the tiny campsite, so they proceeded to remote viewpoints of the Grand Canyon, the Painted Desert, and the Petrified Forest.

The worst part is that Janice feels that her wedding invitations are contaminated and she doesn’t want to send them out. So we’ve agreed to run the invitation for her here and join her in inviting all Willow Millites of all ages to the celebration.

Weeping Willow Hotel

The Weeping Willow Hotel is a fine three-story brick building sometimes referred to as the high-rise by folks in town. It has twelve large rooms and a breakfast cafe, though the rooms also have a refrigerator and hot plate for cooking meals.

There is no elevator.

There is a single suite on the ground floor where Arnold and Alice Lambert, the hotel’s owner/managers, live. They have a bedroom, living room, and kitchen/dining area. The latter is a large affair that Arnold built by knocking out the wall between their suite and the hotel kitchen. So he fixes his own meals and breakfast for as many as care to come into the cafe, all in the same kitchen. The hotel office is connected to the apartment as well, so the Lamberts actually occupy all of the main floor except the reception/lobby and the cafe.

There is no bar.

There is an old blue law on the books in Indiana that you can’t rent sleeping rooms in the same building where you sell liquor. It’s not enforced anymore, but folks here just got in the habit of going next door to the Dowsing Rod if they wanted a drink, so no one ever bothered to put a bar in the hotel.

It’s one of several blue laws in Indiana that aren’t enforced, but people around here obey out of courtesy. Like no retail businesses open on Sunday. There was a lot of discussion on this point, but it was finally determined that restaurants weren’t retail businesses.

Bottled liquor is sold only across the street at the drug store. At one time the law required that it be dispensed only by a pharmacist for medicinal purposes.

Well, it might seem strange to you, but it’s the way things have been in Willow Mills for many years, and no one’s seen fit to change it.

By the way, if you are just in town for a visit, don’t try to get a room at the Weeping Willow. It’s strictly a residence hotel now. There’s a motel over on Route 15.

Willow Leaves August 2

2004-11-19T16:09:00.000-08:00

Rainmaker Wanted

Hard-hit by drought during late June and July, farmer’s in northern Wabash County are seriously considering some old-time remedies for the situation. Seed and feed corn stand to be irreparably damaged if there is no rain soon.

Locals report that although fertilization took place without a problem, the ears of corn are not filling out as they would normally. Soybean crops have perhaps two weeks more leeway than corn, but are also deemed at risk.

So what are the remedies being looked at? Don Young, a seed farmer west of town, remembers a time when his dad loaded a shotgun with rock salt and fired it into the air everytime a cloud came over. He always thought the old man was a little loony for shooting at clouds, but it did rain eventually and Dan is seriously considering packing some 20 gauge shells with salt himself.

Since moving to Willow Mills in the 70s, Donna Jones has become known as the herb lady. She still lives on the old agricultural commune north of the river. Donna cites several of the reference books on folklore with rituals and ceremonies for rainmaking. “You’d have to want rain badly to do some of the things these books suggest,” Donna says. But, she admits, she’d be willing to help put the ritual together if anyone really wanted to do it.

Rev. Wilson at Holy Waters Baptist Church announced the beginning of a prayer vigil starting at last evening’s church service. He invites “prayer warriors” of all denominations to join in the round-the-clock vigil which he vows will continue “until the land’s thirst is satisfied and God’s people are victorious over the drought.”

Are Mystery Camper and Assailant the Same?

Normally trusting residents of Willow Mills began locking their doors this week in the wake of a brutal beating in Laketon last week. An elderly gentleman was assaulted and robbed by a “white male, 5'5", about 200 pounds,” according to police reports. The assailant stole the old man’s car and drove off after the beating.

The incident sparked speculation that the assailant might be one and the same as the mystery camper whose abandoned campsites have now been found on three area farms. Police have no indication that there is a link between the two, but approve of cautionary measures.

When last seen, the assailant was driving a 1994 white Cadillac. If you have information that might be of help, please call the Sheriff’s Department.

The Herb Lady

The candle-making folks of the New Unitarian Church weren’t the only commune to form around the village of Willow Mills in the sixties and seventies. Some people say that the wealth of Indian sacred sites in this area attracted people of “alternate spirituality.” Others hold that rather lax enforcement of drug laws and a lush natural stand of canubis that was discovered nearby were the key contributing factors.

But whatever the initial response, some remnant of the old hippie communes still exists in the form of The Herb Farm out on the north side of the river. There was an abandoned farmstead about half a mile north of the iron bridge that was a magnet for vagrants for years before the hippies arrived. Now these weren’t all spaced out druggies. Some were pretty intelligent folks who were studying philosophy, pre-law, the arts, and literature at Manchester College. It happened that some of these folks knew how to read and research platte maps and deed records. And so, a small and enterprising group of young people found the old property to be in tax default and they slapped a payment down on the land before word got out that it was available. Breathing in the scent of their new found land, the group incorporated itself as The Herb Farm and began studying organic farming. Around here it was known as truck farming, though no one really knows why. It doesn’t require a truck to do it.

The original intent by these intrepid social engineers was to become a self-sustaining community with no need for the commerciality of the rest of the world. They’d all read Five Acres and Independence, subscribed to The Mother Earth News, had copies of the Whole Earth Catalog, Your Engineered House, and Geodesic Construction. They were convinced that eventually even their wind generators would provide enough electricity to power life as they wanted to know it. And they would never leave the farm.

They got a good start on things, too. They salvaged all the timber they could from the old house, barn, and outbuildings that were all but falling down. They lovingly removed the bent, rusty nails and stacked the lumber from the roofs on down, inventoried what they had and spent the next winter in their dorm rooms drawing plans for what to build when the spring thaw had arrived. The first big dispute was whether to build an earth sheltered domicile, an engineered house, a geodesic dome, or a yurt. That’s when the influence of Donna Jones began to be felt.

Donna was the quintessential earth mother. Her hair hung in braids to her waist. She wore maxi-skirts with peasant tops. Make-up never touched her face nor a razor her legs. In her last year of pre-medical studies at Manchester College, she had taken a special interest in eastern medicine and herbology. She was a great believer in natural therapy and was well-respected by her peers in the infant commune. And she was able to bring agreement to the dispute. Like herbs, she said, certain structures were ideally suited to certain uses. She advocated building a geodesic greenhouse, but held with the concept of an engineered house. She conceded, however, that it was in good keeping with the energy-saving principles that the northern face of the house should be earth-sheltered and therefore chose the exact location for the house making best use of the natural contours of the land.

Then she dropped the big bomb. While shelter was necessary, they would have to plant in the spring before they could begin building. And they would need periodic labor from every member in the fields to keep them clean and growing without using chemicals.

And amazingly, they managed to do it. There were twenty members of the commune that went to work in the fields that year and by winter there were twenty-four. Each was given a task and a place to sleep. (The yurt idea did have some applications during construction of the lodge.) Their first structure was a longhouse in which all 24 could sleep and eat. That took the lion’s share of their ready supplies from the salvage job of the house and barn. After starting the summer using just handtools, they soon conceded to running a temporary electric line onto the property so they could use electric saws. Without that they probably would never have gotten the building built.

Donna plotted out a five acre patch and got Angus Fergusson to send a farmhand and tractor over to plow and disc it for them. It was then that Donna made the mistake that would send the little farm into the world of commercial reality. She carefully considered the kind of productivity that would be needed from the five acres in order to provide for 24 people for the winter and it looked bleak. She had to consider known high-yield crops over variety and focused on corn, beans, potatoes, and squash. A patch separate from the 5-acre plot she designated for herbs and planted and cared for that section herself.

They managed to keep up with the weeding, dividing up into a construction team and an agricultural team. They brought the crops to a harvest that was plentiful, then realized that they had no way to keep and store their bounty of food. The longhouse had taken so much time to build that they had not made a root cellar and had no freezer. Donna conducted a lot of canning operations, but canning containers and supplies were expensive. And the proportions did not come out quite the way Donna intended. The zucchini were the big surprise. They harvested zucchini by the bushel basketsful. It wasn’t long before they realized they would have to sell some of their stock or it would rot on the land.

They began with a roadside stand in front of the house and put fliers up around town, but that county road isn’t well-travelled and customers were scarce. Donna managed to negotiate some sales through the local IGA store, but the margin was poor. So they sent a truck out to route 15 and 114 on one side and to route 13 and 114 on the other side and spent the hottest part of the summer selling sweetcorn and zucchini to every passerby they could stop.

Well, they created a treasury and opened an account at the Eel River Bank downtown in Willow Mills. They used it to buy supplemental food in the winter and seed for the spring. Oh, their numbers dwindled in the winter. Several found the dorm rooms at college to be more to their liking than the big drafty longhouse. But in the summer, the numbers grew again setting a pattern that was to become the breath of the Herb Farm for years to come. Each summer they have welcomed a few new recruits from the college and occasionally one or two find their true home out there.

Donna dried herbs and within a few years found that her little roadside stand provided the mainstay for income for the property in herbs as they learned to balance their crops better and to preserve the food in a variety of ways. The group at the Herb Farm has maintained a vegetarian lifestyle for low these many years now.

Donna wasn’t always called the Herb Lady. She is truly a free spirit and has acted as a midwife and minister to many people round Willow Mills. She’s ordained in the New Life Church and conducts some ceremonies and rituals at what she calls the “rural holidays.” That earned her the epithet of the Witch Woman for a number of years, but Willow Mills isn’t a burning kind of community. When it turned out that people were using the term with a kind of pride that Willow Mills had its own witch woman, well those who looked askance sort of dropped the term. Now everyone knows that they can get any kind of herb at all out at the herb farm. And they can get instruction on how to use them if they want to sit through one of Donna’s lectures.

I have to say there have even been one or two curious teens who had their eyes popped open when they snuck out into the woods on Midsummer’s Eve to find one or more of their own parents dancing around Donna’s bonfire in celebration of the Solstice.

Willow Leaves July 26

2004-11-19T16:06:00.000-08:00

Trip Plans Altered

Althea & Everett Thompson packed all five kids into the Caravan and left for the Grand Canyon on Tuesday. The trip was made ahead of thieir original schedule to accommodate eldest daughter Janice’s wedding plans for August. The family toyed with the idea of cancelling the trip after Janice made the surprise announcement on Father’s Day, but Althea said this was likely to be the last time the whole family would be able to travel together and they weren’t about to miss it. They plan to return August 1st.

We asked Janice how the trip affected her wedding plans. “I can’t believe how many wedding invitations I still have to send,” she said. “I’m just going to sit in the back of the Caravan and address them, then mail them from all over the west.”

The family couldn’t leave before Janice had finished her performance in “The Effect of Gamma Rays on Man-in-the-Moon Marigolds,” a studio production at Manchester College last weekend. Janice’s performance as the coniving and somewhat demented elder sister was both stunning and convincing.

State Fair Excursion

Willow Mills 4-H Club members and their chaperones have announced plans for their annual trip to the Indiana State Fair in Indianapolis, August 28. The bus will leave Elsie Hewitt Elementary School at 6:30 a.m. and will return at about midnight.

The cost of the trip is $10 per person and registrations must be received by August 20. Registration includes admission and transportation, but club members are reminded that it does not include midway attractions or food. Registrations should be dropped off at the Farm Bureau Co-op. Members under 12 years of age must have a designated chaperone on the trip.

Hair and Beauty and the Class of ’64

You might think it strange that Willow Mills sports three beauty salons and a barbershop. In fact, time was you had to go to Wabash or North Manchester to get any barbering done if you didn’t want your mother doing it with a big bowl and a pair of pinking shears at the kitchen table. And when the idea was to have hair piled up on top of your head higher than your plate at Thanksgiving Dinner, it came to four enterprising youth at Willow Mills High School to ride the wave (so to speak) into a new career.

The interest started at the age of 12 for a mischevious Al Bailey (that’s Albert Jr.) when he decided to use the electric hair clippers to shave Albert’s prize bull. But that’s another story. After the event, though, Albert punished his son by making him learn to cut hair properly and having his own head shaved regularly by his son. Before long, there were a number of farmers who would stop by the Bailey farmhouse on Saturday night for a trim. Albert went to a summer barbering school between his junior and senior years in high school and his dad rented a storefront next to Oppenheimer’s Drug Store as a graduation present for his son.

But Al wasn’t the only one styling hair at an early age. In fact, three of his classmates who were far gone on the Beattles (and were the closest thing that Willow Mills ever saw to groupies) spent most of their Friday nights together on a rotating sleep-over. They were Elizabeth Daniels, Robyn Ayers, and Donna Askins.

Now at first, when they were in their pre-teens and Junior High School, the three were just good friends who spent a lot of time at their sleep-overs doing each other’s hair and nails. These girls could rat up their hair in the biggest beehives under the sun. And then they’d use toilet paper to wrap themselves up like a mummy to keep the style fresh for Saturday. Of course all three had parents who insisted that they wash and comb out their hair before church on Sunday morning, but they felt like glamour queens on Saturday.

It probably would have stayed that way had it not been for the fact that they actually like doing hair and nails and (after their parents allowed it) makeup. They subscribed to every beauty magazine they could get their hands on and built up quite a collection of comsmetics and paraphenalia. They tried everything from straightening gels to orange juice cans to heated rollers. And although they occasionally ended up with a burn on the neck or green hair (some girls just weren’t intended to be blondes), by and large they learned the arts well enough that other girls (especially in the younger classes) came to them to have their hair done for big dates or special events.

After school, the three girls decided to go off to cosmetology school in Indianapolis together for a year. Truth be known, I think their parents breathed a sigh of relief that they were only looking at 18 months of tuition, room, and board instead of a full four years of college. Times were tight in Willow Mills in the mid-sixties.

There was never a question in these three girls minds that they would come back to Willow Mills and set up shop together. But when they started actually trying to get started, they discovered that shop space and clientele were all a little limited. For a while, they actually tried sharing Al’s Barbershop with him. Al’s business had evolved into something akin to the Elk’s club and was always busy. But with just Al and two chairs, there was a lot of empty space back in the shop and he allowed that the girls might make use of it.

But there are some things in which mixing men and women doesn’t work. And it seems that barbering is one of them. Excuse me, that’s hairdressing. Well, there's one of the problems. It turns out that old ladies don’t want to have old men around when their getting blue rinse in their hair, and young girls aren’t crazy about hearing what their dates and boyfriends are saying in a barbershop. It was almost the end of all their businesses and in three months the girls found themselves each working out of their parent’s homes while they looked for a better way.

That wasn’t the real problem, though, if the truth were known. The real problem had to do with three girls all interested in the same boy. Or perhaps it was one boy interested in three different girls. They’d all four been loners when it came to the opposite sex in high school, choosing the company of each other or their friends on Saturday night instead of dates. But the three months of working in the same space began to reveal sexual tensions where there had been none before.

It started with one or another of the girls repaying a favor to Al with dinner at her house. Then another asking for help with some equipment at her house. And a third wanting advice over dinner on some new styles she wanted to try out. And soon, the three close friends found themselves competing for the affections that seemed to be equally given to all three by one boy.

Now I won’t say that the girls didn’t stay friends. You can still catch them on Friday at lunch for their weekly date at Josephine’s. They are still known to go off together for vacations or shopping trips. But somehow, they never put their shops back together as one big beauty salon. Elizabeth (Betty) Daniels managed to put together enough money to buy a little house over on Walnut that her grandmother owned. She converted the parlor into a one-woman salon where she specializes in wash and set for the older generation. It’s called Betty’s Style Hair Salon. Robyn managed finally to land that prize storefront across the street from Al’s and set it up as the Deja View Hair Studio. Her clientele is the younger set who want stylish new cuts, colors, and manicures. Donna got a trailer out on the southeast corner of town, not technically in Stringtown, but just the other side of the tracks. She calls it Askins Beauty Parlor. Her clients are those who mostly want to keep their color the same for life, always have their hair the same length and style, and never want to use an eyebrow pencil again. Donna will also do waxing and facials.

Al, of course, still has the same shop next to Oppenheimer’s. It was so big that he fixed up the back and upstairs and lives there.

Oh, so how did the romance thing work out? Sometimes it just doesn’t pay to ask too many questions. What we know for sure is that none of the four ever got married, and Al’s lights are seldom on at night. And oddly enough, there seems to be a couple weeks each summer when all four shops are closed at the same time.

Willow Leaves July 19

2004-11-19T11:07:00.000-08:00

4H’ers Clean Up at Fair

Willow Mills 4H’ers were among those who cleaned up at the County Fair Auction in Wabash on Saturday Night. Six area youth who placed high in the fair rankings received a total of over $2,000 for their prizes. While this was not as much as some of the Grand Champions raked in, The kids here are both happy and proud of their accomplishments.

A highlight of the auction, Devin Patrick’s Grand Champion crossbred hog brought $2,200 at auction. Devin is a member of the North Manchester 4-H. While not as inflated, Andy Stackhouse’s third prize hog brought $575, which still isn’t bad for a pig with a market value of just under $70. The hog was bought by Hart’s Pure Beef Meat Locker and Stan Hart promises that it will be served for the Labor Day Barbecue at the Holy Waters Baptist Church.

Alli Cameron was just as delighted when she was able to sell a barrel of manure from her quarter horse Bars Harley Dean for $150. Sixteen year-old Alli and the buckskin quarter horse turned in the fastest time in the county on barrel-turning and poles to give our young horsewoman her third straight championship. Said Alli, “There’s plenty more where that came from!” We assume she meant both championships and manure.

At the bottom end of the scale, Billy Peoples sold his Blackself Guinea Pig to State Senator Jim Erwin for a whopping $50. The black Cavy won best of show. When asked his plans for the guinea pig, Senator Erwin said, “It’s too small to eat, so I guess I’ll take it to Indianapolis and see if I can get it elected Governor.”

Congratulations to all our 4-H Club members and to the great showing they made in Wabash.

Crop Report Looks Good

Wabash County farmers are expecting good yields from both sweet and field corn this year, thanks to ideal growing conditions. A wet spring followed by hot humid weather this summer has sent corn skyward.

Several farms in the community are offering choice ears of young sweetcorn. When asked the best way to prepare sweetcorn, Amos Alger, a principal grower east of town, said “Bring a pot of boiling water to the field. Pick the corn you want and husk it on the way to the pot. Dip it in the boiling water for eight minutes, then roll it in our blended salt, pepper, and sweet cream butter. Eat as many as you dare.”

If you’d like to try corn cooked this way, Amos is once again maintaining a kettle of boiling water at the field-side vegetable stand, and he guarantees the results.

Getting it on Ice

Charles Allen Hart knew refrigeration like few men of his era. His family moved down to Indiana from Ontario in the late 1800s and looked for a place where Charles’ father, Norman, could ply his trade. He was an iceman. And he raised his son to be an iceman as well. When they moved to Willow Mills, they built an icehouse near the mill on the north side of the river and all winter long he and his son cut blocks of ice out of the mill-pond and stored them in the icehouse. In the summer, he and his son loaded a wagon each morning and carted ice into town for the people with iceboxes to keep their food cool. Of course big operations like the dairy had their own ice cutting crews because milk would go bad pretty quickly in Indiana’s hot summer if you didn’t get it cooled.

Norman was a man of foresight and was keen on technological advances in the art of refrigeration. When he built his icehouse, he used the best technology he could afford: smooth sheets of zinc lining a larger chamber where ice was packed in salt and wrapped in long strips of flannel. The icehouse hand an earthworks berm that made it look almost like an Indian burial mound from a distance. Charles was responsible for draining melted water and filtering out the salt so it wouldn’t contaminate the ground water around the icehouse.

Charles anticipated that he would spend his entire life cutting ice and hauling it through the streets of Willow Mills. But after the warm winters and scarcity of ice in 1889 and 1890, Norman installed a compressor. So in addition to selling the ice, collecting the money and keeping the cash account correct, Charles had to take care of the compressor. He adjusted the packing gland, adjusted the hand expansion valve and drained the oil trap. He was becoming more of a mechanic each day.

In 1911, the 30-year-old Charles went with his father on an excursion to Fort Wayne where they saw General Electric’s first refrigerator, invented by a French Monk. They could see the writing on the wall. Just as people currently had ice boxes and anxiously awaited the delivery each week of their ice, soon people would have refrigerators. The world was going to change. It was time for Charles to begin changing the business. So, with his own two young sons in 1915, Charles bought the old butcher shop and purchased half of the Main Street block north of the town square on which it sat. There he built a new refrigeration house. The family continued to cut ice and store it in the old icehouse. But the new refrigeration house on Main Street kept not just ice available, but offered lockers for customers to keep their meats cold, butchered meats for the local farmers, and packaged and sold meat that they stored in the “Meat Locker.”

When Nathan and Samuel Hart grew up, they were naturally a part of the family business, well-trained butchers and icemen like their father and grandfather. But where Samuel was as happy cutting meat as he was cutting ice, Nathan was a bit of an odd duck. Like the prodigal son of old, he asked for his share of the inheritance early on and his dad and brother bought him out of the business. Had Charles known what his son was about to do, he might not have agreed to the arrangement.

Far from leaving home and squandering his inheritance, Nathan turned around and bought the Grissom house, a big brick mansion across the street from the meat locker that Randall Grissom built just the year before the old mill burned down. The place had pretty much been derelict for 30 years with a variety of businesses and families moving in and out of them. It had a doctor’s office in it before Nathan bought it, but Willow Mills just wasn’t big enough to support a doctor of its own and Doc Wilson moved to Wabash.

But the old mansion was perfectly suited to Nathan Hart’s purposes. He had studied refrigeration pretty well and back in the late 1870s, an African American by the name of Thomas Elkins had patented an improved refrigerator design. The improved refrigerator, however, was designed to chill human corpses to preserve them before burial. Nathan did a little improvement on the old designs and started importing coffins and headstones. He opened Hart’s Funeral Home right across the street from Hart’s Pure Beef Meat Locker, both to the surprise and chagrin of his brother and father.

So that’s how it came about that when you drive down Main Street from the north, you see these two family-owned businesses across the street from each other in a bizarre juxtaposition that is not devoid of humor after you get over the initial shock. Just don’t turn into the wrong drive when you are headed for Hart’s.

Willow Leaves July 12

2004-11-15T13:04:00.000-08:00

4H Park Hosts Garden Exhibition

Roses abounded this weekend as the Willow Mills 4H Park hosted its midsummer garden exhibition. Willow Mills leads the summer season with the first floral display competition in the area. Many exhibitors will continue to bring flowers to shows throughout this and neighboring counties until the county fairs wrap up the season in late August.

This year’s exhibition featured more than the usual number of roses leading to much speculation on how the early heat this year has affected growing patterns. Local breeder Darrell Long won the people’s choice award with an unusual hybrid tea rose he calls Roxanne’s Delight. The flower has a yellow bud with flaming orange tips.

Proceeds from the admission fee ($1), go to our local 4H’ers who will be bringing their various projects to the Wabash County Fair next week.

Annual Revival Concludes

The annual revival at Holy Waters Baptist Church came to a spectacular conclusion on Sunday with three services and 18 new baptisims in the Eel River.

“Brother Hollowell’s sermons were an inspiration to all of us,” said regular minister Andrew Wilson. “We have received 14 new members into our congregation and have baptized 18 adults and youth into the faith. It’s a shame that the 4th of July only comes once a year.”

This year the church was newly air conditioned which some believe had an affect on attendance at the services, and on the willingness of so many people to stay in church for so long.

Holy Waters Baptist Church and
The Harmony Grits Gospel Choir

Anyone who believes Indiana is a “Northern State” has not visited Holy Waters Baptist Church, nor heard the Harmony Grits Gospel Choir.

Northerners spend a long time puzzling over that name. (In Indiana, “Northern” is north of the Lincoln Highway, U.S. Hwy 30.) The name came about a few years ago when the church hired a new choir director from Tennessee named Delbert Jones. At his first rehearsal with the choir, Del gave them his speech on what a choir is all about. But what the choir heard was not exactly what Del said.

“Music is abou’ hominy,” they heard him say. “We sang hominy. The angels in heaven sang hominy. God loves hominy. But you got to bounce you hominy. If you bounce you hominy, you have grit hominy. As you director, my job is to make you hominy grit.”

At about that time, Suze Wilson spoke up and said “I like my hominy grits with butter and pepper.”

“I’m sorry I’m not speaking clearly for you northrun ears,” Del responded. “I din’t say hominy, I said hominy. And I din’t say grit, I said grit. But if you sang grit hominy, we’ll call the choir Hominy Grits.”

And so it is to this day. The choir sings harmony. Del balances the harmony. And the harmony is great. All from Harmony Grits.

Welcome to Willow Woods Community

Lynn Powers of Powers House Realty has always been gung ho on living in Willow Mills. She got that from her father when she was just a child. That was Bill Powers of Powers House Construction. He was the first developer to look at Willow Mills as a residential Mecca for harried corporate executives in the big city of Wabash (population 21,000) just 14 miles away.

It would be an easy commute in the big luxury cars of the late 50s; and Willow Mills would be a place where corporate wives could find a friendly community with a good school and great environment for raising kids. But no matter how he worded the promotionals, people weren’t willing to trade homes four miles away from work for homes fourteen miles away. So sales were slow at first.

Then Bill’s daughter, Lynn, got in the act. In 1959, Lynn was in fifth grade and had a new teacher, Mrs. Sullivan. Mrs. Sullivan was new in town. She and her husband (who worked in Warsaw) were living down in Bourbon. It wasn’t a bad commute for Mr. Sullivan, but it was an hour each way for Mrs. Sullivan.

Lynn got word that they were looking for a new home and went straight to work selling them on Willow Woods. And, to the surprise of everyone, was successful. Bill paid his daughter the full 3% commission on the $22,000 home and she was motivated. She began reading everything she could get her hands on about real estate sales. She made flyers and distributed them on Main Street in North Manchester. She put posters up at school. She made phone calls to local businesses and to the college.

By the time Lynn finished high school, she had sold 22 houses in Willow Woods which her father built. And rather than go to college, she decided to hang her shingle on Main Street in 1968 and began selling property all over the Eel River Valley near Willow Mills.

Unfortunately, Bill’s management of the development did not match his daughter’s sales ability. He allowed people to choose their own lots and he built custom on each one. As a result, for several years Lynn was the only one who made money on the development. People cherry-picked the lots and by 1970 they couldn’t sell any of those that remained.

So now there are about 40 homes on nearly 70 lots in Willow Woods. When Bill retired in ’85 he sold the remaining lots to his daughter and she set about turning another big profit by imediately announcing a new phase of development and staking out homes on the vacant lots. Lots that the current residents had been using as extensions to their own yards.

The residents were so appaled at the thought of having “their yards” cut up for new homes that they quickly bought up the remaining lots to prevent more houses from being built.

Still the old marketing slogan stands on the sign that points into the neighborhood: “Willow Woods—If you lived here, you’d be home now.”

Willow Leaves July 5

2004-11-12T09:49:00.000-08:00

4th of July Parade

Willow Mills was the site of fantastic celebrations on Independence Day: A parade, fireworks, and the Canonball Run marked the festivities. This was quickly followed by the beginning of the Holy Waters Summer Revival.

With Independence Day falling on Sunday this year, activities were sandwiched between and around church schedules with remarkable felicity on the part of all involved.

The early morning Canonball Run barely avoided the stifling heat that has camped over Indiana this past week. Over 100 runners showed up for the 6:30 a.m. start for the three-mile race along a freshly mowed path next to the Penn Central tracks. On a radioed signal from North Manchester, runners began the race with a 3-mile head start on the early morning freight train. The train crossed the finish line at the Willow Mills elevator in 22 minutes and 37 seconds, beating all but 31 of the runners this year. Runners and train alike crossed the line at the cheers of some 300 spectators lining the track.

People began lining Main Street long before the church services let out; but there seemed to be plenty of room for over a thousand spectators for this year’s parade. Special highlights in the 36 unit parade this year included and exceptional kiddie-car parade with a couple dozen participants, and, of course, Angus Fergussons mad gallop down Main Street with a loaded Milk wagon. 4-H Club floats, churches, two bands, and 8 riders in the newly revived Willow Mills Horsemen’s Club helped round out the hour-long parade.

At 10:00 p.m. a delightful display of fireworks were set off from atop the elevator, bringing this 4th of July to a very satisfactory close. Many thanks to all those involved.

“Saved by Grace” is Revival Theme

Holy Waters Baptist Church began its annual revival meeting Sunday evening at 7:00, barely winding up the firest service in time for the fireworks at 10:00. Pastor Aaron Hollowell of First Baptist in Washtukah is the speaker for the weeklong revival. His message Sunday night was titled “Baptized in the Water, Washed in the Blood, and Filled with the Spirit.” It began seven nights promoted as “filled with prayer, praise, and preaching.” there is a potluck dinner each evening at 6:00 and service begins at 7:30. All are welcome.

Ghost Rumors Abound

Rumors of a ghost haunting stretches of South River Road just west of town have had a resurgence since last week’s accident involving three teens on the stretch known as the “Devil’s Backbone.” The twisting quarter mile of road has been host to at least one rumored haunting in every generation since the road was built. Some say that the old Indian trail on which the road was built in the mid-1800s was a favored route of the Indian Chief Tecumseh, and that he returns periodically to extract vengence on the white settlers.

The latest version, however, dresses the spirit in a T-shirt and cut offs with a baseball cap. Those who remember a 1950s accident on the road will recall the image of Samuel Graves, a 22-year-old who was killed on the stretch after a baseball game victory celebration. Photos from the party showed him dressed in this way.

The Battle of Prophetstown

By 1805, the Shawnee had been driven west out of Ohio by the constant pressure of westward expansion of the United States. William Henry Harrison was the governor of the Indiana Territory on his rise to the presidency. Tecumseh was the war chief of the Shawnee. His brother, Tenskwatawa, was the spiritual leader of the Shawnee also called "The Prophet." Their village of over 6,000 Shawnee was located down near Lafayette where the Eel River joins the Wabash.

Tecumseh had the notion that if he could band together all the Algonquin language tribes that remained in the Northwest Territories that he could put a barrier up against the white expansion and he traveled back and forth across Ohio, Michigan, Indiana, Illinois, Kentucky, and Tennessee encouraging the banding together of the various tribes and prohibiting the sale of their tribal lands to the white invaders. Needless to say, there was tension between the settlers and their army and the Native Americans who claimed the land as their own.

It was while Tecumseh was traveling to promote his union that one of Harrison's scouts was killed in an ambush. Harrison decided to put an end to the tensions once and for all. He led his army against the Shawnee at Prophetstown and at the spot now known as Battle Ground in Tippecanoe County he met and defeated them. The Indians lasted only about two hours before they broke and ran, but that was not enough for Harrison. The next day he led his army into Prophetstown and destroyed everything and everyone remaining there. This effectively ended the dream of a confederation of tribes.

Around here in Willow Mills, our legends have it that Tecumseh was returning to Prophetstown and was near here when he received the news that Prophetstown had fallen and his people were being hunted down. He led the small band that he could gather into the deep woods and headed north collecting more as he went. He joined the British to fight against the Americans in the War of 1812 and died in the Battle of the Thames in Ontario in 1813.

The old Indian trails weren't straight clear-cut paths like most of today's roads and highways. But many of the first roads in Indiana followed those trails, not bothering to cut and clear if it wasn't absolutely necessary. That's how it came to happen that South River Road has such a twisty little patch just east of Willow Mills that everyone around here calls the Devil's Backbone.

Old-timers used to say that the ghost of Tecumseh still follows that trail and you can hear him wail each time he reaches the backbone and hears again the news of the slaughter of Prophetstown. People don't see him so much these days, but there's always been something that seemed a little haunted about that stretch. The woods are still thick right through there because the number of odd sinkholes make it unsuitable for farming or for building. If there's a ghost to be found around Willow Mills, you can bet that you should start looking for it on The Devil's Backbone.

Willow Leaves June 28

2004-11-11T16:16:00.000-08:00

Class Reunion Memories

Twenty-one members of the Willow Mills High School Class of ’59 met June 19 to celebrate 40 years on their own, and to remember the passing of two of their classmates. The festivities were held on the school grounds at Elsie hewitt Elementary where most of the class, their spouses, and their children have attended school.

The twenty-one classmates who met accounted for all but five of the graduating class. Rachel and Jack Gibson sent their best wishes from their home in Southern California. Robert Biehl was in town and met class members at the Dowsing Rod late Saturday night. But he kept the vow he made that night 40 years ago when after graduation he set the football field on fire, that as long as Coach Lapinski was alive, he would never come back to the school. Lapinski, now age 66, retired from teaching and coaching last year. Lapinski was the class sponsor and attended the reunion.

The last classmates not attending were the first two of the class to have graduated to a new life. Dan o'Brien died in Viet Nam in 1969. Dolly Johnson died of cancer last year.

With spouses, children, and grandchildren, over 120 people showed up at the family picnic Saturday afternoon. Thirty-eight class members and spouses attended the “sock hop” that evening and showed they could still do “The Twist.”

Accident on River Road

The stretch of South River Road west of town known as “The Devil’s Backbone” claimed another victim late Saturday night as a car sped off the road and into the muddy waters. Miraculously the driver and two passengers—all teens whose names have been withheld pending investigation—escaped with relatively minor injuries. All three were treated in the emergency room at Wabash General and were released.

Sheriff’s deputies say all three have stated that something or someone suddenly stepped into the road ahead of them. The driver swerved to miss the person or animal and went over the steep embankment. The Sheriff’s office cites many inconsistencies in the stories and credits them to too many sensational movies.

Results of breathalizer tests and blood-alcohol tests conducted at the hospital have not been released.

Mystery Camper Eludes Capture

Ted Anderson has indicated that no further developments have occurred in the case of the mysterious camper. Sheriff’s deputies concur that they have no new leads.

Last month Anderson reported finding a fresh campsite on his property with evidence that it had been in use for a good part of the spring. Since then, there has been no sign of further use of the camp, nor have neighbors reported anything suspicious.

“Must have been a gypsy just passing through,” said Anderson. “Or he could have moved to someone else’s woodlot and hasn’t been discovered yet.”

That may be, but we have to ask: “Where else could he find beach-front property like yours, Ted?”

Welcome to The Lake in Stringtown

Milo Stoneburner’s son Milt always had bright ideas. One of them was letting folks camp out by the Lake on the farm. It was one of his favorite things to do when he was a kid, and his brother Robert joined him in convincing Milo to let them take a stab at renting camping spaces on the north side of the Lake.

To encourage the use of the property, they came up with the idea of a permanent lease for your private campsite. They used the farm tractor after their chores all one summer to clear a network of muddy trails through the woods on that side, and then they staked out camping lots similar to what they’d seen at the Pokagon State Park.

Then they went about seeking people to rent the lots on a long-term basis. What they got was different than what they expected. The years after the second world war saw a big change in how people worked and how they spent their money. The first one to buy a fifty year lease was a soldier with his severance pay in his pocket.

The boys thought they had hit paydirt when they deposited that first $50 in the bank and signed the fifty year lease for $20 per year. Why land was only good for about $250 an acre in the woods. They would have that much in ten years with continued income for 40 years after that. And it was only a fraction of an acre. They’d be rich.

Over the next couple years they sold fifteen of the leases on about six acres of land. They were not prepared, however, for the fact that none of the people who bought intended to camp there. From that first 18-foot Airstream that got parked out there, to the two-bedroom mobile, to the series of tarpaper shacks, the people who moved in came to stay.

They ran electric to their homes, dug wells, and polluted the Lake with their septic systems. In 1965, when Milt sold off the acreage that would become Willow Grove at $600 an acre, he still thought he’d made a good deal on the permaleases. But when the developer sold the Willow Grove lots for $2,000 each (half acre lots) he started having second thoughts.

He tried to have everyone evicted, but a short court fight proved the permalease valid and binding. Then he went about a zoning fight, but for all his efforts, existing structures and land use were grandfathered in. It was finally apparent that Stringtown was there to stay.

Now Robert had a different view of things than his brother Milt. Probably because while Milt was taking over the family business and the homestead, Robert had taken one of the permaleases himself and built a little cabin near the Lake where he continued to live for many years. Unbeknownst to Milt, the fights against invalidating the leases and rezoning were funded by his brother Robert.

Milo died in 1989 and Milt followed to an early grave in 1990. Robert was left a controlling interest in the permaleased properties. He did what seemed perfectly logical to himself. He surveyed the lots and deeded them to the leaseholders just ten years before the first lease would expire. What had been a long-term temporary arrangement became a permanent fixture in Willow Mills. Stringtown is here to stay.

So why is it called Stringtown?

The original settlers didn’t bother to have the power company come out and run power lines for them. They tapped into a transformer at the road and ran their own power line out to the Lake. From there each person who setup a house or trailer strung a line from his neighbor’s to get power. By the time the power company figured out what was going on five years later, the whole place was strung together like a spider web, and folks started calling it Stringtown.

They all did get legal power eventually, but it took several years to get all the pikers hooked up properly. And two years ago, the company discovered there was still one cabin that was getting its power from a neighbor’s connection.

Willow Leaves June 21

2004-11-10T19:36:00.000-08:00

August Wedding Plans

In a family surprise on Father’s Day, Janice Thompson announced wedding plans for August to her long-time boyfriend Whisper Townsend. Whisper is a student at Oberlin College where Janice plans to attend in the fall. The wedding is set for August 22 at 2:00 p.m. at the 4H Park Pavillion. The reception will be held at the Grange Hall at 5:30 p.m.

Janice, daughter of Althea and Everett Thompson, graduated with honors from Manchester High on May 29. Whisper, son of John Townsend and Janet Biggs, is a member of the class of ’97. Both will be studying drama at the prestigious Oberlin College with hopes of moving to New York in a few years.

The parents of both young people were surprised by the announcement Sunday, but said they should have known it was coming. The two have been next door neighbors for fourteen years and have been almost inseperable since Junior High.

“I know the last two years have been really hard on Janice,” said her father, “what with Whisper away at college. Somehow we knew they would get together. I don’t know what this means for our vacation in July.”

Wedding invitations will be late getting out, Janice confessed. “So if you don’t get yours, just come anyway. Everyone in town is invited,” she said.

Contribute Your Favorite Recipe

The WSCS (also now known as the UMW) has announced a new twist to the New Millenium Cookbook of Willow Mills. Slated to be out for Christmas, Penny Parker has asked that contributions to the cookbook be sent to her attention her at Willow Mills.

This year, the ladies are hoping to capture a slice of life in Willow Mills with the recipes they publish. So please, include a story about how this recipe came to you, why it was a family favorite, or what special meaning it has for you.

“As Timmy Stackhouse so ably reminded us,” said Mrs. Parker, “you don’t have to be a woman to cook. Our recipes are published by the Women's Society, but we will accept contributions from persons of all races, ages, sexes, colors, creeds, and national origins.”

If you want to contribute a recipe and story, include it in the comments to this post.

Almost Dinner

Mrs. Penny Parker of the WSCS has shared the following story and recipe from the Willow Mills New Millenium Cookbook.

“When I was little, my dad worked for Studebaker’s in South Bend. There was a lot of labor trouble up there and he was out of work, either laid off or on strike, several months out of every year. But I had an aunt who worked for Campbell’s Soup in Chicago. So once a month we would drive up to Chicago where she would load us up with unlabeled cans of soup, which the employees were allowed to take home.

“There were seven in our family, so a meal of soup consisted of about 5 cans which we often made into a casserole. We never knew until the soup was opened what kind of soup it was. Sometimes we would get five cans that were the same kind, but more often, we were inventing something out of very different kinds of ingredients. As a result, we always said that if you had five cans of condensed soup, you almost had dinner.

“We actually invented a recipe for a casserole that has been a favorite for years in my family that includes ground beef, noodles, and of course, five cans of different kinds of Campbell’s Condensed soups. We’ve come to call it ‘Almost Dinner.’”

Almost Dinner
2 lbs. Pasta (we like macaroni, but noodles are also a favorite) 2 lbs. Ground Beef 1 small Onion 2 stalks of Celery	2 large Carots 2 cans Cream of Mushroom Soup 2 cans of Vegetable Soup 1 can of Tomato Soup Potato Chips
Boil up the pasta. Brown the burger, onions, celery and carots. Season with your favorite spices. Drain the burger and pasta and mix together with the soup in a large casserole. Crumble potato chips over the top and bake in a pre-heated 350 oven for 45 minutes. Get everybody a big plate and ladle it on.

The Monte Carlo Supper Club

Timmy Stackhouse missed the hippie era. By a long-shot. He was born in the 70s. Before he was in high school in the 80s, all the revolutions that could be started had already been ended. Drugs had come and gone by the time he was a teen. Free sex was a thing of the past. Long hair was out. There really wasn’t much to rebel against. All he could see ahead of him was taking over the family farm out on Co. Rd. 200, or fighting his three younger brothers for it. He was an upstanding member of the Future Farmers of America. But he just wasn’t quite satisfied.

One day in school as he was watching through the door of the Home Ec classroom waiting for his girlfriend to come out, he was startled by Principal Richter laying a not too gentle hand on his shoulder. “Someone with such an interest in cooking should have more direct experience of it,” the principal said.

“It’s not the cooking,” Timmy explained. “I’m just waiting for my…”

“Before you get in more trouble for loitering in the halls,” the principal interrupted, “I think you had better retrace your words and agree with me.” Timmy looked up at the principal suddenly realizing he had just been busted. School rules were clear. Just because he had gotten out of class a few minutes early didn’t mean he could stand around in the halls. All he had wanted to do was walk Carol home, holding her hand. But Timmy had learned that most of the time things went easier if he just went along with whatever the authority in charge was telling him to do.

“Yes sir,” he answered. “I’d sure love to learn to cook.”

“What a splendid idea,” Mr. Richter responded. “In fact, I think Miss Sullivan could help you with that.” And with those words Mr. Richter did the unthinkable and ushered Timmy into the Home Ec classroom where the girls were just putting away the dishes they had used. Before Timmy could fully comprehend, he had been enrolled in Miss Sullivan’s 4-H Foods summer program.

(You might think Indiana is a little provincial, but even though they now offer boys Home Economics and girls Shop, they still don’t mix the sexes in those classes.) Timmy saw his summer wasting away before his eyes. But you didn’t argue with Mr. Richter. Even if he was technically overstepping his bounds as a principal, he was a highly respected educator among the parents who would all side with him in any punishment brought on their kids.

And so began Timmy’s introduction to cooking. Much to his surprise, he discovered that he liked it. He learned herbs and spices, cooking temperatures, meat cuts, and pastry making. Up to this time the most he’d ever done was bake cookies with his mother. But now he found himself preparing entire meals, and displaying a knack for setting an attractive table, too. About mid-way through the summer Miss Sullivan sat Timmy down and told him about an opportunity that would change Timmy’s life forever. The host of the HomeMaker’s hour on WRSW television in Warsaw was inviting members of various 4-H Clubs to appear on her show over the summer to demonstrate what they were cooking. Miss Sullivan had chosen Timmy as her club’s delegate. He was to demonstrate one of his favorite recipes on-air in August.

Timmy was petrified.

Through an incredible amount of coaxing and prodding he finally arrived at a simple demonstration that he was sure he could do: three simple tomato salads for summer. He would use one that was a simple marinade, one that was grilled, and one that was carved like a jack-o-lantern and stuffed with tuna salad especially for kids. He’d made that one once for his little brothers and they loved it.

Miss Sullivan helped him write his script and practice the salads over and over in front of ever-expanding audiences of his club-mates, parents, teachers, and once before the town council. At last the big day arrived. Timmy had all his ingredients prepared, measured, and sitting in individual glass bowls. There was a rubber scraper for each bowl so that none would be used more than once. Serving plates were ready for each salad. Timmy wheeled his cart into the television studio with confidence. He was given no prep time, nor any chance to worry when he got to the studio. The producer got him set up on the kitchen set and Jane Harmon, the hostess of the show, walked into the room just after the lights came on. She started a friendly conversation with him and then asked him to just show the demo as she sat and watched.

The demonstration was going fabulously well. Mrs. Harmon, Timmy’s mom, and Miss Sullivan sat in folding chairs in front of him as he whipped together his three salads. Then he got to the last ingredient, scraping the tuna salad into the jack-o-lantern tomato, and it happened. There was one too few rubber scrapers on his table. He had used them all. Miss Sullivan had been very clear about never using the same scraper twice in a demonstration, but the tuna had to be gotten out of the bowl somehow. Timmy upended the bowl over the tomato, then stuck his finger in it and wiped the bowl clean as the tuna went into the tomato. Jane Harmon broke out in laughter to which Timmy’s next response was to look for a non-existent paper towel to wipe his finger on, hesitate a moment, then stick it in his mouth and lick it off.

“Even I can’t wait to try this salad,” he quipped and the red light on the camera in front of him blinked out as the show went to commercial.

Mrs. Harmon raved about the demonstration and suggested that Timmy should think of a career in food preparation, especially if he could teach somewhere. Students would love him.

And that planted the seed. Timmy’s salad demonstration at the county fair won him a championship and sent him to Indianapolis to compete in the State Fair. And the bug had bitten him good. Instead of going to college after high school, Timmy went to cooking school. He was hired by a top restaurant in Chicago right out of school and became the assistant chef there. But the big city just wasn’t what Timmy was cut out for. Just after his 30th birthday, he moved his family back here to Willow Mills and took over the abandoned Moose Lodge out on South River Road, turning it into a supper club with music in the evenings and a dance floor. And he brought with him some of his own specialties, like the Jonathon Haliday Prime Rib that he serves on Saturday nights in honor of the old Tally Ho Restaurant in Peru where he first encountered it.

Since the restaurant is only open evenings for dinner, and Sunday noon, Timmy put Mrs. Harmon’s other advice into effect and teaches cooking classes there during the day. Folks have come from as far away as Ft. Wayne for some of the classes, and his Holiday Cooking classes in November and December have a majority of repeat attendees in them.

Here’s a little of what you’ll find on the menu at the Monte Carlo Supper Club.

Monday is Pork Night

Each week Tim devises another incredible dish out of our favorite four-footed friend. Chops, tenderloins, roasts, and ham all find their way to these succulent dishes. Call to see what this week’s special is.

Tuesday is French Night

Tim gathered recipes from some of Paris’s top restaurants on his vacation last summer. So what if he doesn’t speak French. He cooks it like no one you’ve ever met. Call for this week’s dish du jour.

Wednesday is Chicken, Chicken, Chicken!

Fried, broasted, baked, and boiled. You’ve never tasted chicken so tender and delicious. Wednesday nights often have a theme including special music for dancing. Country, Swing, Rock and Roll. Tim has the right chicken recipe to get your feet tapping.

Thursday is Surf and Turf Night

From broiled Maine Rock Lobster Tails to Deep Fried Catfish, Tim’s going to cook up seafood to go with that aged-to-perfection Hoosier Cornfed Beefsteak. Get started on the weekend early with surfer music for your dancing enjoyment.

Friday is Freshwater Fish Night

Trout, walleye, croppies, and even smelt find their way from the fresh fisheries of the midwest to the table at the Monte Carlo on Friday nights. This is fish like you’ve never had it before. And don’t forget the fourth Friday is always an All-You-Can-Eat Fish Fry with coleslaw and french fries on the side.

Saturday is Prime Rib Night

This is the night you’ve been waiting for all week. Tim fires up the slow cooker and puts a full, bone-in prime rib of beef on a bed of rock salt where it cooks for twelve hours. When you order, Tim slices off a full rib and tosses it on the flame grill to char both sides to your choice of doneness. This Jonathon Halliday cut and cooking method originated at the old Tally-Ho Restaurant in Peru. Tim has preserved the recipe here.

Family Dinner Sunday Noon

Sundays at noon, the entire Stackhouse clan gathers around the big table in the middle of the Monte Carlo for a family style Sunday Dinner. You can join them. Whatever Tim cooks, it’s the same for everyone. Turkey, ham, meatloaf, beef stroganoff, or even that rare vegetarian delicacy that you’d swear was packed with beef. Join us as we give thanks for this week, and ask guidance for the next.

Willow Leaves, June 14

2004-11-08T14:21:00.000-08:00

Father/Son Campout This Weekend

Fathers and sons will gather at the Bull Run campsite for a the annual Father/Son campout. There are numerous entertainments planned for the event.

Friday at 4:00 p.m. the dads and their off-spring will meet at fountain square for the hike-out. They will follow clues that will lead the teams by several routes on a scavenger hunt. The teams have to find all the items on their lists in order to have dinner at the campsite as much of what they are sent to find is dinner. When they reach the campsite, the fire will be burning and after camp is set up dinner will be served. Music around the campfire will be provided by John Voigt of North Manchester. There’s sure to be a spooky story or two told after the sun goes down.

The traditional bullguard will be set around the camp and it is likely that in the early hours of Saturday morning you’ll be able to hear the bull-roarers humming from up the river as the kids start to roll out of bed.

Saturday will be a day of woodcraft and fishing with a variety of contests and competitions organized by the Grange. Sunday morning the dads and boys will break camp and hike into town for a pancake breakfast back at Fountain Square sponsored by the Merchant’s Association. Each of the three churches will have a special Fathers Day service and welcome the dads and their sons unshaven and unshowered. Makes us remember what Fathers Day is all about.

Town Council Meeting

The town council will hold its monthly meeting Tuesday evening at 7:00 at the Fire Station. As always the meeting is open to the citizens. This month’s meeting will hear the first report of the Millenium Planning Committee.

The committee, chaired by Bill Rasmussen, plans a complete remake of Fountain Square for the festivities that are slated to go for 24 hours, celebrating each New Year in all timezones of the world. This is in keeping with a long tradition of Indiana having its own time and not being beholden to any other authority. The first broadcast of the new millenium from Kiribati is scheduled at 7:00 a.m. on December 31 here in Willow Mills. The committee intends to keep the celebration going all day long and until 6:00 a.m. on New Year's Day when the broadcast from French Polynesia will mark the whole world having entered the new millenium.

Bull Run Campsite

Willow Mills is the kind of place where people show up for no apparent reason and then just stay. Take Robin and Jackie Greenwald for example.

They were a young couple who were ready to take on the world in high power jobs. Robin graduated from the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor. Jackie had a teaching degree and planned to find a nice English Literature class to teach. Robin had been accepted to start his Masters work at prestigious Tulane University. So a month after graduation they got married and set out in Robin’s old VW bug for a leisurely honeymoon drive south to Oklahoma.

They decided to take the rest of the summer and just wind their way south on backroads, camping out as they went. And that is what brought them one summer evening to Josephine’s café in Willow Mills to enjoy a pork tenderloin sandwich and find a place to camp.

There is a spot just above the millpond where the river is very wide and shallow. The banks widen out as well and it’s made a popular picnic spot for canoeists from The river side and drivers on the roadside. Over the years it has become an unofficial roadside rest area and sometime campsite. It was there that the couple set up their little tent and spread their sleeping bags. Late that night they were lulled to sleep by the gentle gurgle of the river and the occasional chirp of a bullfrog.

It was just after sunrise that their tent was unceremoniously ripped from over them by a wild-looking bull that couldn’t shake it from its horns and dragged it behind as it plunged into the river. As the two clutched each other in fear, a farmer in pajamas followed by two barking dogs rushed down the river bank and grabbed hold of a trailing tent peg to try to bring the bull back to shore. The bull proved too much for him, however, and the farmer was soon face-down in the river being pulled along by the frantic bull and still chasing dogs.

About that time a police car with siren and lights at full pulled in next to Robin’s VW. He barked into a walky-talky as he jumped out of the car directing a firetruck to the iron bridge above the dam. They turned back toward the river as a flashbulb went off in their eyes. Then the newspaper reporter shoved a card at them and said to come to his office this morning and he’d buy them a cup of coffee. A tractor cut across the brush above them and drove down the riverbank toward the millpond with one teenage boy driving and another standing on the fender twirling a rope like a lasso.

Robin and Jackie dove down into their sleeping bag and pulled it closed above their heads as they listened to more voices arriving and then following the chase downstream. When things got quiet again they poked their heads cautiously out of the sleeping bag. Coming toward them was a boy on a bicycle. He stopped and pulled out a newspaper from his saddlebags.

“Want a morning paper?” he asked tossing it to them. Then he pedaled on after the rest of the chase.

Well, Robin and Jackie got caught up in the town spirit that displayed itself later that day and after they started off south again they turned around and came back to Willow Mills. Oh, Robin went on to get his Masters Degree, but then they found themselves back in Willow Mills again. Jackie still teaches in North Manchester but she’ll be retiring soon and Robin ultimately became the president of a small engineering company in Wabash. But they’ve lived here in Willow Mills ever since.

And by the way, from that day forward the little roadside rest has been known as Bull Run.

Willow Leaves, June 7

2004-11-07T09:57:00.000-08:00

Summer Jobs Scarce for High Schoolers

After graduation last week, Willow Leaves took an informal survey of local high schoolers, asking about their summer plans. Many expressed frustration over the inability to find summer jobs in Willow Mills. Some were looking as far away as Wabash for summer work, but indicated competition was fierce for jobs in the larger towns.

We checked with several potential employers and found much the same results. Even menial jobs like dishwashers, hay balers, and errand-runners have been filled by what many employers term an unusually high number of eligible high schoolers this year.

Willow Leaves is encouraging all citizens to think about ways to gainfully employ this willing and able-bodied workforce. If you have job available, Willow Leaves has compiled a list of available high schoolers who are actively seeking parttime summer work. Call the Willow Leaves office today.

How did you spend your summer?

Many people we talked to about summer work started off the discussion with the words, “When I was a kid...” Seems like everyone has a story about how they spent summer vacation.

It occurs to us that maybe we should tell some of these stories in Willow Leaves as an inspiration to our kids. Write out your story as briefly as possible and send it to us here as a comment below. No reason everybody shouldn't have a hand in writing this story.

Welcome to Johnny’s Front Nine

This is the story of an obsession that became a career, and then something of a landmark. It is also a well-kept secret of those who are local.

Arland Grover moved onto a small farm near here in the early 50s. He was an experienced farmer of Amish stock who “went modern.” Oh, he and his family attended the Old Brethren Church out near North Manchester, and they still dress plain, though the kids clothes have zippers and buttons.

Arland drove a car.

Black.

He drove a tractor on the farm, painted black over the original John Deere green. All of his farm equipment is black.

Arland’s son Johnny was... Well, simpler than his parents. He was smart enough, but it seems his head just didn’t have room for as many things as other people’s. He quit school after eighth grade and went to work full time on the farm with his father. Farmlife suited Johnny. He could plow, disc and plant just fine, as long as his dad told him what to do.

But what Johnny loved most was to mow. And three or four times a year, he mowed the clover fields and turned them into neat stacks of baled hay.

It wasn’t just the hay that Johnny mowed. He used his old push mower to keep his family’s lawn pristine at least once a week. He used the hay mower to keep the ditches trimmed for half a mile on either side of their farm, on both sides of the road.

I guess Arland was a little indulgent, because he bought the boy a riding mower (painted it black) back in 1965. That was when things began to change. Arland’s lawn started getting bigger. Every chance Johnny had to reclaim a portion of unused ground around the house or barns, he used his meagre allowance to buy grass seed and fertilizer. Then he would anxiously await the opportunity to mow his new patch of grass.

Neighbors noticed how nice the Grover place looked and a couple hired Johnny to take care of their lawns with similar results. He coaxed grass out of every plantable corner of their yards, seeming instinctively to know if it needed a blue grass hybrid, or a local wild grass, and keeping the lawns immaculately trimmed.

It was in the winter of 1978 that Arland got sick. In the spring he told Johnny what he’d have to do for this year’s planting. He carefully designated which field would be corn and which soybeans and wheat. The one ten-acre strip to the west of the barn had always been hay, so Arland did not feel that he needed to give specific instructions for it. That turned out to be his mistake.

Miraculously, Arland made a slow recovery from what had appeared to be a terminal illness, and in July he took his first step out the back door of the house. He could see from there the lush carpet of young soybeans right where he said to plant them. The corn was already waist high, and Arland was bursting with pride in his son. Then he made his slow way around to the west side of the house and blinked in bewilderment. There was the richest, greenest lawn he had ever seen in his life. Ten acres of it.

Johnny figured that since his dad didn’t say anything about hay, he’d turn it into a lawn and mow it. Arland stood and stared as he watched Johnny out there on his newest model garden tractor (painted black) mowing that beautiful expanse down to a beautiful uniform inch-and-a-half in length. Johnny was as happy as he could be.

Arland came face to face with reality. Johnny was never really going to be a farmer. If Arland died, Johnny would turn the whole 275 acres into one big lawn to mow. So, Arland decided to rent out most of the farm and plan for his son’s future. Johnny was 25 years old and all he wanted to do was plant grass and mow.

The place was paid for. The rent would provide a small annual income. He would reserve thirty acres around the house for Johnny to plant and mow. And, by golly, if he was going to mow that much ground, it might as well be put to good use. Arland made a trip to the library that fall and started reading everything he could about golf courses. And he laid out a pretty nice nine holes around the farm. He convinced Johnny of the need to do a little grading on the property to make it more interesting, and to plant a few trees. Johnny balked at sand traps, but Arland insisted, and once Johnny understood how much he was going to get to mow, he began to get enthusiastic. The next year, Johnny’s Front Nine was born.

Folks don’t need a reservation. They pay only $8.00 for a nine-hole round of golf, which they leave in a box at the first tee. And Johnny gets to mow.

The only problem for serious golfers is that there is no rough at Johnny’s Front Nine.

And don’t ask me to tell you where it is. The folks around Willow Mills mean for this to stay a well-kept secret.

The Willow Mills Paper Route

Wayne Thompson delivered papers as a kid. You already know that. But you might not know what this kid had to do to get things going. He was in the spring of his sixth grade year when he got the opportunity to deliver the Wabash Plain Dealer to the Willow Mills route. It looked like a great summer job for the avid reader who was looking for more ways to buy books.

But Wayne lived just outside town south of the tracks when he was growing up and the rural delivery truck came by and shoved a paper in the box on a post at the end of the drive sometime before Wayne went to school. He wasn’t sure quite what time. He assumed everyone everyone had a box at the road. He was about to find out the kind of service he was being asked to perform.

At church the Sunday before he was to start learning the route with the rep from the Plain Dealer, Lester Brown stopped him. “So you’re going to be delivering the morning paper?” “Yes, sir,” answered Wayne politely. “Well,” said Lester, “you have to lift up a little on the storm door to open it when you put the paper between the storm and the front door. I like to keep it dry.”

Wayne was non-plussed. “Don’t you have a box at the street?”

Lester laughed. “Oh no, country boy. This is a town route. We get our paper delivered to the door.” Wayne’s image of himself riding down the street on his bike shoving papers in boxes evaporated. Sure enough, next morning at 5:00 the Plain Dealer rep showed up at Jess & Jim’s Pyramid Gas Station out at South River Road with a load of papers. Wayne’s dad got him up at 4:30 and barely out the door in time to pedal across town to meet the rep.

“Might as well leave your bike here and pick it up when we’re done,” the old man said. “We’re already late getting started and it’s faster to walk.” And walk they did. Wayne found the first day confusing, exhausting, and cold. When they finished walking up and down all the streets on the West Side, they crossed over and delivered on the East Side, ending back north at Jess and Jim’s at a quarter past 6:00.

“Wow, that was a lot of work,” Wayne exclaimed.

“We’re not done yet,” the old man said. “This bag has the papers in it for Stringtown. Grab your bike and I’ll meet you there. And be quick about it. Contract says all papers will be delivered by 6:30.”

Wayne grabbed his bike, took the bag of papers and pedalled south as fast has he could muster himself. The Plain Dealer rep followed him in his old Ford station wagon and pointed out the dozen houses in Stringtown that got papers, then told Wayne that he’d see him in the morning and not to be a second past 5:00.

Wayne got home and nearly fell asleep over breakfast, then got back on his bike and rode to school. And so it went. Each day the old guy would meet Wayne at Jess and Jim’s and they would deliver the papers, faster and faster until Wayne could do the whole route in an hour plus change. Then on Friday the old guy told Wayne that he’d drop the papers Saturday morning at 5:00 and be back at 10:00 to do collections. Wayne could do the route solo Saturday.

For the first two weeks, Wayne struggled through the delivery, but gradually it became easier and easier to get up at 4:30 and do the route. It was always light by the time he finished in the summer and he sometimes stopped at Josephine’s for hot chocolate when he was finished. But the newspaper doesn’t go just through the summer and Wayne decided to keep delivering after school started up in the fall. It wasn’t until he was trudging through three-foot snow drifts that Wayne realized that he had a year-round permanent job.

It was a good job. The paper sponsored contests for selling new subscriptions and other services, and Wayne was a frequent “Carrier of the Month” even though his little route in Willow Mills was nothing as big as the ones in Wabash proper. He went with the other carriers to baseball games, to a dude ranch, and once on a week-long trip to New York to the World’s Fair. It was a hard decision when he reached the end of his Freshman year in High School to give the route up to a little kid who’d been following him on it for the better part of two months wanting to help.

And in all his time on the route, only once were the papers not all delivered by 6:30. That was a morning that Albert Bailey’s prize bull… Well, that’s another story.

Willow Leaves, May 31

2004-11-05T21:18:00.000-08:00

Willow Mills Celebrates Decoration Day

In solemn ceremonies at dawn today, families will gather at both Willow Mills Cemetery and Summit Hill Cemetery to decorate the graves of those fallen in defense of their country over the centuries. In spite of an early morning threat of rain, town marshall John Townsend expected several hundred people to make the dawn trek to the two cemeteries. Deputies at several main intersections will be on hand to direct traffic. Townsend asks, however, that as in years past, autos be used only for the transport of the elderly or infirm who cannot make the two-mile trek on foot. All car traffic is asked to keep speeds under 10 miles per hour on the routes to the cemeteries.

Rev. Wilson of the Holy Waters Baptist Church will lead the prayer at Summit Chapel. Six members of the VFW will lead this year’s procession from Summit Hill Cemetery where they will fire off a salute. Then to the beat of a muffled drum, they will march into town to the Willow Mills

Cemetery. After a prayer for the fallen by Rev. Everett of Willow Mills United Methodist Church, a final volley will be fired by the VFW honor guard.

Other activities

For those wanting to stay around for breakfast, the Unitarians are cooking this year. For $3.00 you get a bowl of biscuits and sausage gravy, coffee, and juice. The church board abandoned the idea of serving creamed chipped beef on toast after community members protested that it mocked the solemnity of honoring the war dead.

All garage and yard sales are slated to open at 9:30 a.m. A map of this year’s sale route has been posted at all local businesses. Yellow arrows mark the route which begins and ends at Fountain Square. Feel free to follow the arrows in reverse order if you want. The Fountain Festivities will begin at 11:30 a.m. with the first gush slated for 12:00 noon.

The barbecue will follow. Waterball is slated for 3:00 in the afternoon with fire departments from Willow Mills, Laketon, Roann, and Sevastapol participating. The street dance begins at 7:00 p.m. with the Pawns of Injustice playing. The annual fountain plunge will be at 10:00 p.m.

Memorial Service

Brian Greene delivered the Memorial service at the Unitarian Church (Old Lutheran) on Sunday Morning. He used, as his text, Isaiah 2:4 “And He shall judge among the nations, and shall rebuke many people: and they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruninghooks: nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more.” Brian has used this text for every Memorial Day service since the Unitarians moved into the church in 1970. For a long time it was known as “The Hippie Church.” Different members address the church each week.

That Hippie Candle Shop

Back in the mid- to late-60s, there was a bit of a stir as Willow Mills became a haven for hippie refugees from Manchester College. There were a couple communes that settled in the Willow Mills area and for a while it was in doubt how they would be accepted.

Bearded, long-haired, drug-taking, hippies.

As it turned out, the influx of new blood was just the shot in the arm that Willow Mills needed. And for a while the immigration stemmed the flow of young people out of town.

One of the developments was the founding of several small businesses in and around Willow Mills. That Hippie Candle Shop is one noted success. It’s had several names over the years, but the present one is what the residents always called it. It started out as what the kids called a “head shop.” Some of the things sold there had questionable uses.

Elizabeth Garvey went in there one Christmas to buy her husband Bruce a new pipe. Bruce complained that it was too small, difficult to pack with tobacco, and kept going out on him. But he still pulls it from his pocket and stokes it every evening after dinner.

Brian and Sally Green are the registered owners of the shop now, as other members of the commune have moved away or settled in their own places. They started making candles while they were still in college, taking them to craft fairs to sell. It turned out to be a regular industry for them. That Hippie Candle Shop turns out a big supply of candles, especially during holiday seasons, that are sold in shops all around the midwest.

Well, the “head shop” aspects of That Hippie Candle Shop are long past. Now, they carry one of the finest collections of candles and pottery in the county, and with the Internet, their sales aren’t limited to the residents of Willow Mills or the craft fairs they travel to.

The New Unitarian Church

The Unitarians are sometimes called the “New Church,” “The Hippie Church,” and “Old Lutheran.” Here is the story of why.

Back in the mid-sixties the little Lutheran congregation decided they would disband to attend the Lutheran Church in North Manchester. It was a difficult decision, but the church hadn’t had a fulltime minister in five years and the congregation was waning. They closed their doors and for a couple years it was uncertain what would happen to the old church building, which also had a small graveyard adjacent to the grounds.

That was right at the beginning of the great hippie migration from Manchester College to Willow Mills. Inspired by the Arlo Guthrie song and following movie “Alice’s Restaurant,” the young people saw the old Lutheran church as a “Godsend,” if you will. They negotiated a lease for the building, agreeing in exchange to maintain and keep up the old cemetery. A total of nine kids moved into the building over the next two years. Some moved out and were replaced. They improved the facilities for showers and, having learned something from the Guthrie song, never allowed the trash to build up.

In the basement kitchen of Old Lutheran, they began making candles.

It was a roomy structure and for some reason the kids decided to leave the sanctuary of the church unchanged. They built out the choir loft in the balcony for small apartments, took over the Sunday School rooms, and partitioned off portions of the basement.

As a standard for themselves, they met every Sunday morning to meditate and play music in the sanctuary. They started the meeting at 11:00 or 11:30 because none of them could get up after Saturday night any earlier than that.

They were a pretty isolated group for a while, even after the new agricultural commune settled north of the river. They were well-behaved outside of the building. Even though folks speculated that the church was now subject to language and behavior that the founding fathers had never imagined, as long as the graveyard was maintained and none of their drugs and free-love spilled out of the church, they would live and let live.

Then everything changed.

On Memorial Day 1969, ignited by an overturned barbecue pit, Oppenheimer’s Drugstore caught fire. That was during the time that there was no active volunteer fire department in Willow Mills. The last of the pumper trucks had broken down in the late 50s and the town contracted with Roann and North Manchester for fire protection.

John Townsend, one of the hippies ran down to the fire station to see what equipment was available. All he found were buckets.

He grabbed as many as he could carry and sent others for more. In five minutes he had organized an old fashioned bucket brigade from the fountain to the drugstore. Before the North Manchester Fire Department arrived fifteen minutes later, the fire was out. The firemen went in to mop things up, but credited the town’s fast action with saving much of the town block. And Willow Mills credited John Townsend and the hippies.

As they were all sitting around the fountain, hot, sweaty, and laughing after their exertion, a lot of water got splashed around. We don’t know how it got out of hand, but someone pushed someone and before you know it, half the town was in the fountain, splashing, wading, and laughing. And that was the origin of the annual fountain plunge.

The great candle melt-down.

We had a terribly hot summer in 1969. It was looking like summer would never end by mid-August. That’s when Brian Greene took a load of candles out to the old chickencoop he was renting for a warehouse and had a bad surprise. A puddle of candle wax on the floor alerted him to the problem. As he investigated more thoroughly, he discovered that the entire stock of holiday candles they’d been making and storing was pretty much just one big stuck together candle with a lot of wicks.

The next Sunday morning, the commune met in the sanctuary to meditate and discuss what they could do to rebuild before it was time to ship the holiday supply of candles down to The Christmas Store in Nashville, Indiana. Then George and Martha Oppenheimer walked in. They’d been Lutherans when the church was a Lutheran Church and remembered what it had been like. Even though they now went to the Lutheran Church in North Manchester, that morning they had visited both the Methodist and Baptist churches in Willow Mills.

George spoke to the conclave of hippies that morning about how a town the size of Willow Mills had to stick together and take care of each other. How the group gathered in that church sanctuary had saved his business with their quick thinking on Decoration Day. And how he was happy to offer his help to save their business now. Since hearing of the candle warehouse meltdown, he’d talked to the other businessmen in town, to the area churches, auxilliary, and clubs. They were pleased to offer their services to help the commune remold the candles, and had even arranged cold storage at Hart’s Pure Beef Meat Locker for their stock as long as the heatwave lasted.

The commune was thrilled and surprised to find not only willing, but skilled candle-making help in the community. Their stock was rebuilt quickly and they had what many felt was the turning point year for the commune.

They opened the doors of the Old Lutheran for services later that fall. Two years later they organized as a Unitarian Universalist congregation. The basement is leased to That Hippie Candle Shop and works year-round turning out candles. A good portion of the basement was turned into air-conditioned cold storage.

Carl Miller, one of the original band of hippies, still lives in the converted choir loft. He is the caretaker of the building and graveyard, and he’s the only one still living onsite.

It’s a small congregation that meets in the Old Lutheran/New Unitarian Sanctuary. They’ve no pastor, but each member takes his or her turn speaking on Sunday mornings. Since they still meet at 11:00 after most services are over, folks from the other churches occasionally drop in for the Unitarian service, too.

And folks like it like that.

Willow Leaves, May 24

2004-11-04T22:03:00.000-08:00

Water Ball Contest

The Willow Mills Volunteer Fire Department has announced the addition of a Water Ball Contest to the festivities for Memorial Day this year. A grudge-match challenge was issued by the Laketon Volunteer Fire Department and was readily accepted by hometown boys (and girls).

The contest will be set up on South Main next to the fire station and will commence at 2:00 p.m. on Monday the 31st. To help round out a full afternoon, the Roann and Sevastapol volunteers have been invited to make it a double elimination tournament.

“The only thing now,” said Chief John Townsend, “is to hope for a good hot Memorial Day weekend!”

Suspicious Activity

County Sheriff Deputies investigated reports of suspicious activity near Anderson Beach this week. Ted Anderson, owner of the property, reported finding signs that someone had been using the walnut grove surrounding his sinkhole as an unauthorized campsite.

Investigators were unable to determine the precise length of time since the site was used, but reported that the number of unrusted beercans and fairly fresh cuts on a stash of firewood indicated that it had been used “recently.” The possibility of a vagrant using the sheltered area was being considered.

“I think the kids around here know that I’ll give permission for them to camp if they ask. I only ask that they clean up the area after they’re finished,” said Anderson. “That’s why I think this is a stranger hiding from something.”

Deputies were unwilling to comment on the possiblity of a danger to the community, but asked that if anyone sees a person not known in the area, or observes suspicious behavior, please contact the Sheriff’s office for investigation.

The Story of Anderson Beach

I have to tell you about Ted Anderson’s beachfront property. Now aside from that sandy bottom stretch of the Eel River where the Baptist Church is, you and I both know that there are no beaches in this part of the country. There are a lot of little ponds though. The Lake in String Town is one of the bigger ones, but most all the area farms have at least one sinkhole on them.

Well, Ted Anderson owns Anderson’s Floor and Carpet in Wabash. For years he’s lived in one of those fancy housing projects on the east side of town where they cut up a cornfield into little pieces and built houses almost the same size as the lots. I hear you can reach out your bathroom window and borrow the soap from your neighbor’s shower. Well, Anderson decided he had done well for himself, and he deserved a country estate, like the Honeywells had. That was about the time Drew Fergusson, Angus’s uncle passed on and Angus decided to sell off the homestead and eighty acres of cornfield and woodlot. He added another hundred acres of pasture to his own property.

The charm of a hundred-year-old homestead with cornfields and a woodlot was just what Ted Anderson wanted, and with the proceeds of that sale, Angus doubled the size of his dairy herd and modernized the milking operation.

One feature of the woodlot was a sizable sinkhole surrounded by a small growth of maple and walnut trees, and a fair number of black locust and ironwood. It was just enough to inspire great dreams in Ted Anderson. He could just see where he’d be building his summer cottage, and where he’d add a sandy beach so he could watch the grandkids swim in the summer and skate in the winter.

Anderson sold off six nice walnut trees for a price that made Angus wish he’d kept the whole homestead. He had the stumps ground out and declared the resulting cleared area to be Anderson Beach. Then he had his delivery boy at the store rent a fair-sized truck and pick up a load of sand from the gravelpit.

It took only one load to realize that this was likely to be a fulltime summer job for the kid at the rate he could load, transport and shovel the amount of sand it would take to make a beach. So Anderson scouted around and found that he could rent a farm truck with a dump on it and sent the kid off for more loads of sand. The work went much faster this way and on Friday afternoon, after fifteen dumptrucks of sand, Anderson declared that one more load would do it; and if the kid could deliver it and work into the evening smoothing the sand out so the beach was ready for the Anderson grandkids Saturday morning, he would earn a fifty dollar bonus.

The kid was industrious if not too bright, and he hightailed it to the gravelpit to get the last load before they closed that afternoon. Then he stopped and called his girlfriend. He told her all about the beautiful golden sand beach he had built, and that if she would help him rake it into shape instead of their usual Friday night movie, he’d spend the fifty dollars on dinner with her Saturday night. Maybe they’d go all the way into Ft. Wayne to eat at a fancy restaurant. She agreed and he picked her up on the way back to the farm.

They set to work in the sweaty heat that July evening, dumping the last load of sand, then working with rakes and shovels to spread and smooth the beach into pristine beauty. It was a hot night, and as they worked, they kept shedding bits and pieces of clothing until they were wearing only the bare essentials, which consisted mostly of leather workgloves.

They finished the work and stood looking at the beautiful beach they had created and then at each other. Then nature took its course, and as the last few bits of clothing came off and they turned to head for a skinny-dip in the pond, they felt the earth move. The kid thought it was his knees shaking at first, but his girlfriend grabbed his hand and turned him around to run just in time.

They were about fifty feet away from the water, where he’d parked the truck when they heard a crack and a big sucking sound. They turned to see seventeen loads of sand, and two trees, sucked down into the sinkhole and disappear beneath the water. They hopped into the truck, naked as they were, and gunned it all the way back to Wabash where they sneaked into his house and got dressed without ever having fulfilled their wild fantasies on the beach at Anderson Lake.

To all of their credit, I have to say that even though any mention of “Anderson Beach” around Willow Mills will bring guffaws of laughter, Anderson did pay the kid his fifty dollar bonus. The couple went out to dinner Saturday night in Ft. Wayne and he proposed to her. She accepted, and on their honeymoon at the Indiana Dunes State Park on Lake Michigan, they fulfilled all their sandy beach fantasies and have become fine citizens and residents of Willow Mills.

Willow Leaves, May 17

2004-11-03T20:45:00.000-08:00

Fountain Celebration Set

The Dairy Capital Fountain will be turned on right on schedule on Memorial Day, Monday, May 31 at noon. The annual fountain celebration will begin at 11:30 with a speech by town manager Roy Johnson. The Roann Jr. High School band will play for the festivities.

Following the first spray and the National Anthem, a day of festivities is planned centering around dairy square. The activities include a barbecue sponsored by the Grange. Angus Fergusson will serve milk from the back of his big dairy wagon. And there is an all-community garage sale slated for the afternoon.

Of course, it's sidewalk days for all the local businesses along Main Street as Willow Mills moves outside for the summer.

At 7:00 p.m. the annual Fountain Dance will begin. It will last until 10:00 p.m. and features the live entertainment of the Pawns of Injustice. The Pawns are a group of five area young people who have gained local and statewide recognition for their innovative sound. If you’ve ever passed the firehouse on Friday nights when they practice, you know what we mean by innovative.

Finally, at 10:00 p.m. there will be the annual fountain plunge. This tradition of nearly thirty years is a highlight of the Willow Mills year. We remind people that you are encouraged to wear appropriate swimming attire for the fountain plunge. We don’t want a repeat of what happened last year when the Plummers who were new in town mistook the plunge for a skinny dip.

Just a reminder: Main Street will be closed from 10:00 a.m. on Monday.

Vacation Plans

Everett and Althea Thompson have announced their plans to drive to the Grand Canyon for a two-week vacation this summer. They will be driving the Caravan and camping along the way. All six kids are planning to make the trip with them.

Althea has promised the Women’s Auxiliary a detailed slide show upon their return. The trip is slated for late July, but the kids are reported to already be arguing about who gets what seat and who gets to drive.

Planning for that Memorial Day Garage Sale? Special 3-line announcement ad just $3.95. Order today!

Dairy Capitol of the Midwest

It should come as no surprise to anyone that the drive to dub Willow Mills the “Dairy Capital of the Midwest” was spearheaded by Drew Fergusson. It had it’s origins in the short battle between Drew and his brother Hayden just after World War II.

Willow Mills was platted with an intentionally large square at its center in which was a water trough for teams and cattle driven into town in the late 1800s. By World War II there had been over a dozen different proposals that came before the town council about what to do with the unsightly waterhole in the middle of town.

There was quite a move on to build a war memorial on the site as was being done in so many towns. But there were less than a score of young men from Willow Mills who fought in World War II, and by some miracle all but one came home alive. Not that the town was ungrateful, but there simply weren’t enough bereaved parents in town to motivate funding a war memorial.

That was when Hayden Fergusson announced his prophecy that the whole area would be beef cattle before his son Angus inherited. Drew rallied the Dairymen’s Association, and among them they called on the civic pride of Willow Mills’ dwindling population to declare the town “The Dairy Capitol of the Midwest.” They raised the astonishing sum of $10,000 to have the giant stainless steel milk can erected in the middle of the watering trough.

It’s fountainhead spills water out over the lip of the milk can 24 hours a day from Memorial Day till Halloween. The fountain is dried out during the freezing months of winter.

For all their effort and civic pride, over half the members of the Dairymen’s Association had sold out or converted to beef cattle within ten years after the statue was dedicated in 1952. By the time Angus Fergusson inherited the remaining shares of Fergusson Dairy from his uncle in 1989, his was the only dairy farm within ten miles of Willow Mills.

But the fountain still spills its liquid tribute to milk five months of the year, and will as long as there is a Fergusson in the County.

Welcome to Fergusson Dairy Farms

So how is it that the owner of the biggest dairy herd in this part of the county is named after the area’s principle beef stock? Well it started back a generation ago.

Art Fergusson retired from the business in 1937 leaving the family homestead to his two sons Drew and Hayden. Drew was the oldest by a good ten years, but Hayden was a savvy young farmer with a good sense of the future. He exhibited that sense by seeing that there was a war coming and joining up before the draft as an officer candidate. He left his brother to run the family business in his absence. There was a clear understanding between the brothers that Drew would get a controlling interest in the dairy operation in return for staying home and managing the operation on behalf of both brothers.

Hayden came home from the war in 1945 a changed man with new ideas and the rank of Captain in the U.S. Army. He married his high school sweetheart, Doris Bechtold. He was ready to change the business. Beef was going to be more lucrative than dairy, he told his brother. It would take just two years to convert the operation completely. The family homestead would support two-and-a-half times the number of beef cattle that it did dairy cows. The heavy labor cost of dairy cattle limited the size of the herd a farmer could handle.

To make a long story short, Drew refused to go along with the plan. Since he held the controlling interest, his decision to stay with dairy cattle held.

Hayden realized he was beaten, but was unwilling to give up his stake in the family business to make his point. So he built a small house on the north corner of the family property. He got his wife pregnant and at his son’s birth he announced that Fergusson Dairy would be the last dairy farm left in the county before his brother would see the sense of it. And to mark his prohphecy, his son’s name would be Angus, and that would be the only kind of cattle people were interested in by the time his son inherited.

Then he announced that he had rejoined the army and had his rank as Captain restored. Angus was ten years old when his father, Major Hayden Fergusson was killed as one of the last casualties of the Korean conflict.

Drew never married and treated Angus like his own son, making sure he got a college education at Purdue University. And when Angus inherited the entirety of the Fergusson homestead in 1989, it was the last dairy within 10 miles of Willow Mills. He sold off 80 acres of the homestead, along with the family home his uncle had occupied till his death.

But instead of converting the operation to beef, Angus modernized and doubled the dairy operation almost overnight. What neither his father nor his uncle could realize was that having the only dairy in operation, it would also be the most profitable if managed correctly. And Angus has done just that since his 30th birthday in 1977.

Willow Leaves, May 10

2004-11-01T23:23:00.000-08:00

Graduation

Four Willow Mills Seniors will be among those getting their diplomas on May 29 at Manchester High. The four are Thomas Fergusson, Steven Stackhouse, Janice Thompson, and Leslie Springer. We asked each of the four grads where they would be going after the school year and got these enthusiastic replies.

Tom Fergusson: “I’m spending the summer as a life guard at Indiana Beach. In the fall I’ll be at Purdue in West Lafayette.”

Janice Thompson: “I’ll be finishing up some work here during the first part of the summer, including a part in the summer play at Manchester College. Then I’m headed to Oberlin College in Ohio to study theatre. And to be with Whisper (Townsend).”

Steven Stackhouse: “You know, just hang out this summer and make some money. In the fall I’m going to Manchester College part time. I’ll be living at home.”

Leslie Springer: “Away. Just away.”

Good luck to all four of our hometown grads!

Found Cat

Mrs. Harmon would like to thank Billy Peoples who found Cleo late last week. She had taken up residence in the Peoples’ toolshed. Billy found her when he pulled the mower out Friday afternoon.

Twelve-year-old Billy earned a $5 reward for finding the wayward cat and escorting her home.

Pinochle Champs

Bob Howard over at the Grange announced a new championship Pinochle team after the final round of this playing season Friday night. Eldon Hayes and Dick Johnson earned the high standard for the year. A close second, Al and Mary Pat White vowed they would catch the old men next year. Laura and Denis Jennings, the defending champions, dropped to third prize this year.

Spring Tune-up Time!

Best get that mower into Rasmussen Implement before you have to call in a haying crew to cut your grass! New points, plugs, and blade sharpening, just $29.95.

Willow Mills United Methodist Church

We are glad to have Rev. Everett back in the pulpit this week. Her message this week is titled “The Loving Arms of God”. The reference is I Corinthians 1:1–9.

Willow Mills United Methodist Church sits on the site of the Old Grissom Mill, which burned in 1896. The church was built in 1902 when Willow Mills was at it’s peak population of about 1,500 citizens.

It began as a Methodist Episcopal Church, later as a Methodist Church, and in 1968 as a United Methodist Church.

The current minister is Rev. Nigel Everett. At 81 years of age, she is still preaching in retirement as she is able, and the people of Willow Mills are happy to provide a place for her to continue the calling she answered in 1960.

There are over 100 members of the little church and attendance on Sunday mornings comes to about 50 adults and 17 children. Six of those are Althea Thompson’s, and five more are the Stackhouse grandchildren. It’s not a dying church, but it is retired.

One of the most colorful characters in the church is Albert Bailey whose prize bull.... Well, that’s another story. But Albert always sits in the back row on Sunday morning, handy to pass the offering plate as he’s done for nearly 50 years now. Albert has a short attention span, so the ministers try to keep the sermons under 20 minutes. If Albert feels the minister has spoken too long, he takes off a shoe and waves it in the air.

After church, Albert will step out the front doors and pull out a big cigar. He never lights it. He just bites off a big plug and chews it. Everybody exits to the right, because Albert spits to the left.

Old Grissom Mill

Grissom Mill was the first structure in Willow Mills, built in 1842. The Town was platted in 1849 and grew quickly as a community of note, thanks to the fertile farmlands and booming agricultural industry.

Bertram Grissom, the first miller of the town damned the river just above the confluence of the Willow Creek. He connected the Mill to the quickly growing southside of the river with a wooden bridge below the dam that led only to his mill.

The Mill caught fire in 1896 and burned to the ground because sparks ignited the wooden bridge and the fire department couldn’t get across to the other side. The loss was almost more than the village could bear since so many crops were in storage at the Mill. It was a hard winter, and Bert, at age 92 insisted that his sons were partly to blame and that the old mill site would never again hold so much of the town’s economy.

The county decided to extend Co Rd 400 at about that time and put in an iron bridge to connect the town to points north. Bert’s will, which was read out the next year donated the land to the Methodist Episcopal Church of which he had been a member most of his life. His sons were left without much for their portion, but his grandson Steven Grissom, became the first minister in the new church when it was built.

Willow Leaves, May 3

2004-10-23T23:05:00.000-07:00

Class of ’59

The class of 1959 of Willow Mills High School will hold its 40th year class reunion in June. Bessie Stackhouse, class secretary and captain of the cheerleading squad, mailed out announcements on Monday morning, most of which were received that evening.

The festivities will be held on June 19 at the school grounds. There will be an outdoor barbecue at 2:00 in the afternoon with all the kids and grandkids invited. It will include games and Annabelle the Clown from Wabash will entertain the little ones.

At 8:00, class members and their spouses will gather in the school gym for the class meeting and election of officers for the new millenium. There will be a class photo followed by a 50s style sockhop with Allan White acting as DJ. He’ll be playing cuts from his album collection and 45s from the old jukebox that he rescued some years ago from Josephine’s.

Anyone knowing the whereabouts of Rachel and Jack Gibson or of Wayne Fisher, please let Bessie know. Their invitations came back “Address Unknown.” And this special message for Robert Biehl: “Please come to the party. We forgive you for burning the football field!”

Lost Cat

Mrs. Harmon has reported her gray and white tabby, Cleo, missing again. This happens periodically as Cleo seems unable to find her way home from more than fifty feet away. Two months ago Cleo was found living beneath the porch at the Wilson’s two doors away. Before that, Cleo once took up residence in the library stacks giving rise to a rumor that the library was haunted.

All the usual hideouts have been checked and found empty.

When asked about the frequency of Cleo’s disappearances, Mrs. Harmon said, “I think she has that old timers disease. You know, the one that makes people forget things. What was that called again?”

If you happen to see Cleo around, please escort her back to Mrs. Harmon over on 2nd across from the library.

Mothers Day

There will be a Mothers Day Pancake Breakfast at the Grange on May 9th sponsored by the VFW. Breakfast will be served all morning. to accomodate the various church schedules, Baptists are encouraged to come at 8:30, Methodists at 9:00, and Unitarians at 9:30. Breakfast will be served till noon, so the unchurched may come whenever they want to.

Josephine’s will also be serving a special Mothers Day luncheon menu starting at 11:30. The linen table cloths will be out and the menu will feature broasted chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans served family style. The cafe will be serving delicious strawberry-rhubbarb crisp for dessert.

The annual mother-daughter tea will be held at the Unitarian Church (Old Lutheran) on Saturday afternoon at 3:00. Call Jackie Stoneburner at 4719 for reservations. Entertainment this year will feature The Choralaires from Manchester High School

Carnegie Public Library

Carnegie Public Library in Willow Mills is one of several hundred libraries in the midwest established by a grant from the Carnegie Foundation in the 1900s. It boasts over 15,000 volumes, including all the recognized classics of ancient and modern literature, as well as a reference collection that includes The World Book Encyclopedia and World Book Year Books from 1965 forward.

The library is located on Second Street, just a block off Main, between Catalpa and Sycamore Streets. It is open Monday through Friday from Noon until 7:00 p.m. and Saturdays 9:00 a.m. till 3:00 p.m.

Now lest you think our library is too provincial, you should know about two unique aspects. The first is that our library is wired. While we don’t have a great deal of reference matterial on our shelves, we do have an internet connection and most folks in Willow Mills have e-mail. There’s no guarantee that e-mail will be checked more than once a month or so, depending on who you send it to.

The second is that we have one of the best contemporary fiction sections in the State of Indiana. In the long run, perhaps one of the most valuable. It's all because of Wayne Thompson. From the beginning, Wayne was an avid reader. He joined the Weekly Reader Book Club when he was in grade school. All the money that he earned delivering newspapers, mowing yards, and baling hay went into buying books.

By the time he was out of school in 1976, Wayne had one of the best collections of juvenile literature in existence. He was already well into the New York Times Best Seller list. He went to Manchester College to study journalism. There he discovered an incredible thing. Book reviewers get free books.

He started writing a book review column for the North Manchester Journal and using his own industriousness he got it syndicated. Books started rolling in from all major fiction publishers. First edition books in all genres. And he read them all. His house was full of books. In fact he was running out of room.

Then he had a brilliant idea. He would loan his books to the library. In 1996, Wayne was doing so well with his work, and two novels of his own, and a teaching job at Manchester College that he needed a tax write-off. And so he made the loan to the library a gift. Each year he donates that year’s books to the library where all the people of Willow Mills can benefit from them.

A Guided Tour

2004-10-21T20:54:00.000-07:00

The name Willow Mills comes from the name of the little creek that runs into the Eel from the north just across from the village. The village is built along the south bank of the river where Bert Grissom built the original mill. There is an old iron bridge that crosses the river just above Grissom Fall.

It’s necessary to have the bridge because Willow Mills United Methodist Church is on the north side of the river, built in the fork between Willow Creek and the Eel. It sits over there like the laird of a Scottish castle overlooking the village it calls its own.

South River Road

South River Road more or less follows the river all the way from the Kosciusko County line to Chili. (That’s Chili, Indiana, just east of Peru.) Two blocks west of the iron bridge, Main Street turns south off the River Road. If you follow it out of town to the south it cuts a straight line through some of Indiana’s richest farmland to the Wabash River, seventeen miles away. There is no bridge at either end of the road. It ends at the Eel River on the north and the Wabash River on the south.

We don’t know why the River Road is called the South River Road. Yes, it is mostly on the south side of the river, but there is no road on the north side. Maybe at one time they intended to put a road up there. We just don’t know.

Willow Mills United Methodist Church isn’t much to look at, but it’s the first thing you encounter coming into town. It’s the kind of square red brick building that could be a factory or a school except it has big arching stained glass windows and a bell tower over the front entrance. After unification of the Methodist and EUB churches back in 1969, the conference tried to combine this congregation with two or three other small churches in the area. But they resisted. The closest they ever came was sharing a minister with a church over the county line. For a long time they would have a minister one week and the other church would have him the next week. The other church closed its doors though, after the last of the congregation went into a nursing home. Now Willow Mills Church is happy to have retired ministers assigned to them by the conference, and for not paying much, they treat their minister well.

There’s a Baptist congregation just west of town. It started out as a house trailer parked on a couple acres just where the river bends inan oxbow and the road takes the shortest path across. The trailer is still there, but now there’s a building kind of pieced together around it. The biggest feature is the church’s easy access to the only sandy stretch of the Eel for about twelve miles in either direction. The congregation makes good use of that stretch as their baptismal. It also functions as the town’s free beach swimming hole in the summer. The church doesn’t do baptisms in the winter.

Jess & Jim’s Pyramid Oil Company gas station is at the corner of River Road and Main Street. And a three way stop with a flashing red light. Opposite the gas station is Rasmussen’s Farm Implement Sales and Service.

Main Street

A block south on Main Street, the street widens a bit. There are three traffic lanes and diagonal parking on each side. It used to be that there were four lanes and parallel parking, but Mrs. Leland put up such a fus after she hit Ogden Filmore’s truck while trying to park, that the town voted unanimously in town meeting to repaint the stripes on the road.

The wide part of Main Street is two blocks long. The other block south is two lanes with parallel parking, and after you cross the tracks, there’s no curb or shoulder to park on at all.

It may seem strange that a town our size has such a wide (and short) Main Street. My understanding (and I got this from one of the old timers in town) is that the street originally ended a block short of the River Road (or that River Road used to be a block nearer to town—it’s really hard to make sense of some of these stories). When the town was platted it was determined that they would need a street wide enough to turn a full team of horses with a loaded wagon around in.

Every year on the 4th of July there is a parade that goes from Elsie Hewitt Elementary School, west into town, and then south down Main Street to the Grain Elevator. Angus Fergusson still drives a team of horses in the parade and shows in each block of Main Street how he can turn the team and loaded milk-wagon at a full gallop around in the street.

Fountain Square

At the center of town a memorial fountain and a 4-way stop interrupt the Main Street. The statue is a 12-foot stainless steel milk can, proudly declaring Willow Mills as the dairy capital of Indiana. It was erected in 1953, mostly just to show those cattle rustlers in Mentone (with their giant cement egg) who was boss. In reality, Angus Fergusson’s dairy farm is the only one left in the area. All the other cattlemen long ago went to more lucrative beef farming, feeding the animals on the rich crops of corn that are rotated year after year with soy beans. That’s another story.

Around the milk can stands the center of commerce for Willow Mills. The Eel River National Bank is on the southwest corner—an imposing red brick building. On the northwest corner, its near architectural match is the Post Office. Across from the bank on the southeast corner stands one of Willow Mills’ oldest businesses: Oppenheimer’s Drug Store. And finally, completing the circuit on the northeast corner is Willow Mills’ only hotel, a fine three-story brick building, sometimes called The High Rise. It has become mostly a residence hotel, and anyone wanting a room for just one night is looked at somewhat askance.

South of the Tracks

Two blocks south of the center of town is the railroad trck. The founding fathers felt that by putting the town smack between the River on one side and the railroad on the other, they would have transportation and commerce pretty well taken care of. That would assure the town’s position and future growth, either north of the river if water traffic proved best, or south of the railroad if rail traffic proved central.

Unfortunately no one counted on trucks and highways and all the main state routes run at least four miles away. So commerce and transportation sort of passed Willow Mills by.

When you cross south of the railroad tracks you enter the part of Willow Mills that is part highbrow exclusive neighborhood, and part trailer trash. Sometimes they are hard to tell apart. Section Line Road lies just south of the railroad. Just a ways past the Section Line Road on the east is the entrance to Willow Woods, a planned unit development of the early sixties. There are 43 manufactured houses and several empty lots along the haphazaard system of dead ends and loops that pass for streets. It has only one exit.

It backs up directly to another Willow Mills neighborhood. It's what most of us call Stringtown. It’s pretty much shacks and mobile homes that started out huddled between the tracks and the Section Line Road just beyond the feedlot. It spills over the road now along a spiderweb of dirt roads that all run into “The Lake.”

The Lake is a five-acre fishpond that used to be the primary watering hole for Milo Stoneburner’s beef cattle. The south edge of the pond still borders the Stoneburner property, but there haven’t been cattle on the land since Milo passed on, oh, ten years ago. And as for fish in the pond—I don’t think so.

The Farmlands

We’ll make two more stops on this little tour. They are both west of Main Street and south of Dry Well Road. The bulk of that area, lying along both roads is taken up by the 260 odd acres of Angus Fergusson’s Dairy Farm. Angus has modernized the place and now you can pull in of Dry Well Road and watch through glass viewing panels as each night and each morning his 300 dairy cattle march in from the field, get washed down, and stand quietly to chew their cud as the very latest in electronic milking machines relieves their sagging udders of fresh whole milk. If you bring your own jug, you can fill it straight from the big stainless steel cooler for just 99 cents a gallon.

Just behond the Fergusson place on Section Line Road, the ground rises in one of those odd bumps that are common in the Wabash Valley. At the top stands a tiny deserted church called Summit Chapel. Surrounding it, overlooking this Hoosierland paradise is the Summit Cemetery where 150 years of our ancestors have found eternal rest.

Willow Mills, Indiana

Welcome to Willow Mills

Table of Contents

Willow Leaves January 3

Willow Mills Slides Joyously Into the New Millenium

Agnes Leland (age 77)

Ogden Filmore (age 101)

Angus Fergusson (age 52)

Tom Fergusson (age 19)

Bessie Stackhouse (age 58)

Alan White (age 57)

Mary Pat White (age 57)

Elizabeth Harmon (age 69)

Jackie Stoneburner (age 49)

Wayne Thompson (age 53)

Althea Thompson (age 44)

Janice (Thompson) Townsend (age 18)

Whisper Townsend (age 20)

John Townsend (age 59)

Billy Peoples (age 12—almost 13)

Bob Howard (age 33)

Eldon Hayes (age 69)

Dick Johnson (age 70)

Laura Jennings (age 62)

Roy Johnson (age 42)

Ted Anderson (age 63)

Rev. “Brother Andrew” Wilson (age 39)

Suze Wilson (age 38)

Brian Greene (age 53)

Sally Greene (age 54)

Carl Miller (age 53)

John Davies (Age 51)

Johnny Grover (age 38)

Bill Rasmussen (age 33)

Robin Greenwald (age 64)

Jackie Greenwald (age 64)

Penny Parker (age 44)

Timmy Stackhouse (age 37)

Steven Stackhouse (age 18)

Frank Lapinski (age 66)

Robert Biehl (age 58)

Robert Stoneburner (age 60)

Darrell Long (age 28)

Delbert Jones (age 57)

Lynn Powers (age 50)

Alli Cameron (age 16)

Al Bailey, Jr. (age 53)

Betty Daniels (age 53)

Robyn Ayers (age 53)

Donna Askins (age 53)

Donna Jones (age 49)

Leslie Springer (age 18)

Arnold Lambert (age 71)

Alice Lambert (age 75)

Uncle Chuck Allred (age 84)

Audrey Allred (age 79)

Barbara Brown (age 52)

Dottie Devlin (age 63)

Howard Bailey (Age 50)

John Neidig (age 27)

Kay Neidig (age 25)

Albert Bailey (age 84)

So What Did Happen to Albert Bailey’s Prize Bull?

Willow Leaves, December 27

Holiday Surprises

Case of the Mystery Camper Takes Bizarre Twist

There’s a New Look to Fountain Square

Willow Leaves December 20

Mystery Camper Nabbed

Yule Celebration

Willow Leaves December 13

Christmas Parties Abound

YAHS Christmas Dinner

Baptist Youth Gift Exchange

Holiday Lights Walking Tour

Carolling at the Fountain

Kwanzaa Celebration

Christmas Pagents

Winter Solstice

Christmas Eve Services