Lawler, Iowa

Note: Teresa posted this note on her Facebook page and I took the liberty of copying it here. (Bill Sheridan)

Teresa Terri CroelljohnsonDepot Street Memories — The Lawler Stories

‎!7 years ago tomorrow on Dec 15th my Mother, Leona Croell, passed away and at Christmas time I always remember as a little girl we kids would have to gather evergreen boughs from the trees that used to line Kipps driveway by the cemetery( which are no longer there) and we would have to weave them around the front porch and put up the big Chrismas lights.

Thanks to Mary Lou Hoey-Bruess for sending this clipping to me that her mother saved concerning an important piece of Lawler history. (Notes in parenthesis are mine.)  The writer’s name was not given in the article, but I’m thankful that he/she wrote it. (Bill Sheridan):

Historic Flag on display at Lawler Library

There is an American flag, first flown in Lawler in 1905, on display at the Lawler Library. It was donated by the Martin family and flew for years in front of the long-time popular Martin’s Cafe.

With the Christmas and New Year’s holidays, it might be difficult to focus on fireworks, flags, and the 4th of July. A correlation between the winter and summer months, however, can be made with a visit to the Lawler Public Library. During the holidays, stop by and see it.

Two years ago (1994) this flag, which was first flown on Independence Day 1905, was donated by the Vincent (Dint) Martin family. From 1905 it flew proudly in front of Martin’s Cafe (now known at Hole in the Wall) in downtown Lawler on special occasions; and full-time during WWI and up to and including May 1945 when the Germans surrendered, ending WWII. The flag was never used any place except in front of this family-owned restaurant known as Martin’s Cafe, “The Home of Hospitality.”

In addition to the Martin hospitality, Dint and his father P.J. were history buffs and loyal to their country in war and peace. Independence Day 1905 was a very appropriate time for the initial raising of the flag.

This piece of Lawler history will be well preserved in a special case purchased by the Lawler Library Board of Trustees. The town is over 125-years-old, and with three devastating fires in its history, memorabilia from the city’s past has literally gone up in smoke. This 91-year-old flag (in 1996) will remain at the library along with scrapbooks and books from interested donors sharing information about the community built along the Crane Creek in 1869 and incorporated in 1871.

Reflections of the past year or years are reminiscent with the dawning of a new year. As the blustery winter of 1996-1997 takes hold, once can only visualize the sultry 4th of July in 1905, when the Martins walked out of their cafe with flag in hand and raised ‘Old Glory’ for the first time. This flag represents many years, many seasons, and many people who passed by the Red, White, and Blue which proudly flew in front of Martin’s Cafe. Librarian Jane Lynch (in 1996/ Cathy Humpal in 2012) invites everyone to stop at the library to view the flag display and spend some time browsing through the books and videos at your disposal.

One of the great traditions back in the 50s was getting a gang together on a cold December Lawler night and knocking on doors to sing Christmas carols to the local citizenry. One such evening holds a special memory for me. Hope you enjoy this little tale from ‘Depot Street Memories…the Lawler Stories.’ (Bill Sheridan)

Chapter Fifteen

“Bless Me Father, for I Have Sinned”

It was one of these December activities that became a ritual and great fun for participants. One evening, a week or two before Christmas, a dozen or so boys and girls would get together to go caroling. We walked around town and knocked randomly on doors. When the homeowner answered, we broke into Jingle Bells, or Silent Night, or Frosty the Snowman, or some other song of the season, in mostly off-key voices.

More often than not, the folks who came to the door listened and then gave us a buck or two for our efforts. Although it was never stated, the unwritten rule understood by all was that any monetary gains from our venture were passed on to Mt. Carmel Catholic Church. At the time Lawler was 95% Catholic, and most donors to our caroling gig considered it to be just one more offering to the parish.

On this particular winter night, however, we sang at one of the few homes in town not inhabited by a family of our faith. The occupant was a business owner and nice guy who gave George Timlin and me an admonition as he handed us (as self-designated treasurers) a couple of bucks, “Now I don’t want this to go to the church. Buy yourselves malts with it.”

Neither of us said anything about it until it was time to go home. Fortunately, we happened to be the only ones who heard the man’s request. So as our group dispersed for the evening and went our separate ways, George and I discussed our dilemma.

“Wudaya think?” I asked.

“I dunno. Wudayou think?”

“Well. He did say that he didn’t want it to go to the church.”

“Yeah, that’s what he said.”

“Wudaya think?” I asked again.

Neither one of us wanted to make the decision that might land our sorry butts in Hell, or Purgatory at the very least.

“Well, what about the other ten in the group? You can’t buy more than a couple malts at Martin’s Café for two bucks,” says he.

“Good point,” says I. “I guess we gotta’ do what he asks and turn the rest in to Father Delay. And I think it’s a good idea if we just keep this to ourselves.”

So that’s exactly what we did. Sometime that next week we handed in most of the money to Padre James, but withheld a small amount to honor the request of the contributor. Within a day or so after that, George and I plopped a buck apiece on Dint Martin’s counter and ordered up delicious chocolate malts for ourselves. If either of us felt guilty at the time, it was not a subject that we discussed.

I had conveniently almost forgotten about it until the following Sunday when I happened to be serving Mass. Father Delay was at the pulpit at the end of the service making announcements, one of which was, “And a special thanks to the Mt. Carmel Christmas carolers who raised $23 for the church with their singing.”

I would have made it okay if I had not looked down from the bench, where the altar boys sat during the sermon, and spied my co-conspirator with a big grin on his mug. He opened and closed his right fist five times.

I got it. Twenty-five. “That would be twenty-five dollars, Father Delay,” he seemed to be saying. “Not twenty-three dollars. Sheridan and I nabbed two bucks from God to down a couple malts at Martin’s Café!”

Somehow I managed to avoid the church giggles that normally come at such times. But I’ve never forgotten that grin on Timlin’s face.

I assume that the statute of limitations has run out after the five decades. But just to be on the safe side, maybe I ought to go to confession. And if I do, there’s one thing for certain, I’m not taking the rap by myself.

George Timlin downed one of those malts, so he’s gonna’ share in the blame.

I’m not sure that he can be forgiven if I make the confession on his behalf—but it’s worth a shot!

Thanksgiving has always been one of my very favorite holidays. It really helps me hone in on the many gifts that the Lord has given to my family and me. I’m eternally grateful for all of them. One such gift was being raised in Lawler in the 1950s. In ‘Depot Street Memories…The Lawler Stories,’ I described the community as a town of character and a town of characters. Following is a piece about one such character. Happy Thanksgiving 2012!

The Original Stormin’ Norman

No respectable young Lawler lad in the 1950s grew up without earning a nickname. His was a long one:  ‘Stormin’ Norman–King of the Bloodsuckers.’

His real name was Norm McMullen; and I understand that he died a few years ago. I don’t know any of the details, but have to believe that he left this world kicking and screaming.

Norm was the first real dare-devil that I ever knew on a personal basis. He lived without fear. If there was a challenge, he accepted it. Once, when we were playing “Cowboys and Indians,” he fell off a parked railroad car and broke his collar bone.

It was a different time back in the 1950s when my friends and I swam in Crane Creek meandering through Lawler, Iowa. There is a railroad bridge over the creek that seemed enormously high to all of us. Only the bravest of the brave dared plunge into the depths below. In reality, my guess now is that it was only ten feet or so from the water. At the time, however, we viewed it as a tremendous act of courage tackled only by the bravest of the brave. Norm jumped off the bridge only when all eyes were on him—with reckless abandon and great flourish shouting, “Here I come! Tarzan–King of the Jungle!”

There followed a huge cannon ball splash as he savored our admiration for his bravery each of the dozens of time we saw it that glorious summer. One day, however, there was a startling modification to his ritual. Waiting until he was the center of attention, Norm stood at the edge yelling at the top of his lungs, “Here I come. Tarzan…king of the…” Down he went into the murky waters of Crane Creek only to quickly emerge with the final words of his proclamation, “…eeeeek. Bloodsuckers!”

Sure enough. Our hero was covered with tiny black leeches that drove the rest of us to the sandy banks of the creek in shear terror.

That day a new moniker was born: “Stormin’ Norman–King of the Bloodsuckers.” 

Norm had an innate sense of adventure and courage that would be good for all to emulate. He wasn’t the type of guy who wore a belt and suspenders at the same time. He wouldn’t take a map to go on a trip. I’ll bet he bungee-jumped when he was fifty.

I admire people willing to take risks and hope for the best. They know full-well that the proverbial dive into deep water holds elements of danger. But they do it regardless, believing  that the potential reward outweighs the risk.

Hat’s off to you, Stormin’ Norman. May your dive into the murky Crane Creek water those many years ago be an inspiration to us all. Despite those blood suckers, you’ll always be ‘King of the Jungle’ in my heart and mind!

Bill Sheridan 

william_sheridan1@msn.com

http://lutherchips.com/2012/10/24/student-author-brings-love-page.html

The following piece was recently published in the New Hampton Tribune and may soon appear in the Des Moines Register. It deals with a sensitive and controversial subject: curtailing postal service by stopping Saturday delivery and/or closing small-town post offices. Following is an experiment that you may wish to try yourself:

One Month of Snail Mail

The entire experiment was so unlike the way I generally live my life. I am not particularly introspective or analytical. But there is a sentimentality deep within my soul for the small town upbringing that I experienced in the northeast Iowa community of Lawler during the 1950s. In those days the population hovered around the 500 mark. Today there are 20% fewer citizens. Even though my wife Renee and I live in a suburb of Des Moines, more than three hours southwest of Lawler, a part of my heart truly cares about their future.

Reading about the potential closing of small town post offices by our nearly bankrupt United States Postal Service bothers me greatly. It represents one more nail in the coffin of the idyllic lifestyle these tiny communities offer. I am a supporter of any alternative that might help keep them open; one of which is giving up Saturday mail delivery. However, that idea made me curious about what we really do get in the mail each day.

On a whim, I made the decision to keep the envelopes from every single bit of mail that we received from September 1 – September 30, 2011, one year ago. I had absolutely no preconceived notion of what to expect, other than guessing that the majority of it would be advertising or what has colloquially become known as junk mail.

My wife and I had already both been retired at the time. And notably, it was not an election year, which would have significantly skewed what I’m about to report!

To develop a system and make some sense of the numbers, I broke the mail into 12 distinct categories. There is a fair amount of subjectivity involved because some of the mail, from a bank or credit card company for instance, had important information such as a monthly statement along with self-promotion material. At other times the same source sent out blatant advertising letters. In each case, I listed it under advertising unless there was otherwise significant information of importance to us.

One most surprising observation in my mind is that I missed my calling in life. Perhaps I should become a gambler because my first guess was right. Of the 89 pieces of snail mail received that month, one-half (44 of them) were advertising!

In alphabetical order with number of correspondence in parenthesis are a list of the senders. I admittedly claim nothing scientific about the results. Because I am a writer with few mathematical skills who rounded the percentages, it comes to a 98% total. But you will get the gist:

1. AARP (3 = 3%)
2. Advertising (44 = 49%)
3. Banks (4 = 4%)
4. Credit Card Company Info (2 = 2%)
5. Insurance Company Info (5 = 6%)
6. Magazines, Newsletters (10 = 11%)
7. Medical Clinics (4 = 4%)
8. Personal Letters (5 = 6%)
9. Political Ads (1 = 1%)
10. Request for Donations (7 = 8%)
11. Social Security Administration (2 = 2%)
12. Utility Companies (2 = 2%)

Frankly, a very high percentage of the advertising mail did not get read; much of it did not even make it into the house (except for the envelope) since I pass our recycle bin on the way inside.

We don’t subscribe to any magazines or newsletters, so much of what we received in that category also landed in aforementioned recycle bin. We pay our utility bills online, but do open anything coming from the water department or gas & electric company. Unless there is obvious advertising on the envelope, I tend to read AARP mailings because I volunteer as an instructor for their driver safety classes and don’t want to miss anything pertaining to that situation.

Had this experiment been conducted in 2012 rather than 2011, there would have been a plethora of political glossy postcards to report. And I always take at least a quick glance an any mail from Social Security Administration and banks, credit card companies, or insurance companies with whom we have a relationship. If we don’t already deal with them, it’s automatic recycle city without even scanning. Since we are no longer in the workforce, we carefully choose charitable giving based on past experiences and are not influenced by mailed solicitations.

So what are my conclusions about this little exercise?

• I highly recommend you give it a try. Just make sure that you save absolutely everything for one month. It was quite easy to do by opening what we deemed worth examining, and then tossing the empty envelope into a plastic grocery bag to be counted later
• E-mail rules. Without actually comparing, I have no doubt that we received 4 to 5 times as much correspondence (and probably much more) on our respective laptops
• Texting is becoming a bigger issue almost daily as a way of connecting
• There are a lot of trees being cut down to provide junk mail that often is never even opened
• It is still fun to receive the rare written personal note from a family member or friend
• In our case, getting snail mail on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday would be more than sufficient
• Finally,  I hope that the post offices in small town Iowa and around the country can remain open for a long time. That probably does not make fiscal sense, but the fun of running into your neighbors while ‘checking the mail’ at the local post office and catching up on a little gossip is Americana at its best. Some things are worth paying for. And that, in my mind, is one of them

Bill Sheridan, Freelance Writer

8106 Brookview Drive

Urbandale, IA 50322

William_sheridan1@msn.com / www.sheridanwrites.com / Phone: 515.669.4913

Every little town had a favorite hangout when I was growing up in the 1950s version of Lawler. The following piece from ‘Depot Street Memories…The Lawler Stories’ speaks of such a place. Here’s hoping that you old-timers enjoy looking back; and those of you either too young to experience it or who have never been to Lawler get a feeling of such an important part of our history. (Bill Sheridan)

Chapter Seventeen

Martin’s Café

            THE place to congregate when I was growing up in Lawler was a restaurant on the north side of the main drag, next to Chick’s Barber Shop, called Martin’s Café. It was owned and operated by Vincent (Dint) and Gert Martin.

Dint and Gert made the very best malts in Lawler. Actually, they made the only malts in Lawler. Having a corner on the malt market on a hot August day in Lawler was a good thing, especially along with their scrumptious hamburgers and other home-cooked meals.

Several aspects made Martin’s a cool place to hang out. I loved the way they let you spend as little as a nickel, dime, or quarter on something, and did not expect you to leave right away. There was a circular bench facing the main drag where teenagers sat, sometimes for hours, discussing the main issues of the day. “Can you believe the price of gas? It’s up to a buck for three gallons. When is that price increase going to end?”

Or, “That Presley dude from Memphis is weird. He ain’t never gonna’ amount to anything. This rock ‘n roll stuff they’re talking about is just a fad.”

And they had wonderful photos above the booths on the west side of the café showing off all the Lawler High basketball teams going back years and years. It was terrific to study those old black and white pictures and imagine what their games must have been like in the 1930s and 1940s. And many of the people in the photos were now middle-aged and still living in town, so it was great fun to compare them to the way they currently looked with their expanded bellies and receding hair lines.

During the 1950s, after a big basketball win on a Friday night, we’d all head for Martin’s, put a dime in the juke box to hear Elvis, Jerry Lee Lewis, Fats Domino, Bill Haley and the Comets, Buddy Holly and the Crickets, Conway Twitty, Gene Vincent, Buddy Knox, and a bunch of others sing on 45 rpm (revolutions per minute) records.

Then we cheered for the players as they came into the cafe one-by-one or in small groups.

Romances began and ended in those booths. Arguments over the merits of John Deere vs. Farmall, or Oliver tractors were never settled; and secrets were shared over Cherry Cokes that have not been divulged to this very day, decades later. The black and white television, featuring sporting events such as Wednesday Night Fights and the World Series, was considered community property because most Lawler families did not yet own a TV.

That’s how I learned I was as nearsighted as Mr. McGoo. I was sitting at a round table one Wednesday night watching a boxing match with some friends when my third grade classmate, Bob Boeding, came in wearing a pair of glasses. He may have been the first in our grade to do so. I said, “Hey, Bob. Can I try those on just to see what it’s like?”

“Sure,” he answered while handing them to me.

I was shocked. I saw what the world was SUPPOSED to look like. A cloud had lifted. I saw shapes and forms that I did not know existed, and hated to hand them back to Bob. Within a week, I was taken to an eye doctor and have not been without glasses since.

On summer Saturday nights Paula and Jim, daughter and son of the Martins, sold freshly popped popcorn in a stand in front of the restaurant as Lawlerites milled through the street.

Outside, on the west side of the building, were vines much like those in Wrigley Field, home of the Chicago Cubs. Sparrows by the hundreds lived in those vines, so my buddy Ronnie Sjullie and I could shoot blindly into the wall with our BB guns and be assured of hitting a random target in those pre-PETA days. One evening we got into trouble by firing at sparrows sitting on top of the façade wall facing the street. There was a vacant lot behind the wall so we faced south and tried to hit the birds. Dint walked out around 7 p.m. and asked if we had been doing the shooting.

“Yeah,” we replied. It wasn’t exactly a case that needed to be solved by CSI since each of us stood there with a BB gun in our hands.

“Well, Florence Goss (the postmistress) needs to talk to you.”

“Okay. Do you know what she wants?”

“I sure do. You’ve put a couple holes in the window of her apartment above the post office!”

We were ashamed, terrified, and feared the worst as we marched up the stairs to her home. Fortunately for Ronnie and me, Florence was a forgiving soul who kindly asked us to use better judgment in the future and declined to send us to Leavenworth for destroying federal property.

On the front side of that same wall was a fading patriotic painting of a flag, along with printed names of military men and women from Lawler who had served our nation during WWI and WWII listed under it. It saddens me that I don’t have a photo of that precious sign.

I don’t recall how long Dint and Gert ran the café, but I know that they raised their wonderful family and provided a terrific service to the town with their hard work and generous spirit. Through the years I’ve had the good fortune to eat at some wonderful restaurants around the United States, but none of them have offered the same comfort and joy as the burgers and malts sold at Martin’s Café in Lawler, Iowa.

It was a special place.

What a kick it would be to go back in there to have the Martins serve up their delicious chow one last time.

Thanks to Mary Lou Hoey Bruess from Monroe WI, my friend and Turkey Valley 1962 classmate, for sending me a clipping from the Dubuque Dicocese newspaper (The Witness). Mary Lou is the niece of Florence Goss who was postmistress in Lawler for many years. This article was written by Rev. Msgr. Edgar Kurt in March 1989 as one of many profiles of churches in the diocese. It shows me the importance of preserving memories in writing. I’m grateful for the opportunity to share this important bit of Lawler history with visitors to this site almost a quarter of a century later. Finally, I welcome an ‘update’ from 1989-present if someone is willing to research and submit it to me. Thanks. (Bill Sheridan)

Our Lady of Mount Carmel Parish Profile

The extension of the Chicago & Milwaukee Railroad from Calmar made the town of Lawler spring into existence. The Irish workmen came to build the rail line but joined the settlers to form a lasting Catholic parish.

The Chickasaw County town was named for John Lawler, a Catholic, who was overseer for the railroad construction.

Both pioneers and construction worker, mostly Irish, received pastoral care from visiting priests. One of them was Father Henry McCallow, who celebrated the first mass in 1868 in the home of Peter O’Byrne. The Conrad Kuennen home was also used for Mass. Father McCallow is mentioned in no other parish history.

Those early settlers continued to be attended from Saint Rose Parish near Waucoma. The priest was probably Father P. F. Harrison, whose mother is buried in Saint Rose Cemetery near Waucoma.

Father Patrick F. Farrelly was appointed to Saint Rose Parish in 1872 and also served the Catholics at Lawler. After directing the building of a church at Lawler in 1876 or 1877, he became their first resident pastor in 1877. It was a frame building costing them $5,500. The next year he left the two parishes.

Father Richard A. Byrne was then assigned to Lawler, and stayed until 1885. While he served as pastor, the parish built a rectory.

Father Byrne directed the building of a two-story frame school in 1882, a long building with only one room on each floor. The Sisters of the Presentation from Dubuque staffed the school, two Sisters in each room. They were Sister Mary Vincent Donnelly, Sister Mary Baptista Hussey, Sister Mary de Sales Weibel, and Sister Mary Cecelia Malloy. When school opened on September 15, 1882, about 70 pupils were enrolled. Seats that were made for two held three, and it was quite common to find someone sitting on the floor.

After Father John Hawe came from Waukon, he enlarged the frame church in the form of a cross in 1890. Some years later it was faced with brick. The school became both grade and high school in 1892, graduating its first class in 1897. About that time Father Hawe went on to Decorah.

Father Peter H. Garraghan served from about 1904, when Father Garraghan left, until 1910. That year Father Patrick Ryan came from Ryan and Father Leahy took his place there.

Soon after Father Thomas F. O’Brien came in 1918, the school was discontinued because of crowded conditions. A fire that destroyed the upper story in 1919 prompted the parish to restore the second floor and add a third story.

Father O’Brien left in 1922 to serve as chaplain of Mount Carmel Convent in Dubuque.

Father John J. Clune, the next pastor, saw to the building of a brick rectory in 1922. In 1928 he went on to Lamont.

Father John O’Donnell came in 1929 to serve until his death on April 30, 1946. However, the last year of his life was spent in the hospital in New Hampton. Father James F. Delay was administrator of the parish during that time and became pastor after Father O’Donnell’s death.

During Father Delay’s 24 years, the parish saw many changes. In December 1963 fire destroyed the school and its contents. The parish purchased the public school, which had been vacant since the previous May (due to construction of Turkey Valley High in Jackson Junction). Parishioners cleaned and repaired the building, and school resumed on January 6, 1964. When the school was closed a few years later, the Presentation Sisters had served the parish and school for over 80 years.

Frank Eichoff, a retired hardware dealer, died in December 1962, leaving a half million dollars to the parish for a new church to be started within two years. The dedication was April 30, 1967. Father John W. Moran came to Lawler in 1969 as Father Delay moved on to Clear Lake. During his 10 years, Father Moran directed the growth of religious education program replacing the previous school instruction. In 1974 he directed the parish dismantling of the old church and renovation of parish property.

Father Peter Bodensteiner came to the Lawler parish almost 10 years ago, in 1979. He serves 915 parish members in 235 households. He is assisted by two directors of religious education, Leslie and Dolores Cuvelier, each directing six grades. The program serves 223 students.

The parish is participating in the RENEW program.

Mount Carmel parish has had many vocations. Over 55 women entered religious communities and 12 men were ordained in the priesthood.

The following little tale from ‘Depot Street Memories…The Lawler Stories’ has always been one of the best-received when I’ve done readings at libraries, retirement centers, schools, or service clubs. MAYBE it’s time for me to forgive him. You can help me decide on that.

My Fashion Whiteout Moment

            I must have been a freshman or sophomore in high school at the time. Stepping out onto our front porch, I felt as though GQ Magazine would be looking at me for their next cover photo. For some strange reason I felt quite dapper as I looked into the mirror before going outside to impress the world—well at least my buddies down at Martin’s Café—with my outstanding wardrobe.

I had on a white shirt, white pants, a white belt, and (you guessed it) white-buck shoes. My biggest concern was how to fight off all the girls who would be clamoring to get at me.

But the dream was short-lived when my dear neighbor and friend—Joe Scally—self-appointed chief of the Lawler Fashion Police happened to be in his front yard.

“Sheridan. Get over here. I want to check this out.”

I was delighted that Mr. Scally was about to compliment me on my attire; and perhaps even ask me where the ensemble was purchased so that he could run right out and copy my excellent choice of clothing . Frankly, I was totally unprepared for the next thing that came out of his mouth.

“That’s cool. I didn’t know that you got a job at the creamery!” (After which he doubled up in laughter.)

Instantly the whiteness from my neck to my toes was offset by the embarrassing redness in my face as I turned around and hurried into my house before another soul on the planet saw me. While slamming the front door I could hear the sound of Fashion Chief Scally howling with laughter in the background.

To this very day (50 + years after the fact), I’m not entirely sure whether to thank Lawler’s favorite banker profusely or punch him in the nose.

 Bill Sheridan: www.sheridanwrites.com