Misfortune Befalls a German Vintner in Conway, 1894

In several previous posts, I have provided translated versions of "Pioneer Tales" that were published in the Arkansas Echo, a German language weekly newspaper published in Arkansas from 1891 until 1932.  The "Pioneer Tales" were mostly stories of misfortunes that had befallen German-speaking immigrants soon after their arrival in the state. Most stories were written by immigrants who had learned from their tenderfoot mistakes and had become successful residents of their chosen state.

Arkansas Echo ad for a Little Rock Saloon

The following newspaper story, published in the June 10, 1894 edition of the Arkansas Echo, shows that the lives of German-speaking immigrants did not always have a happy ending. It is about the murder of a German-speaking immigrant from Switzerland named Paul Loetscher, who had settled in Conway in 1870 when it consisted of a few dwellings and people. 

Loetscher made his living growing grapes and selling wine, apparently operating a drinking establishment at his farm. However, Arkansas had an active prohibition movement, and in 1871 the state had passed a law allowing local referenda on proposals to ban saloons within three miles of schools and colleges. Such a referendum had been held in Conway and it passed. 

This restriction of the sale of alcoholic drinks did not affect Loetscher until the first part of the 1890s when Hendrix College moved from Altus to Conway. Apparently, Loetscher's farm was less than three miles from the new college and it became illegal for him to sell his wine. As a result, he had a hard time making a living. 

Arkansas Echo ad for Fallstaff Beer 1894

On Saturday, May 26, 1894, two men living in the small town near Conway, drunk, decided to go to Loetscher's farm to get wine from him. He was not there when they arrived, but one of them, Joe Luke, ended up beating his wife with a hoe and then severely injuring him with the same hoe when he came a few minutes later. After that, Luke and his partner went to the local sheriff to tell him that Loetscher had sold him wine. The sheriff wanted to drag the severely injured man in immediately for a trial, but because of his severe injuries he could not go. The trial was postponed the trail until the following Tuesday. Loetscher, suffering from life-threatening injuries was brought to court and convicted of illegally selling an alcoholic drink. He was fined $200 and court costs. His assailants were not charged with any crime. 

Loetscher died from his injuries less than a week after the trial.  

The outrage of the person who wrote this story for the Arkansas Echo is clear. Perhaps as a result of the outcry following the death, the governor offered a reward for the arrest of Luke, who had fled to Texas. Another story in the Echo a couple of weeks later said that the Conway County Sheriff Wilson had tracked Luke down in Texas, near Decatur, arrested him, and brought him back. Apparently, according to the story, the sheriff was having a hard time collecting the reward money from the governor.  

I have been unable to locate information about Luke's trial and punishment. 

Here is the translated story:

******************************************

Arkansas Echo, June 10, 1894, p. 1

Correspondenz

Conway, Ark

Liebes Echo!

Last Monday, Peter Paul Loetscher died. The deceased was born in Canton Appenzel, Switzerland and had reached the age of about 50 years. He came with his wife in the year 1870 to Arkansas and settled a homestead which today lays inside the city limits of Conway. The region was then in a primordial state and hardly anyone had heard of Conway. Amid the many difficulties and hardships, he cultivated his land, but the worst problem was that he was not conversant in English and there were no Germans to be found in the vicinity.

When at the end of the 70’s more Germans settled in Conway, he was prepared to provide advice and help; he was long valued as an authority on many things, especially on the topic of wine making. He had  established a splendid wine garden and lived happily and contentedly in his own way with his family, until the College was built here, for which he himself was taxed a handsome sum.

Because without selling wine he could not feed his family with his farm income, he resisted desperately. He was hounded like a beast. Spies were on the lookout day and night. He was convicted every time he was accused, proof or no proof. The city mayor had no compunction (pangs of conscious) in dealing with him.

Through all of these inflammatory deeds, he came at last to the point where he was, according to what I observed, no longer responsible for his actions.  I will now report on his tragic end, which I followed here.

On May 26^th, two men filled themselves with whisky: Thompson, a gentle old man and Luck [2] a young guy who was barely 20 years old. They said as they left the city that they were going to go to Loetscher because they wanted wine, and if he didn’t give it to them, they would beat him up. 

When they arrived, Loetscher was not there. His wife told them that she could not sell or give them any wine. They saw in the corner a Krug (a type of mug) that held wine. Luck grabbed it and began to take off. A small boy, one of Loetscher’s sons, tried to stop him from taking the Krug, so Luck grabbed him and held him against his side with one hand and carried the Krug in the other, taking both about 100 yards away.

Loetscher’s wife ran after him and told him to let the boy go. He kicked her in a leg that had been aching for years.

Meanwhile, the boy grabbed the Krug and ran with it to the house. Loetscher’s wife told Luck that he ought to go away and leave them alone. Then he grabbed a cotton hoe and hit her in the head with it so that she collapsed, and he also hacked both arms down to the bone.

Meanwhile a farmhand working nearby came and tried to tackle the guy, but Luck turned to him with the raised hoe, so the man turned tail and ran. Luck chased him for a quarter of a mile. Loetscher’s wife washed the blood off her face and screamed for her husband. As Luck returned from his hunt, Loetscher appeared on the scene armed with a dragoon saber that he waved around, cutting through the air.  

But Luck hit his arm with the hoe, breaking it, and then struck him on his head with the sharp edge of the hoe.  Loetscher fell on his face.  Luck hit him again and again in the back until the hoe broke into five pieces.

After the heroic deed was done, the two men went into the city and it informed Major Martin that they had procured wine from Loetscher.  He immediately sent the Marshall to bring Loetscher to stand before the court. But Loetscher was in no condition to go on his own and wanted to wait until Tuesday.  Then they dragged the half-dead man to court. He stood there with his fractured skull, broken arms, and badly bruised back asking for mercy. And what was the verdict?  A two hundred dollar fine and costs. But the murderers were let go.  Loetscher appealed to the Circuit Court and posted bond.

Here is what the local “Populist” has to say about it [the paragraphs below were written in English]:

As reported in last week’s issue, Joe Luke assaulted P.P. Loetcher last Saturday a week. Loetcher took to his bed shortly afterward, and died early Monday morning. Coroner Phillips assisted by assistant Prosecuting Attorney Geo. Shaw held an inquest Monday and the Jury returned a sealed verdict the effect of which can only be guessed at as the officers and jury would not say what it is.

A post mortem examination was held and the autopsy made by Drs. Brannon and Voris showed that Loetcher’s skull had been severely fractured on the left side, there was also a severe bruise on the right side of the spine just over the kidney and the small bone of the left arm was broken. The testimony showed that the wounds were inflicted with an old hoe in hands of Luke.

Loetcher was a native of Switzerland and he had lived here for over twenty years being one of the oldest citizens here. His remains were buried in Oak Grove Cemetery.

Luke is a young man who lived at Mayflower. He has not been apprehended although the presumption is that the coroner’s Jury by its verdict found him guilty of the murder.”

After he died, the Deputy Prosecutor sent his body to the coroner and for a postmortem examination. The result was: a fractured skull, smashed ribs and collapsed lungs, along with a broken arm. Only then did they want to arrest the young man, but he was already over the mountains. If a good reward is not offered for his arrest, he will never be caught.

So justice will be measured when such fanatics come to power.

J. L.

[1] The Arkansas Echo spelled his name as Loetscher, but the English language article quoted below spelled his name “Loetcher.” 

[2]  The Arkansas Echo article calls the young man “Luck,” but according to the English language article his name was “Luke.”

Gagging on the July 4th: A Hot Dog Eating Competition

I'm pretty much of a live- and let-live kind of guy. When I see people doing something I don't approve of, I usually shrug my shoulders or shake my head and move on. If it seems silly or stupid, I suppress my chuckles until they can no longer be heard, and I file away a memory of the occurrence to include in some funny story to tell to friends.

Live and let live, I say. Respect, or at least don't disrespect, choices that you would not make, as long as the choices don't inflict harm on others.

However, on the morning of July 4th (Pacific Daylight Time), my tolerance of the stupid behavior of others was severely challenged when I accidentally tuned ESPN's telecast of "Nathan's Famous Fourth of July Hot Dog" contest. The few minutes I watched of this "Major League Eating" contest were a revelation of the depth of idiocy afoot. If you want to test the fortitude of your stomach when confronted with gag-inducing sights (and the limits of your live-and-let-live tolerance), click on this video:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vzBUl3fZ_nc&feature=youtu.be

The "Food Athletes" begin the hot-dog eating competition. Note the four rules of the contest.

I had not planned to watch television that morning, but as I waited on a 11-year-old boy to eat breakfast and get dressed to go to see a parade, I decided to check out which baseball games were going to be telecast that day. The television was tuned to ESPN, and the announcer was breathlessly introducing the contestants for what was described as a momentous "professional eating" event. The commentator was explaining that Joey Chestnut had won the event the two previous years, and a third win would be a historic achievement.

I had not heard of "professional eating" events, nor was I aware of the International Federation of Competitive Eating (aka, Major League Eating), which sanctions 80 competitive eating events each year. An event is won by the person who eats the most of a particular food within a specified time. Among the foods featured in upcoming competitions are: pastrami, fish tacos, kimchi, buffalo wings, oysters, and gyoza. Cash prizes are awarded to the winners. The website for this International Federation is:  http://www.ifoce.com/about.php . (Note: I would like to think that the IFOCE is a satire of the NFL, MLB, and NBA and the obscenely wealthy people involved in the professional sports industries who have turned kid's games into fortunes. However, the federation is likely just another organization to market products.)

As I watched, the event started, and within a couple of minutes, I was yelling at the television, "Stop, please stop." Both I and the mother of the lagging eleven-year-old were watching, bug-eyed, the most awful thing I have seen on television. We could not keep our eyes on the television for more than a few seconds without wincing and turning away, but just as you HAVE to look when you pass the scene of a car wreck, we kept peeking back at the screen and saying things such as "yuk," "sick," "I can't believe this," "make it stop," and "I can't stand it."

At 2 minutes and 49 seconds into the contest, Joey Chestnut enjoys his 27th hot dog  

Truthfully, there is nothing enjoyable about watching sweating, grimacing men dunking a hot dog and a bun in water (no more than 5 seconds allowed) and forcing it, with a few cursory chews, down their gullets. From their expressions, it is clear that they are not savoring the gustatory experience. The event seems to have more to do with sword swallowing that eating.

At last, after a couple of minutes, we could no long stand to watch what was happening. I turned off the television, not learning if Joey Chestnut had forced enough partially eaten hot dogs down his throat to achieve a historic third victory. (The IFOCE website informs readers that Chestnut not only won the event, but set a new world record by eating 69 hot dogs in ten minutes. That is 6.9 hot dogs per minute, less than ten seconds per hot dog.)

After watching this ESPN event, my customary tolerance was strained. I had to wonder how low a network has fallen to air such a sickening spectacle, which has, best I can determine, no redeeming value. I had to wonder about a society in which such events are popular enough to be aired on television.

With the television off and the contest a bad memory, I drove with the 11-year-old boy and his mother to the Blaine July 4th celebration. The boy decided that he wanted to have lunch before the parade started at noon, so we found a booth selling old fashion American food. Of course, the boy chose to eat a hot dog for lunch. When I saw that, I almost had a "reversal of fortune," which would have broken the fourth rule of  hot dog eating competition.

Pioneer Tales: Pleasant Memories

Arkansas Echo

March 9, 1894 and March 16, 1894

“It is amazing,” an American recently said to me, “how times can change. Earlier, when the first Germans came here, a person could now and then make a good deal with an old horse or donkey or an old cow. Now it is totally the opposite. Now the Germans sell us their old, discarded horses, donkeys, and cows.”

Yes, I thought, that good man in entirely right. That is the way things happened in the past, as experienced by many of us. As you know, when a person settles somewhere, before everything else he must worry about a work animal, be it a horse or donkey or even a cow. For most of us, our resources were so limited that an expensive, that is, good, animal was at first not imaginable. That was the way it was for me.

Arkansas Echo ad for horse and mule sales, 1894

My pocketbook was in no condition to permit me a $100 horse or donkey. I had to look around for something cheaper. And I ran onto one. I bought a horse for $50 from an American. It was supposed to be about 10 years old, but later turned out to be 18. I did not know anything about horses and bought it because it looked pretty good. The man had obtained it eight months earlier in exchange for an old cow, and he had cleverly fattened and prettied it up.

The nag could have lasted a long time if I only had had a good corn trough and not such heavy work. We began in the woods and soon a strong horse was needed, especially with the plowing. I could not help the old nag. It really had to do more that I could have expected from it; of course I did too, so we could console each other. But with force, it came around and afterwards, when I had corn myself and did not need to buy more, I could not get him on his feet.

I could not sell or trade him, but I needed to acquire another work animal. Again one day an American came to me with a six-year-old donkey to sell cheaply, ridiculously cheaply, for $25, on credit.

I thought, it costs nothing to look and went there. He had the donkey in the yard and I immediately noticed that the fellow hobbled more on three than four legs. The man insisted that did not bother him at all when he was working: he could do anything. I wanted to have him on a bridle once since that is how one could see how agile the fellow was and how he could run. It took us a long time to get him into the bridle.

Then I thought to myself, if you can run like that, then your hobble doesn't bother you much, and $25 isn't too much money. I took the bait, signed the note, and climbed on the donkey, and rode for home.

Oh no, screamed my wife, shocked, as she saw us coming. What kind of animal are you bringing home? It has only three legs, or at most 3 ½. You will never get rid of that in all your life. And I had noticed that the forth leg was shorter than the others during the trip. He dragged it behind. I scratched my head: I had it and had to keep it. The American was laughing up his sleeve.

Arkansas Echo ad for farm machinery and wagons

So I had now increased my livestock by one, progress already. But if I had expected to be better able to do my work, I was making a mistake, as I very soon discovered. Of course, I could harness it to anything, to the wagon, to the plow, also to ride. But it couldn’t have been harder if I had pulled those things myself. Luckily, by nature I have a good amount of patience, although often enough, I would have happily wished they were (as my friend Gottlieb would have said) in Jericho.

There is an old saying: in emergencies, the devil eats flies (i.e., beggars can’t be choosers). Flies I did not swallow, but certainly a lot of irritation. I still have a secret horror when I remember that time. I had to use Pat – I had so named him – for transportation to the mill or to the store or to other places. And I had him trained so that I could hang the bridle on his neck and then drive him in front of me.

One time I had ridden to the store where I had bought various things, among them 10 pounds on meal and a side of bacon. I packed all of the stuff on Pat’s back, put the bridle on and drove him in front of me.

Just then, an oxen driver came by us and cracked a whip, and crash, my Pat jumped, threw off everything, and took to its heels.

Part 2

I naturally went after it. Sure enough when I had soon caught up, it turned around and went into a gallop. Now it had to go through a long, narrow lane (a lane is the name of a path that has railing on both sides). If someone were at the other end, I could easily trap it. And luckily someone just then traveled by. I called and he saw what was happening. The man jumped from the wagon and went in the right direction so that he could cut off my Pat at the pass. Then I could catch hold of it by the collar.

As I got hold of it, I was overwhelmed by anger. I picked up a piece of wood and beat it over the ears. Oh pain! My Pat fell down and gave up the ghost, not making a sound. So it appeared to me. Well, said the man, you have beaten it to death. And so it appeared to me. However, in a little while, Pat perked his ears and all of a sudden, he struggled onto his feet and was within a hair of slipping away again.

Arkansas Echo ad for wholesale grocery story

I went back with it to pack up the things again. As I came into view of the place where my Pat had thrown off his load, I saw, to my horror, a sow with her young pigs giving the goods a close investigation.

My rebellious Pat let himself be pulled about by the reins like an old cow. I tied him quickly on a bush and ran as fast as I could to the pigs. I called and screamed as loudly as I could: sic’em, sic’em, sic’em. At last, the sow took to her heels, with bacon in her mouth, to the woods. And I went after it in order, where possible, to save the bacon, since it had cost me 17 ½ cents a pound. And I recaptured it, but in a condition that no one can easily imagine.

Now back to my Pat and the other things. Oh how that looked -- everything tangled up and strewn about. The meal sack had a couple of holes large enough to stick my fist into. And I had a half hour of work to do to make the necessary repairs in the sack and again load it. Then I led my Pat very nicely by the reins home without any further accidents.

Little by little, I had improved my circumstances so much that I could entertain the thought of procuring for once a regular work animal. But first I had to shake loose from the old baggage. With the nag, I was lucky and after a time, I dealt him for an old cow.

Things didn’t go so fast with Pat. Nobody wanted to take the bait!. Finally, I found an American who would give me three sheep for it. Happy to get anything, I considered it briefly and gave it to the man to take with him. The sheep were running around in the woods. And the man wanted to bring them to me within a week. But one morning, after 3 or 4 days, Pat was standing again before the door. I thought it had jumped out of the pen of the American since, despite its three legs, the thing could still do that.  Since I saw the poor fellow was hungry, I gave him a good meal and then sent him back with one of my kids.

The boy returned with the information that the man would not want that donkey even if it were given to him as a present. So I had my beloved Pat again and I had to feed him throughout the winter. And I had no prospect of somehow getting rid of him.

Arkansas Echo ad: Drink Fallstaff Bottled Beer

Early in the year, I succeeded in selling it again and to be sure to an American for a fat swine that was supposed to weigh 150 pounds. The next morning I went immediately to the man and as I saw the 150 pound pig, it appeared to me that it was a little too small for 150 pounds. I told the American that a person could not really call such a swine a 150 pounder, since the swine could not have weighed 125 pounds, and that I should receive an extra farrow. All right, I said, I’ll aim the swine in the right direction and drive it home. I would have taken it if it weighed only 25 pounds. A couple of days later, I slaughtered it and it weighed not more or less that 65 pounds. Go ahead, I thought; at least I was fortunately free from my 3-legged Pat.

I resolved in the future to no longer be involved with such old beasts, but once it happened again that I got stuck with such an old dromedary, something I will tell about at another time.

****************************************

Introduction to the Pioneer Tales
This pioneer tale is one in a series published in 1893 and 1894 by theArkansas Echo, a German-language newspaper in Little Rock. The stories are intended to show the challenges and adventures facing German-speaking immigrants when they came to settle in Arkansas. So far, the following posts have introduced the Pioneer Tales and provided translations of most of them:
Pioneer Tales of Arkansas' German Immigrants (background of the newspaper series)
http://www.eclecticatbest.com/2011/05/pioneer-tales-of-arkansas-german.html

Arkansas Echo, November 3, 1893. THE GOOD OLD DAYS?http://www.eclecticatbest.com/2011/05/pioneer-tales-of-arkansas-german_17.html

Arkansas Echo, November 10, 1893
MERRY MÄT, OR A TRIP TO THE BATHS, Part 1
http://www.eclecticatbest.com/2011/05/pioneer-tales-of-arkansas-german_21.html

Arkansas Echo, November 17, 1893
MERRY MÄT, OR A TRIP TO THE BATHS, Part 2
http://www.eclecticatbest.com/2011/05/pioneer-tales-of-arkansas-german_31.html

Arkansas Echo, December 1, 1893
A JUICY ROAST--OR--WHO WANTS TO EAT WITH ME?
http://www.eclecticatbest.com/2011/06/pioneer-tales-of-arkansas-german.html

Arkansas Echo, December 8, 1893
ANOTHER PIECE ABOUT "AUGUST" --OR -- LONG FENCE RAILS
http://www.eclecticatbest.com/2011/06/pioneer-tales-of-arkansas-german_08.html

Arkansas Echo, December 22, 1893
HOW FRANK, WITHOUT POWDER AND LEAD, ONCE SLEW A MAGNIFICENT DEER
http://www.eclecticatbest.com/2011/06/pioneer-tales-of-arkansas-german_10.html

Arkansas Echo, December 29, 1893
ERNST'S BAD LUCK
http://www.eclecticatbest.com/2011/06/pioneer-tales-of-arkansas-german_17.html

Arkansas Echo, January 5, 1894
THAT'S THE WAY ITS DONE IN HUNGARY -or- A PERSON WHO WILL NOT ACCEPT ADVICE CANNOT BE HELPED
http://www.eclecticatbest.com/2011/07/pioneer-tales-of-arkansas-german.html

Arkansas Echo, January 12, 1894
HOW ONE CAN LOSE ONE'S WAY IN THE PRIMEVAL FOREST
http://www.eclecticatbest.com/2011/09/pioneer-tales-of-arkansas-german.html

Arkansas Echo, January 19, 1894
BILL’S TRIP TO THE MARKET 
http://www.eclecticatbest.com/2011/10/pioneer-tales-of-arkansas-german.html

Arkansas Echo, January 26, 1894. THE WAY YOU PUSH THINGS, SO THEY WILL GO (OR, YOU REAP WHAT YOU SOW)
http://www.eclecticatbest.com/2013/01/the-way-you-push-things-so-they-will-go.html

Arkansas Echo, February 9, 1894. MY FIRST DEER HUNT
http://www.eclecticatbest.com/2013/04/my-first-deer-hunt.html

Arkansas Echo, February 23, 1894 and March 2, 1894
JOSEPH GLANZMANN'S STORY OF GERMAN-SPEAKING IMMIGRANTS 
SETTLING NEAR ALTUS, ARKANSAS
http://www.eclecticatbest.com/2012/10/pioneer-tales-joseph-glanzmanns-story.html


All Rights Reserved

Thanks to the Umpire, the Little Rock Rosebuds Vanquished the Hot Springs Bathers in a Baseball Game on June 9, 1894

The following are two front page stories printed in the Arkansas Gazette 119 years ago today, on June 10, 1894. They tell the story of two baseball games, one in which the home team (the Hot Spring Bathers) was robbed of a victory by an erroneous umpire call and the other in which the Camden Rainmakers demonstrated their superiority over the Morrilton  Prohibitionists. In the second game, the Rainmakers hit the pitching of Morrilton's Staples "whithersoever they wished" and according to some experts, Maloney, the Camden pitcher, threw "the best game ever pitched in Arkansas."  

The language of the sports stories in 1894 was a bit more elegant than today, but it is clear that the passion of the writers matched that of writers now covering hometown baseball teams. 

Go Rosebuds!  

WHY, WE’VE GOT A CINCH!

The Bathers Go Down Once More Before the Rosebuds

Stone’s Stalwarts Bat Out a Victory In the Third Inning – Camden Downs Morrillton (sic)

Special to the Gazette.

Hot Springs, June 9.—The umpire beat the home club in today’s ball game. They are consequently sore over it. It was as pretty a game as anyone would wish to see. Buckeye Taylor started again to do the twirling for Hot Springs and shut out the Rosebuds in two innings. In the third, however, they seemed to weaken and the visitors pounded out six runs. Reed then went in and finished the game. In the first half of the ninth with two men out and score standing 6 to 7 in favor of the Rosebuds, Hot Springs had the bases full and Taylor knocked a corking grounder just inside the third base line, on which two men scored. To the surprise of everyone umpire Sumpter called it a foul. Taylor and Hayden then retired the side. Score by innings:

                    1   2   3   4   5   6   7   8   9 
Little Rock    0   0   6   1   0   0   0   0   0 – 7
Hot Springs  1   0   2   1   0   0   0   0   2 – 6


 Special to the Gazette.
Camden, June 9.—Camden just put it all over the Morrillton (sic) Prohibitionists today. The latter could not play at all against the fearful onslaught on the Rainmakers. The Camden team realized today that the boys around town were backing them up. The game yesterday and the day before were played without much interest on the part of the Rainmakers, but today they were determined from the start to win the game, and they did. Both sides played a splendid game up to the third inning.
 

The Rainmakers soon found Staples balls and batted them all over the field whithersoever they wished. The errors were about even. It is said by experienced baseball men and Maloney pitched the best game ever pitched in Arkansas. He simply had the Morrillton (sic) boys at this mercy. Camden’s defeat by the Morrillton (sic) boys the day before yesterday is traceable to many causes other than good playing. The Camden boys are by far the best players. They should have had three straight games instead of two.
                   1   2   3   4   5   6   7   8   9
Camden      0   0   6   0   4   0   3   0   0 – 13
Morrillton     1   0   0   0   1   2   0   0   0 -- 4

Arkansas Gazette, June 10, 1894, p. 1

Changing South Fayetteville (Arkansas)

Most of my first twenty years of life, beginning in 1947, was spent in the South part of Fayetteville where I lived in rental houses on S. College Avenue, East 5th Street, and (I am told because I was too young to remember) S. Washington Ave. I also lived briefly in City Housing (Block Ave. near Archibald Yell Ave) and, for many years, starting in 1955, in a house on East 6th Street, a block down the hill from Jefferson Elementary School.  In those years, South Fayetteville (bounded by Archibald Yell Ave, S. School Ave., 15th Street, S. Wood Avenue, and Huntsville Road) was my turf. 

House on 200 Block of E. 6th St., illuminated by a gas light, 1961

South Fayetteville in the 1950's and 1960's was populated predominately by lower middle class families, most residing in modest, well-kept houses. Some streets had a sprinkling of larger, older homes. A few tracts of land contained large houses or mansions (for example, the Walker House, off S. College Avenue, near Jefferson was a big historic house surrounded by a large amount of land). Several neighborhoods had mainly tiny houses inhabited by poorer people.

The nicer part of Fayetteville, with the bigger and more expensive houses, was located to the north and northeast of the downtown. Housing for middle and upper middle class families were to be found near the University, around the City Park, and in the vicinity of the Veterans Administration hospital. The land along and north of East Dickson contained historic two-story Victorian style houses that dated to the early days of the city. The east-side mountain contained some mansions that were visible from the city’s flat lands. 

In those years, new housing developments on the edges of the core city were on their way, but had barely begun. Most of those suburban houses with big yards would be built to the northeast and northwest of the city center. And while Fayetteville was to grow in the coming years, comparatively little of the growth was to take place in South Fayetteville and the areas surrounding it.  

During my time in South Fayetteville, it was inhabited largely by families whose income came from blue collar, clerical, or service industry jobs. Also, many older people lived there. Few university faculty members or other more affluent professionals lived in South Fayetteville. (When I was attending Jefferson grade school, I heard rumors that the city had a university, but it was some years before I was first on the campus.) Also, South Fayetteville contained few black families, though Robert Wilks and his family lived on 6th Street, east of Jefferson School. Most black families lived directly east of the Square, in an area behind the County Courthouse, below – ironically – the Confederate Cemetery. 

Student Phillip Snow on the Jefferson Elementary School grounds, 1959

During the 1950s and early 1960s, much of the social life of a boy in South Fayetteville centered on Jefferson Elementary, which offered a place to play when school was not in session. On one side of the building, it had playground equipment. On the other side were basketball hoops and a large blacktopped space for other games. Its lower field was a place to play baseball. When the school’s playgrounds were full or not easily accessible, we used the numerous vacant lots located near our houses to play whatever games we wanted – touch football, whiffle ball, etc. 

Mr. Hankins, 6th Grade Teacher at Jefferson School. Judy Shofner
and Melba Adams (L to R) are standing behind him facing the camera

Playing in the Lower Field of Jefferson School, 1959.
Student Larry Stout has the football; he is stiff arming Jimmy Hawkins.
Mike Yarberry is in the background facing the camera

During those years, South Fayetteville was full of kids, the baby boomers. On my block of East 6th street alone, neighbor kids included (at different times) Bobby Carnes, Randy Allison, the Daily brothers, the Dockery brothers, Phyllis Jet, Sue Skelton, and others. Ronnie Cole and Steve Baucom lived a block to the west. Others within a short walking distance of Jefferson were the Eugene Tucker; Phillip Snow; Larry Stout; Bruce Walker; Philip Agee; the Ballard brothers; cousins Justin, Morris, and Beverly Daniel; Newt Land; Larry Schafer; and many others. 

One of the nice things about living in my part of South Fayetteville was that a couple of small neighborhood grocery stores – Hanna’s and Johnson’s Groceries -- were located by Jefferson School, selling staples such as candy, pop, and baseball cards.  Also, as we got a bit older, we could easily walk up to the Square to go the Palace or Ozark Theater to watch a movie. Or we could go there to spend our allowance at one of the five-and-dime stores.

Things Change

I was reminded of my days in South Fayetteville when I visited there recently, driving around the old neighborhoods. Surprisingly, it still looks much the same in many neighborhoods, with few changes on streets such as South College and South Washington. Most of the old houses are still around. Some have been refurbished and look much better than I remembered; others are more dilapidated. The area still seems to be full of modest houses for families living on a tight budget.

The area now has fewer empty lots. Most have been filled by houses, mostly modest ones that fit comfortably in the surroundings. A few lots have been used  for rental housing, much of it cheap, brick single story units with little landscaping or charm. 

The most obvious negative change is that Jefferson Elementary School is no longer a school. Young students have to leave South Fayetteville to attend elementary school. That means elementary school students in South Fayetteville can no longer walk to and from school; they no longer have the same easy ambulatory access to their friends and playgrounds after school (though Jefferson still operates as an adult and community education center and the lower field is still there). 

The most impressive positive change in South Fayetteville is the expansion of Walker Park, which is a now great asset for the area. It was a small neighborhood park in the late 1950s. At the time, it did not encompass the overgrown scrub land bounded by S. College Avenue, East 7th St. (then unpaved), the Town Branch, and East 15th St.  That land contained lots of trees, but also had a large cleared area. At the time, someone had scratched out a rough baseball diamond on a part of the cleared land and put up a crude backstop. On weekends, South Fayetteville folks would crawl through a barbed wire fence to play baseball there. Now of course, the land has eight baseball parks, soccer fields, hiking trails, and other recreation amenities. 

The New Style Housing

One major change in South Fayetteville has occurred recently – most within the last year -- and I cannot decide whether it is something to be welcomed or whether it should be considered a threat to the future of the area. I am talking about the colorful multi-story townhouses and row houses being built in several South Fayetteville locations. 

Ronnie Cole's Old House on the corner of West 6th Street and Block Avenue

Across 6th Street from Ronnie Cole's old house; These units face Block Ave.
Other units built behind them face S. East Avenue 

I could hardly believe my eyes when I first saw such a development last November. It is located on West 6th Street (now MLK Blvd) across the street from where Ronnie Cole lived, less than a block from where I resided for a decade. It is bounded by S. Block on one side and S. East St. on the other. This development, which is nearly finished, was built on a half block of land on which Ronnie’s grandparents had lived in a large country-style house. The present Google satellite photo (60 West 6th Street) still shows the old house and the large lot on which it sat.

In November, 2012, builders had completed several new, brightly painted two-story single family houses, each with a tiny yard, and were working on others. By April 2013, eight new houses had been built or were being finished. These houses have small porches, small balconies and fenced back yards. While moderately attractive, their size, colors, style and arrangement are unlike any other previously to be found in South Fayetteville.

In Spring 2012, several similar units were also completed or near completion a block away at the corner of Block Ave. and W. 7th Street (across from an entrance to Walker Park). These units have a design similar to those on West 6th Street. 

These multi-story, modern houses were recently built on S. Church Ave.

Some even more incongruous residential housing has been recently built a few blocks to the west on S. Church Ave.(see pictures above) between West 6th and West 7th Streets. These units have a more modern and striking design than the new ones a block away on West 6th and 7th streets. They come in different heights (2 and 3 stories) and colors. Their roofs have unconventional angles and window size and locations are quirky.  They are built more closely together, though each has its own small yard.  

Row Houses on West 5th Street, between Locust and School Avenues;
Four attached units have been built; a foundation exists for four more units 

These attached units are located at the corner of Locust Ave. and W. 5th St. 

A few blocks north of those houses, wrapping the intersection of West 5th Street and Locust Ave., some colorful row houses have been built (with some expressed intent to build more). Again, these designs are sleek and modern; the units are built of materials unlike those used in the traditional houses of South Fayetteville (see pictures above).

These last two developments, on Church Ave and Locust Ave., fit more easily into their environments. While the neighboring dwellings to the east are mostly older, traditional modest wood frame houses, these housing units are located near busy S. School St. and commercial development to the west. As urban-style houses, they fit fine in a multi-land use setting. 

In truth, I like the vibrant design and colors of much of this new South Fayetteville housing, especially the single family units on Church Ave. Likely, they are not attractive to families with children because they have tiny yards and are too near a four-lane road with substantial traffic. However, I can see how childless professionals who want interesting space, a non-conventional design, and convenient location would find these units enticing. Also, I would guess that the units have some price advantages because the cost of the land on which they are built is cheaper than similar land in north Fayetteville.

It will be interesting to see if the addition of these non-conventional units, so unlike the other houses in South Fayetteville, is the start of a transformation (gentrification?) of the area, or if they are simply a one-time opportunistic exploitation of low land prices to build reasonably priced for buyers who want more space at an affordable price. Check back in a year to see what has happened.   

Public Art Surprise at Vienna's Stadtpark: Stage Set, 1996 by Donald Judd

Vienna is full of public art, mainly grand statutes and memorials commemorating famous musicians, writers, Hapsburgs, generals, and politicians. For example, the statutes of Johann Strauss, Goethe, Franz Josef, Mozart, and Maria Theresa, among others, are located in visible locations and attract the attention of visitors in the city. They have both historic and aesthetic appeal.

Statute of Goethe in Vienna

Other public art is often more difficult to find, and I was happy to stumble on a pleasing and enjoyable art installation in Vienna's Stadtpark, the huge urban park that is bordered by Parkring. On a path in midst of the park, not far from a foot bridge crossing the paved Wienfluss -- Vienna River -- that runs through it, stands six large fabric panels mounted at different heights, each with a different vivid color.

The panels are over the walkway, and because they have different heights, the relationship of the colors -- that is, the juxtaposition and visibility of different  colors -- changes as a person walks toward them. The result is dynamic art that fetches attention from the time it is first noticed until a viewer passed under the panels.

Part of the pleasure of this art is the surprise of seeing it in an unexpected location: along a path surrounded by trees and other greenery. Another element of its attraction is the changing colors framed by the park and the classic architecture of the city that lies beyond the park boundaries. Also, the act of walking into and through the art enhances enjoyment of it.

The art installation from a distance. The bridge across the Wienfluss in the background

The picture above was taken on a cloudy, drizzly day, deepening the colors. The visible colors from this perspective were orange, yellow, blue, red, and black. One panel (green) is not visible.  A bridge across the Wienfluss can be seen in the distance. Trees stand in front of the panel; when the trees have leaves, they will add additional colors. Also, note a lamp on the path in the front of the first panel. When it is lit in the evening, its light will change the colors.

A few steps closer to the art 

Walking a few steps closer to the panels exposes more yellow, blue and orange. Each step shows the colors in a different relationship. In this picture, two people are walking through the art.

The Art Installation in Summer

Another picture -- this one downloaded from the internet -- shows the art installation in summer when it is framed by trees and more brightly lit by the sun. 

Near the panels of color is this sign identifying the title of the piece of art as "Stage Set, 1966." The artist was Donald Judd (1928-1994). The art was developed for an exhibition at the nearly Museum of Applied Arts in 1991 and it was donated to the City of Vienna in 1995.

Vacationing in Tulsa

When an early teenager, I got to go to Tulsa every year or so. It was the big family vacation trip.

Traveling to Tulsa was an exciting prospect for me. Usually we stayed two nights, so we had one full day and parts of two other days in the big city. 

I knew Tulsa and Oklahoma from television. Most of the few stations we received through our antenna originated there. Watching the advertisements and local news, I was familiar with Tulsa’s major stores, its professional baseball team, state and local politicians making news in the city, and city’s weather. I was always eager to go to the big city from which our television signal regularly came.

The trip required careful preparation. We had to schedule a time when the Tulsa Oilers would be playing baseball (preferably a double header) and when my baseball team had no game scheduled. I had to ask the coach of my baseball team to be excused from any planned practices. My dad had to schedule a day off, and we had to coordinate with my aunt Ruth – with whom we would stay in Tulsa -- so that we would come when she had a day away from work.

The entrance to Tulsa's Oiler Part from
http://tulsatvmemories.com/oiler.html

Arrangements had to be made with a relative to take care of Candy, our dog, for the duration of the trip. The car had to be taken in for a check and an oil change and lube job. The air pressure of the tires needed to be double checked as did the oil level of the engine.

Clothes for the three-day trip were packed the night before we departed. On the day of the trip, we would get up early to prepare. Mother made sandwiches in case we got hungry while on the road. She put ice and water in a large jar to insure we would not be parched during the trip. I was warned that there would be no stops, so I should prepare for the trip accordingly.

The travel from Fayetteville to the Arkansas-Oklahoma border was not very exciting. I had been to Siloam Springs several times to play different sports, so I was familiar with the landscape. However, I always got a thrill when I saw the “Welcome to Oklahoma” sign and started noting that most cars had Oklahoma, not Arkansas, license plates. And Oklahomans seemed to drive different kinds of cars than I saw in Arkansas.

As we rolled on the two-lane road through different cities, I carefully pronounced the unfamiliar name of each city and looked around for any distinguishing features. I would study the passing billboards, whose ads differed from those on billboards in the state from which I came

After some time intently watching the new scenery pass, I would lie down on the back seat to rest my eyes and think about what I saw.  But not for very long.  Soon, I would again be staring out the window, looking for evidence revealing the character of the place we were visiting.

The trip seemed to last almost beyond endurance, but I would calm myself by counting down the miles to Tulsa by spotting the mileage road signs. Finally, we were on the edge of the big city and faced the task of negotiating its unfamiliar streets to find the house of Ruth and her son Wayne. With some twists and turns, some wrong directions and corrections, we would find ourselves outside their house. 

Then the adventure really started. In truth, almost everything we did in Tulsa was an adventure for me. Even going to the grocery store was fun. It was much bigger than those in Fayetteville and seemed to have exotic goods (even different kinds of candy) unavailable to us at the Fayetteville Safeway or IGA. For example, one year my mother bought crackers IN A TIN CONTAINER, not the usual disposable box. We used that container to store crackers for decades and it probably can still be found in the attic.

Wayne, my Tulsa cousin, during the 1959 vacation 

Wayne and I had fun, even though he was a couple of years younger. During one of the trips, we cajoled our parents to take us to an amusement park that had rides I usually saw only in the Fall at the Washington County Fair. We rode several of them until our allotted allowance ran out.  Another time, we spent an hour or so riding the escalators in the downtown JC Penny store. That was my first ride on an escalator and I could not get enough of it. Still another time, we toured the Tulsa Zoo, my first time in a zoo. I was impressed by the peacocks.

Invariably, we went to at least one Oilers baseball game. The Oilers were the Cardinal's AA farm team in the Texas League, and we always hoped to see some future St. Louis stars at the beginning of their careers. My dad was excited, in dress pants, snapping gum, and smelling of Old Spice as we took off well before the game’s start to watch batting practice and get good seats behind the plate, protected from foul balls by screens. We would buy a program, and I would keep a scorecard of the action. Usually we would leave the game in the 8^th inning to “beat the traffic,” but would listen to the final inning in the car on the ride home. The game usually ended just as we pulled in front of the house.

My dad with ducks at the Tulsa Zoo, 1959

It was at an Oiler’s game when I discovered I was nearsighted and needed glasses. My dad and Wayne could easily make out the numbers and letters on the center-field scoreboard. I couldn't  no matter how hard I squinted. Although I put it off for four or five years, I eventually yielded to the inevitable and got the glasses I needed. I think my batting average would have been higher and I would have made fewer errors in American Legion baseball if I had gotten the glasses sooner.

Ruth and Wayne, plus Crybaby, their over-sized wiener dog, were always welcoming and generous hosts. Ruth would cook what seemed like a couple dozen eggs and three dozen pieces of bacon for breakfast, then scold us for not eating it all.

Wayne was a collector and always had some exotic collection of things that I did not have, such as plastic toy soldiers. I enjoyed playing with the collections; plus we could always find an interesting game to amuse ourselves.

Time would fly when we were driving the broad, busy streets of Tulsa, and the vacation would be over much too quickly. After eating one of Ruth’s mammoth, tasty breakfasts, we would repack the car, take the sandwiches provided for a snack, and refill the jar with water and ice.  After a quick check of the oil and air pressure of the tires, and a warning to me that we would not be stopping on the drive back, we were headed to Arkansas. Usually the car trunk was a little fuller, and I had some new things to fiddle with in the back seat.  

The trip back to Fayetteville was much less interesting than the trip to Tulsa. Typically, I would lie down much of the time in the back of the car, think about what we had just done, and wait for time to pass. The vacation seemed a distant memory when, as if by instinct, I would raise my head in time to see the “Welcome to Arkansas” sign.

Pioneer Tales: My First Deer Hunt

Arkansas Echo

Pioneer Tales
February 9, 1894

I want to also tell a small hunting adventure that did not happen to me here in Arkansas, but in Missouri where we were for eight years before we came here. In that area at the time, the deer were not rare and whoever was a good shot could have deer meat through the entire year.

Now, I had a cornfield that lay fairly high on a mountain. From the corn, I had made, as was the practice there, corn stacks and had placed them together in round corn shocks. One left them standing there as long as he wished or until he had time to shuck the corn.

One day I came there and saw to my horror that most of the corn shocks had been rummaged through, a few were even ruined. Instantly I thought that the pigs had broken out, but after a closer inspection I saw that deer had been there. Wait! I thought. There will soon be roasted deer meat.

Advertisement in an 1894 issue of the Arkansas Echo
A.G. Linzel & Son, 110 East Markham St., Little Rock

I went out toward evening with my rifle and hid myself in a corn shock and waited in case the thing should return. I lay there two, three, even four hours on the lookout, but still nothing wanted to show itself. Soon I became bored and had decided to take a break, when I thought I heard something sniffing and blowing. And as I looked in that direction, a marvelous deer came very cautiously to the corn shock next to me. Here he stood still once again, sniffed around again, and since he did not notice anything suspicious, he began to root through and eat the corn.

I carefully stuck my weapon out and aimed. But damn and blast! What is that? I was shaking all over and I went blind. I could have boxed my ears. I have many times stood in a thick rain of bullets and not flinched, and here in the face of a dumb deer, I got buck fever.

I pulled myself together enough that I was able to take aim and pull. And bang, a shot, and the deer takes off. That serves you right, I heard a voice in my head say. It is not possible that you hit him. But I must have hit him because as I looked more closely at the spot, I saw blood, or as it is called in hunter’s Latin, sweat.
Since there was a bright moon and it had recently risen, I was able to easily follow the trail and noticed that it had lost much blood.

It had made it over the fence and then was gone into the thick woods. Here I lost the trail and returned home sullenly, with the intention of following the trail as far a possible the next morning.

The following morning a young neighbor boy came at about 10 a.m. to the house and asked me if I could loan him my wagon and a horse for an hour. He did not at first want to answer the question “why?” But then he said that he had shot a deer up ahead and that he wanted to haul it home in the wagon.


Advertisement in an 1894 issue of  the Arkansas Echo
Edmund Craig, & Co, 414 East Markham St, Little Rock

Confound it, I said (since everything was immediately clear to me): “Bill, you are lying. You did not shoot that deer! You only found it!” The boy was red up to his ears and quickly admitted it.

I told him that the previous night I had shot the deer and that he probably was lying not far from the fence. I went with Bill and, sure enough, as I had surmised, it lay hardly 200 yards behind the fence where it had collapsed and died.

Since it was the usual practice to give the finder a portion of the booty, I divided the deer with Bill, but I kept the hide and antlers for myself. I had to soon remove them from my sight because they reminded me every time I saw them of my “buck fever” that I had on my first deer hunt.

****************************************

Introduction to the Pioneer Tales

This pioneer tale is one in a series published in 1893 and 1894 by the Arkansas Echo, a German-language newspaper in Little Rock. The stories are intended to show the challenges and adventures facing German-speaking immigrants when they came to settle in Arkansas. So far, the following posts have introduced the Pioneer Tales and provided translations of most of them:

Pioneer Tales of Arkansas' German Immigrants (background of the newspaper series)
http://www.eclecticatbest.com/2011/05/pioneer-tales-of-arkansas-german.html

Arkansas Echo, November 3, 1893. THE GOOD OLD DAYS? http://www.eclecticatbest.com/2011/05/pioneer-tales-of-arkansas-german_17.html

Arkansas Echo, November 10, 1893
MERRY MÄT, OR A TRIP TO THE BATHS, Part 1
http://www.eclecticatbest.com/2011/05/pioneer-tales-of-arkansas-german_21.html

Arkansas Echo, November 17, 1893
MERRY MÄT, OR A TRIP TO THE BATHS, Part 2
http://www.eclecticatbest.com/2011/05/pioneer-tales-of-arkansas-german_31.html

Arkansas Echo, December 1, 1893
A JUICY ROAST--OR--WHO WANTS TO EAT WITH ME?
http://www.eclecticatbest.com/2011/06/pioneer-tales-of-arkansas-german.html

Arkansas Echo, December 8, 1893
ANOTHER PIECE ABOUT "AUGUST" --OR -- LONG FENCE RAILS
http://www.eclecticatbest.com/2011/06/pioneer-tales-of-arkansas-german_08.html

Arkansas Echo, December 22, 1893
HOW FRANK, WITHOUT POWDER AND LEAD, ONCE SLEW A MAGNIFICENT DEER
http://www.eclecticatbest.com/2011/06/pioneer-tales-of-arkansas-german_10.html

Arkansas Echo, December 29, 1893
ERNST'S BAD LUCK
http://www.eclecticatbest.com/2011/06/pioneer-tales-of-arkansas-german_17.html

Arkansas Echo, January 5, 1894
THAT'S THE WAY ITS DONE IN HUNGARY -or- A PERSON WHO WILL NOT ACCEPT ADVICE CANNOT BE HELPED
http://www.eclecticatbest.com/2011/07/pioneer-tales-of-arkansas-german.html

Arkansas Echo, January 14, 1894
HOW ONE CAN LOSE ONE'S WAY IN THE PRIMEVAL FOREST
http://www.eclecticatbest.com/2011/09/pioneer-tales-of-arkansas-german.html

Arkansas Echo, January 19, 1894
BILL’S TRIP TO THE MARKET
http://www.eclecticatbest.com/2011/10/pioneer-tales-of-arkansas-german.html

Arkansas Echo, February 23, 1894 and March 2, 1894
JOSEPH GLANZMANN'S STORY OF GERMAN-SPEAKING IMMIGRANTS
SETTLING NEAR ALTUS, ARKANSAS
http://www.eclecticatbest.com/2012/10/pioneer-tales-joseph-glanzmanns-story.html

Arkansas Echo, January 26, 1894. THE WAY YOU PUSH THINGS, SO THEY WILL GO (OR, YOU REAP WHAT YOU SOW)
http://www.eclecticatbest.com/2013/01/the-way-you-push-things-so-they-will-go.html


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