Mr. Abbott had been thinking things over ever since the time I had asked him to surrender his space in the interests of that elaborate write-up. Said he figured it would now be OK for him to bring me copy for a half-page advertisement announcing his location in Wetmore.
There were, however, many proposals advanced — but always they met with opposition from some member or members of the Board. In general, they kicked like the proverbial “bay steer” whenever something was advanced which might be helpful to one and detrimental to another. I think Mr. Worthy and I were the only ones who did not protest their proposals—such as bringing in Mr. Reckeway. And, frankly, until it had come to a showdown, I was not favored with too much information as to what Michael had up his sleeve.
I don’t know where they could have found a better man than Mr. Reckeway for the place—but he was no miracle man. Handicapped as he was, he found the going rather tough. And having found out also that the Board Committee’s prophesy was only a myth—that an elevator alone could not make two bushels grow where only one bushel grew before—after a few rather lean years, he departed for greener pastures. I believe Mr. Reckeway made good in the flour milling business at Girard, Kansas.
The Board of Trade sponsored (Reckeway) elevator, after years of idleness, has been torn down. Goff and Netawaka, like Wetmore, each now have only one elevator. And still the grain does not roll into Wetmore as was anticipated by the Board of Trade enthusiasts. Perhaps the old town may someday be favored with another set of progressives—who do not know their onions.
I reiterate, there is no lingering malice in this writing. Collectively, year in and year out, the oldtime Wetmore people, despite all differences, were the best people I ever knew—and I lived in relative harmony with them for a long, long time. I’ve lived a lot of living in the old home town.
And, thankfully, I’m still here.
FAMILY AFFAIR
Not Hitherto Published—1947.
By John T. Bristow
In the foregoing article I made reference to Theodore Wolfley’s poor marksmanship, with a revolver. When possible, I like to back up my assertions with proof. I now quote from a letter dated at St. Louis, April 5, 1941, written by T. J. Wolfley to his sister May Purcell, commenting on my writings in The Spectator, in which I likened a Belgrade story to a hot Wolfley editorial. It was at a time when a Hitler delegation was in Belgrade endeavoring to put pressure on the Yugoslavs to force them into the war on the Hitler side. The quote: