EARLY DAYS IN LINN
IN CEDAR RAPIDS REPUBLICAN JUNE 20, 1910
Being in a somewhat reflective mood today I shall attempt to acquaint you of a few incidents in a life as memory unfolds them to me. It will be necessary before narrating these incidents to introduce to you my friend and acquaintance, Colonel McIntyre of Indian Creek bottom, familiarly known as "Pinkey" by his class mates at West Point. The colonel measured six feet two, symmetrically proportioned, tipping the scale at a trifle over two hundred pounds, eyes of steel grey, beard auburn, bordering slightly on the reddish and a military bearing in keeping with his long years of service as a disciplinarian. The incidents of this life take me back some years to that little cabin, that stood on the east side of the road running north and south past Indian creek bottom, built from roughly finished logs hewn from the trunks of trees cut from the nearby forest. Time does not seem to efface from memory recollections with the boys and girls of the sparsely settled neighborhood, attending spelling schools and such like. The unfolding of memory reveals to me versions of the old place and the childhood days spent beneath the clapboard roof as vividly as though it were but yesterday.
A little farther on up the road from this cabin, perhaps a half mile, there is a fork in the road, one fork leading on to what was then known as Turkey Grove and now to feather ridge, the other on to the Inn dwellers cave on the "Pinican" bluffs. On the flat iron point where the road forks was erected the first school house in that vicinity and is still standing as a monument to the men who were not afraid to do what they knew to be right regardless of the whims and petty clamorings of dissatisfaction that continually sway committees from the paths of rectitude and right. From this nucleus of education there go forth its quota of youth each year to enter higher institutions of learning or grapple with the more serious problems of life. The impressions I received while attending this school by the pleasant grove have not been eradicated by the conquering of new worlds or by the glamour of political conquests. Youthful dreams and the bewitching smile of some fair maid were a source of great pleasure to me; a smile from Miss Rose LaBelle during school time would set my heart going at a two minute clip and detract materially from my studies and the routine of school work.
From this miniature "college" have gone forth men and women who are now wielding an influence almost nation wide in its scope. Some are gradually wandering from the truths that were enunciated and make a cardinal principle of its teaching and are now searching in hidden paths of sociology for new light. I now recall an event that happened while attending this school that conveys to my mind another fact tending to establish the truth of the proposition, that "ingratitude" is no dream.
One bright morning in early spring when all nature seemed aglow with freshness and beauty, myself and a number of girls were the first to arrive at school, the teacher, Miss Theresa McCurty, being a little later than usual. On entering the school house we were held spellbound and speechless for a moment by a strange musical yet weird sound which seemed to come from the rear of the room. It took considerable effort to muster up courage to make an investigation, but finally a search was started and on approaching the rear end of the room the same musical weird sound would be at the other end of the room. Now in order to discover what it was that was making this strange weird noise and put the intruder to rout and discover if possible what kind of a looking monster he was, it was decided that two of us would go around to the rear and the rest remain in front and keep a sharp lookout for whatever it might be, when all at once one of the girls let out an unearthly scream and pointing at some object in the corner of the room shouted, "There it goes." We all gave chase, although some of the girls were rather timid on the start, and succeeded in capturing the intruder alive. It turned out to be a large white wood-mouse. What to do with this new and unruly possession was the important question now up for solution. Some were in for dispatching it at once, others said let's turn it loose, but Miss Orrie, who always had an eye for business when there was any fun in sight, suggested putting it in the teacher's desk and the result was that Miss Orrie had her way and we proceeded with all haste to carry out her plan, the girls holding up the lid of the old fashioned teacher's desk while I dropped the musical wonder in. This done, we went about our play as though nothing was ever expected to happen, impatiently waiting for something to happen, but not quite sure what. We didn't have long to wait.
Now the teacher, Miss Theresa McCurty, was of the type of spinsters who are apparently self-willed and thoroughly versed in the art of throwing round them an atmosphere of ability to convince others of their dependence only on themselves in case of emergency to take care of themselves.
We had barely completed the capture and imprisonment in the teacher's desk of the musical wonder, when Miss McCurty arrived, ready for her day's work of training the youthful intellect. It seemed as if this morning in particular she was more precise than ever and went about her work very deliberately.
It was her custom (a custom that the "Blasting at the Rock of Ages" ought not to minimize) to read a chapter from some book of the bible every morning to the scholars before commencing the further duties of the day, and that chapter which speaks about bearing false witness was the one chosen for this morning, a very fitting prelude too, to the further developments of the day. We were more prompt than usual in taking our seats after school was called this morning with an evident desire to impress the teacher as being very attentive to our studies, but at the same time keeping one eye in the teacher's direction, so as not to miss any of the movements of the teacher in case the anticipated fun was thrust upon us. Lowell Taylor, the boy who couldn't keep still if he had to, was bubbling over with mirth (every school has them) and was severely reproved for not keeping quiet and for disturbing the whole school by his antics. After delivering to Lowell this short lecture on disobedience she went to her desk to get her bible and as she lifted the lid out jumped the prisoner and such a screech as she let out seemed to almost freeze the marrow in your bones and sent the cold chills chasing up and down your spinal column as with one bound she made the first row of seats and in a jiffy was clean to the farther end of the room, perched upon the rear desk with her skirts tucked snugly around her shaking limbs and terror pictured in every line of her face.
In this position she remained impervious to all efforts to induce her to come off her high perch, until a second chase had been made and the intruder ejected from the room.