V29-01G1

First Grade, fall 1929 to fall 1930

First Grade: Miss Letha Hicks was our teacher. 38 students started and 33 finished. Grade distribution was 2-13-16-7-0 at the start & 3-12-14-4-6 at the end. I was rated U= Unsatisfactory, not working to maximum ability.

Miss Hicks was a fine teacher, very pleasant and helpful. I specifically remember Miss Hicks teaching us the Alphabet. I was delighted and one of the first to hold up my hand to name the letter selected. A third of the way through she no longer asked me to respond and focused on the other kids. So I stopped holding up my hand. It didn't seem to matter if she knew I knew – I was filling an inner hunger to learn – knowing all the letters the first day. I was ready for words -- a slow process by reading one story at a time from our reader. I delighted in going to school for the pure joy of learning.

End of the Mill

July 30 1930 This a year following the Crash of 29' 15 minutes after starting

It took only 30 minutes, fire equipment was useless.

` During the summer after lunch I sauntered up on the railroad track and watched Claude Pettis working a team of mules. He was cutting weeds in the drainage ditch. My observations were perfunctory and my attentions easily distracted. Glancing toward the mill I observed what looked like dust coming from the cupola window. I wondered what they were doing to make the dust rise and curl skyward. At first it seemed gray but it was looking darker like smoke, it wasn't dust, it was smoke! I processed the thought again. That meant the mill was on fire!

I considered running to the mill then changed my mind, turned and yelled to Claude and waved my hand for him to come quick. He responded immediately to the sound of my voice and urgent actions. He yelled whoa to the mules, twisted the reins about the implement and ran up the ditch bank and looked where I pointed. His face blanched as he uttered "My God", gave me a quick glance and ran to the mill. I turned, ran to our house and yelled to Mom "The Mills on fire" and ran back out on the tracks to look again, I knew that now was not the time for a little Kid to be in the way. I don't know who called the fire department, perhaps Mom did. Men from the mill could be seen rushing about and people were running up from all directions. The clanging of the bell on the fire truck could be heard long before it came into sight. I knew they'd soon be at the fire hydrant by my sand-pile in our front parking. The cupola was in flames and the next lower section oozing smoke pending full combustion when the fire truck arrived.

Don Clauson claims he was first to see the fire start. He probably saw it at an early stage and could have been the first to call fire dept. Later Howard Banta said they didn't know of it till Claude came running into the office.

Firemen soon had long arcs of high pressure water playing on the fire. As fast as they could make connections they coupled hoses to more distant hydrants. From the beginning it was obvious to everyone that it was futile. The elevator was being emptied in preparation for harvest and was only partially filled, the fire could spread rapidly.

The heat was very intense. It blistered the paint on our garage and wind carried debris made it necessary to paint our house afterward. Mother grabbed her Kodak box camera and took a sequence of pictures showing the progress of the fire, these being some she took.

The next day I joined others looking at the mess. All timber had burned except for some at the base of bins under mounds of burnt water soaked wheat. The wheat, swollen by the water, was now giving off a stench and attracting flies. It was being scooped up and hauled away. It was sold cheap and used as hog feed. It was a depressing sight to see the impressive roller mill machines, now half submerged in grain and water, in the concrete pits below the old main floor. A messy junk heap with pieces broken already beginning to rust.

One sight was indelibly printed in my mind is that of a large rat in the process of running away from the fire toward the ditch. It died in mid flight, it's dehydrated body was still erect on all fours with its head raised as in one last agonizing scream before its anatomy froze in place and drawn taut.

There was much speculation on what caused the fire. Wet grain in a bin will heat if not circulated to help it cool and dry. However, this was before harvest and what wheat was left was last years. The generally accepted reasoning was that the elevator belt with it's buckets full of wheat had over loaded, stalled the drive belt, that the motor pulley kept spinning on a stalled belt till it caught fire. Years later I was to have a renewed acquaintance with this phenomena in Sutton, Nebraska.

My Narrow Escape: After the mess that was the mill was cleared the only thing remaining was the concrete foundation with sloping bottomed pits and iron grain gates, remaining as if await a new structure. Harvest was due shortly and men worked at an urgent pace to construct a crude wood frame sufficient for elevating wheat high enough for transfer from the dump pit to other pits and from those to railroad box cars. It was a quickly erected affair but it worked.

Shortly after harvest began the open pits were full of wheat and the elevator crew busy loading box cars. The uncovered concrete bins of wheat were like huge sand- piles. Us Kids would jump in and try to bury ourselves in the grain. One afternoon I got out in the deep end determined that I was going to find a way to wiggle myself into the wheat. I had trouble getting more than knee deep then suddenly I could make rapid progress. I'd wiggle and sink down, wiggle again and sink more. It was fun but baffling, it hadn't been that easy to sink in before. I started to yell the other Kids how easy it was and found they'd climbed out and were waving to me to come too. The machinery was running and I couldn't hear them and they couldn't hear me. I decided to climb out but sank deeper! I tried again and sank some more. It didn't seem like fun anymore. Wheat was up to my lower rib cage and even if I stopped wiggling I could feel myself being drawn down. I reached out to iron crossbars and tried to hold myself up. I couldn't, my arms were too near horizontal. The realization began to sweep over me that I was being drawn down into the wheat by some unknown tugging force that was far stronger than I. My body settled to shoulder depth and my arms were now suspended from the iron rods. It seemed imperative that I maintain my grip, my arms were stretched out and getting tired, my concern was mounting. Curiosity about the phenomena had now vanished. I was experiencing pangs of anxiety and questioning my ability to stop further sinking. Wheat was now up to my chin. I yelled for help but could see no one. I continued to yell and then closed my mouth to keep wheat out. I lifted my head back so I could breathe. I was very worried but for some strange reason had not panicked when suddenly the tugging stopped and a man began shoveling me out. My Mother was there and the Kids had returned.

A man had yelled for us Kids to get out of the wheat but I hadn't heard. One of the older boys finally realized that I was caught in the suction as the pit was being emptied. Instead of going to the men he'd gone to my Mother. Mother rushed over and called to Howard Banta he and the other men were oblivious to my plight.

The full realization of how near I'd been to suffocation didn't set in till after I was out of the wheat and back home. Ignorance had saved me from the horrible fright of creeping engulfment. Movies of someone caught in quick sand revive the emotions of my experience.