West Branch Times, West Branch, Iowa, Thursday, August 5, 1926
Transcribed by Sharon Elijah, November 3, 2018

WEST BRANCH YESTERDAY, TODAY AND TOMORROW
By Albert W. Jackson

“I’ve wondered through the village, Tom, I’ve sat beneath the tree
Upon the village playground which sheltered you and me,
But none were there who knew me, Tom, and few were left to know
Who played with us upon the green just twenty years ago.”

     A greater number of years than that have elapsed since I saw West Branch. It was in the fall of 1864, almost 62 years ago. It then consisted of Joseph Steer’s store on the south side of Main street, opposite the McKarahan residence, which was Mr. Steer’s home; the old Gurney Friends meeting house on the site of the present Friends church, only farther back from Downey street; Joe Brodhead’s harness shop on the corner where now stands the Citizens bank; a one room schoolhouse on the present hotel corner; possibly “Bill” Wright’s blacksmith shop on the corner now occupied by Miss Stuart as a dwelling, and a few straggling houses. Since that date my father or some member of his immediate family has received mail through the West Branch postoffice, except a brief period immediately following the Civil War when the family postoffice was Zoar, kept by R. E. Campbell in his dwelling, three miles north of the historic old town pump. Mr. Campbell also operated a blacksmith shop on the side. A feature in connection with Steer’s store I shall always remember. It was the only time in my life when I saw corn burned for fuel.

     Of all the acquaintances I formed in the six years prior to 1870, only one remains in the West Branch community—Mrs. Ida Campbell. Only a few are even in the vicinity. Among these I recall Mr. and Mrs. W. W. Wren of Iowa City and Emmor Collins of Tipton. A number are spending their declining years in Sunny California, while scores upon scores are quietly sleeping in the West Branch and contiguous cemeteries. This is in keeping with the observation of William Cullen Bryant: “All who walk the earth are but a handful to the tribes that slumber in her bosom.”

     I was largely reared by my grandparents who were ardent members of the Society of Friends. In these early days they took me with them to the Honey Grove Preparative meeting, and to the West Branch and Springdale Monthly and Quarterly Meetings. I cannot recall the gist of the spiritual instruction on these occasions but remember to this day the sumptuous dinners we had among the Springdale Friends.

     I note that the patient ox is to be in evidence at the approaching homecoming. He is worthy of mention in this narrative. When I landed in this region my old friend Webster Ellyson, on the old Honey Grove farm, did his heavy farm work with oxen and many a ride did I and his sons have with the “critters” as the motive power. After the close of the Civil War, “”Joe” Heacock operated a threshing machine all over this section, using a steam engine for power. This engine was dragged over these hills—twice as steep as now—by a big yoke of cattle. A little later on he brought this engine to West Branch and established a feed mill at the south end of Poplar street, across the creek. Soon after this he built the West Branch Mill, just back of where the creamery now stands, which he or his brothers operated for many years. Oxen played an important part in an early day in turning a capstan which pulled a mole ditcher through our apparently bottomless sloughs. Oftentimes they would be in mud and water half way up their sides. They never balked and seldom laid down, but the driver was frequently required to resort to the accelerator.

     West Branch maintained more or less a comatose condition until surveyors ran lines for the B.C.R. & N. Railway. Then things began to hum. I believe it was on or about Christmas day of 1870 that the construction train reached the town and a great feast was held by the residents in commemoration of the occasion. It was not my good fortune to be present at this event, being at that time with my grandparents in Linn county. It was not long until I was on the ground and for the next year or two was more or less a resident of the town. A thing that still gives me a thrill is the coasting parties we had. Dragging a “hind” bob of a big sled up to Wm. Oliphant’s residence, a dozen or more kids would “pile on”. Will Savage on his honest-to-goodness hand sled, the first really and truly one that ever came to town, would take the tongue under his arm, somebody would kick her off and away we would go, turning the corner onto Main street and slide clean across the railroad. John Perry, vigilant town marshal, stood for it a week or two and after conferring with the “heads of the meeting” decided it was contrary to the peace and dignity of the village and so put a quietus on such capers. Nothing daunted, the following night we mosied up the hill on Downey street to Joseph Cook’s residence and induced Henny to let us try out his hind bob, thus coasting north instead of east. But a little bird gave Perry, the sleuth, a tip about it. He couldn’t head us off till we reached Dan Reeves’ residence beyond the present school grounds, but he got our goat.

     As schoolmates of those long-ago days I recall Will Savage and Etta Bean, who became his wife, Fred and Belle Cole, Mattie McClellan, Henry and Josie Cook, Matt TenEyck, H. A. Knease, Sylvester and Laura Douglass. The building was on the present site, a two story affair. We attended the intermediate department, which was on the second floor. The primary department was in a little building nearby. I cannot recall the name of our teacher. Possibly it was A. C. Elliott or Miss Elma Bray. I am quite confident that E. M. Elliott was in charge of the downstairs room.

     There was more water in the creeks in the old days than now. Us boys did take a few plunges occasionally under the Downey street bridge but the ever alert Mr. Perry frowned upon it to such an extent that we went on down the creek near what is now the septic tank. This was out in the broiling sun, so we postponed our ablutions until after nightfall and took them by relays in a little tank at the north end of the railroad switch were the engines stopped for a drink. It was one of the duties of Nate Crook and his brother-in-law, Oliver Endsley, to work a hand pump sufficiently long enough to fill up this little tank, whereupon the locomotive would come along and drain it dry. Then they would have to do it all over again. A dozen or so of us were engaged in this outdoor sport one night when Nate caught us at it. Boys exceeded the speed limit in all directions. Al Jepson ran all the way to Downey. It is the only known instance when Nate has been rough toward a boy.

     About this time I earned the first dollar that ever came into my possession by performing the chambermaid work around the blacksmith shop of Jesse Hoover, father of our distinguished fellow citizen, whom we all hope will become our president. This service was rendered before Herbert was born. I immediately turned the dollar into Clark Bean for a jackknife.

     I may remark in passing that it was in West Branch, Iowa, where I first saw the sweet young bunch of feminity which instinct told me was destined to become my wife. Another fellow beat me to it. I didn’t jump into the Wapsie. A few days later I walked across the road into Johnson county and bore away her counterpart in every respect and superior in many.

     The days of reconstruction following the Civil War were full of strenuosity culminating in the panic of 1873. We hear much of the depression of the past few years but it is not a circumstance compared to the hard times of the early seventies. Corn sold for 15 and 20 cents, while flour reached $8.00 a hundred. Many of us didn’t have a change of underclothes and some people had none at all. Farming was carried on with very poor equipment, samples being 14-inch walking plows and self-rake reapers, drawn by a little pony team, sustained by slough hay and stabled with a rail fence. Yet we lived through it and many survived to tell the tale. At that time West Branch had six doctors. Nowadays but three are required to keep the banks full of money.

     Money was very scarce in these days of half a century ago. A number of men of my acquaintance engaged in agriculture supported large families on a cash income not exceeding $300 a year. I venture the assertion that the people of West Branch now spend more money in a month for gasoline, moving pictures and bobbed hair than was required to support the entire population fifty years ago. This is not a slam at bobbed hair. It looks real nice to an elderly gentleman whose dotage is just over the next hill.

     These were the days way back when Will White kept a good strong team at his livery stable for the purpose of helping loaded teams through the slough of despond lying between the old town pump and the railroad. It was also the days when we repaired to the Nicholson creek in the fall, chucked in a lot of rock, brush and dirt, only to have the whole business taken out by the first spring freshet. Will Covers big single horse with which he operated the town dray and the first automobile brought to town in 1902 by “Jode” Steer ought to be in evidence at the approaching homecoming.,

     The present day citizens of West Branch owe a great debt of gratitude to a number of early day residents. In thus speaking I mean a large part of the territory on the west side of the Cedar, including liberal portions of Scott and Graham township in Johnson county. Among these forceful men were Lawrie Tatum, Dr. H. C. Gill, L. J. Miles, John H. Painter, William Townsend, Dr. E. W. Savage, Dr. John I. Bailey, J. W. Witter, William Mather, all the Maxsons and Grays, William Brown, D. E. McClellan, David E. Mackey, Joseph Albin, John Cole, D. B. Morrison, John Y. Hoover, John C. Chambers, Isaac Hemmingway, Ross Leech, Dr. L. J. Leech, N. H. Crook, and many others of equal note. Only the last three remain on the scene of their life work. And the community had has an equal number of noble women, who in conjunction with their husbands and brothers, have done their part toward the upbuilding of the material, spiritual and intellectual life of the community. I greatly regret that limited space precludes specific mention of a number of these veritable fathers and mothers in Israel.

     My travels have not been extensive, only covering a portion of 12 states of the union. I assert that Springdale township, Cedar county, Iowa, is the best improved township of land that I ever have seen. Not only that, but it and the township of Wapsie in Muscatine county, in which West Liberty is situated, are occupied by the best class of people in the commonwealth of Iowa. I cannot recall that there ever has been a grievous criminal case from Springdale township in the district court. Peace, prosperity and contentment have held sway within her borders from the time of the first settlement. Though the first settlers were largely members of the Society of Friends, they welcomed to their midst all immigrants of other creeds. So that in all the bygone years Quaker and non-Quaker, Jew and Gentile, bond and free, have dwelt together in typical unity. The welfare of one has been made the concern of all. This community of which West Branch is the center has never stampeded. Its people have never lost their feet or heads. By individual and concerted action they have constantly pressed forward in the task of subduing the original prairies, establishing family rooftrees, erecting churches and schools, bridging streams and building roads—in short, doing all that is necessary to make life more largely worth the living.

     Today we gaze upon West Branch much as did the poet upon “Sweet Auburn, loveliest village of the Plain.” With her paved streets of more than a mile in length; her water system, sewers, electric lights, magnificent school buildings, churches and modern homes, it is almost impossible to realize the change which time has wrought. When “Joe” Albin was carrying the mail on horseback between Davenport and Iowa City in the early 50’s little did he dream that in this year of grace airplanes would perform the same service over the route he then traversed. When Moses Butler and his bunch of boys, of which my father was one, went all over this region 70 years ago, bunching up hogs and cattle which they drove to Davenport on foot, did they for a moment imagine that the iron horse and the gasoline truck would in time perform the same services.

     These public utilities which are yours to enjoy did not come by chance. Very little “just happens” in this giddy old world. They are the products of imaginative and executive brains who builded better than they knew. Of course they cost money. “There is no excellence without great labor.” No material or intellectual progress is achieved without expenditures of effort and treasure. We occupy this vale of tears but once. Why not have the necessities and even some of the luxuries of life as we pass along? It is far better for a man to leave to posterity a Cedar county farm, even if it does carry a mortgage, rather than no farm at all.

     What of tomorrow? The most brilliant imagination cannot foretell the things of the immediate or unending future. In the yesterday of 40 years ago not a soul now residing in the town had a prophetic vision of the West Branch of today. We have no means of judging the future but by the past. By the application of this rule an optimistic mind sees in the next half century equal or greater progress. Scientists and inventors have not exhausted the realms of the marvelous. By means of scientific research and more intensive methods stock raising is constantly ascending a higher plane and Mother Earth affording a more perfect and bountiful yield. A pessimistic mind may declare that there were giants in the old days among our forefathers and solemnly assert that our sons and daughters do not and cannot measure up to them. Statisticians demonstrate by incontrovertible figures that the youth of our day are far superior to their forbears in physical, mental and moral stature. They are traveling at a faster pace but many people fail to realize that the speed limit has been increased from 10 to 30 miles an hour. The farmer boys now husk three times as much corn in an hour as we did 40 years ago, because there is three times as much on the same ground.

     As we turn our vision backward eight and nine years ago, we see our stalwart sons from farm and mill and counting house marching out to do their bit toward making the world safe for democracy. The world never has seen a more alert and vigorous collection of young men so well fed, well bred, well clothed—competent for any task to which they might be assigned, from drafting a peace treaty to going over any top in sight. They presented a very different picture from the boys in blue who fared forth from ’61 to ’65 to preserve the union. Thanks to our indulgent Providence most of these world war veterans came back. With little ostentation they resumed their places behind the plow, the counter and the forge. They are “carrying on” and will continue so to do. They are the men who will put agriculture over the top. It is these young men who will take up the work we of an older generation lay down, pave our roads, operate the banks and mercantile establishments, and carry to a successful termination every exigency which material, intellectual or religious progress may demand. In the splendid history of our great government there has always arisen a man to meet every emergency, and so it will ever be.

     We of the generation fast approaching the mystic river which separates the life militant from the life triumphant have wrought as diligently as possible with the light we had and the tools at our command. So to the young man of this day and age my appeal is:

“Take up our quarrel with the foe;
To you, from falling hands, we throw the torch.
Be yours to hold it high;
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep though poppies grow
In Flanders Fields. “