A Weekend at the Cabin

The Last First Annual Equal Rights Cousin Reunion

It began on Friday evening, peacefully enough, with a gentle pontoon ride on the beautiful tree-lined lake and followed by a light supper of cold cuts, fruit and the multitude of dessert options brought by the visitors.  There was no inkling of the carnage to come.  

But … I get ahead of myself.

For several years, there has been a tradition amongst the male 1st cousins to gather at Lake Beltrami for a weekend in June - with spouses in whole-heartedly approval.  However, the female cousins subtly suggested that there was an aroma of discrimination in the practice, the complaint strengthened by their minority status, 7 to 9.  One cousin, who shall remain nameless, suggested a separate but equal solution, but the 1954 Brown vs. Board of Education case was quickly invoked.  

So the summer of 2016 brought the first annual equal rights 1st cousin reunion, hereafter to be known as "possibly the last" , or PTL.  16 cousins and spouses if you got 'em received invites. Soon thereafter, 7 replied with regrets.  Ominously, 6 of the 7 were male, which reversed the majority, 6-3.

First, a little family history diversion. It is not well known that there is a branch of the clan in Pine River. Its patriarch was Ole - no the other Ole, brother of Nils. This branch was known to the older generation as they on occasion came to Lowry for the Plymouth Brethren Gospel Hall “Summer Meetin’s”, known by some as the “mating meetings”. But they became lost until Elise rediscovered them and they made the trek to Barsness Park in Glenwood for a family reunion.  

On the way to "the lake", two separate parties of cousins made a stop at Bites Bar & Grill, a restaurant owned by Roger, son of Paul - no the other Paul.  We also visited with Clara, who had just celebrated her 90th birthday, daughter of Nils - no the other Nils.

Back to Bemidji. The event went forward with 3 male cousins, 6 female cousins, 4 spouses & 4 "non-cousin" family party crashers. For 30 days prior to the event, a family knowledge quiz was distributed in a “question of the day” fashion.  Friday evening brought an assessment of the results, and Jane, who had devoted roughly 100 hours to research, clocked in with the winning score: 5 / 30. Mark, who brought along a printed copy of the questions - but without answers - claimed to have them in his head.  Disqualified.  Overall, a disappointing dearth of family knowledge, making me question some folks legitimacy.  Then, conversation at water’s edge and eventual dispersing to various sleeping accommodations.

Saturday arrives. A day to remember.

The day dawned sunny and breezy with a fine breakfast to launch a day of conversation and reminiscing and eating.  Who knew that every sentence uttered, every breath you take, every move you make contains a song lyric that the voice of singing quickly identified and rendered in its entirety, luckily in a passable alto Luther College voice. But, pause, groan, continue.  

Mid-morning, while I calmly relaxed on the deck beneath the shade of the big yellow umbrella, the gentle breeze gusted, lofting said umbrella upward. I lunged for a Mary Poppins moment, but failed as the umbrella sailed gracefully up and over the roof and plunged through the living room window on the other side, awakening Larry and showering him with glass shards, one lodging neatly between his toes. The rapid-response team quickly removed window & screen and swept the debris. But good vibrations were trending toward bad vibes.

The morning brought the arrival of the final cousin accompanied by her mother Myrt, an amazing 60 year polio survivor.  While we were seated on the deck, there was an “eagle alert” voiced from the beach. The helpful lads leaped to assist, promptly dumping her wheelchair backwards down the steps of the deck, giving her a fine view of the lovely blue sky - and opening a gash on her leg.  Luckily, Denny is a first-aid ninja. We begin to feel a bit on edge. True to form, Myrt blamed herself.

Jeff had discovered that his neighbors down the road were retired Bemidji State music profs & when #2 son arrived he managed to conjure a voice lesson - an aria. (Meanwhile back at the ranch, we were singing "1 little 2 little 3 little brain cells ..." in honor of Esther’s WCTU service.)  On #2 son's return on the 4-wheeler, he managed to lure a deer into his path and slamming on the brakes, flipped the 4-wheeler on top of himself - luckily escaping with bruises. An attempt at a coverup failed.  Vibes begin to rattle the windows.

Toward afternoon, Marcia and Myrt decided to make the trek back to North Dakota. The helpful lads leapt to assist … well, I guess you’ve heard this one already.  But yes, we dumped her again.  The sky was still a beautiful blue -  but competency hearings for a few of us to decide whether we should retain membership in the human race are pending.

A somewhat more subdued group carried on with the traditional pork loin meal that you must eat with mayo & banana peppers - delish.  And more and more desserts. A couple more 4-wheeler rides and Jane on the water snowmobile praising God. And a fire.

Sunday morning the late sleeper was awakened from singing in her sleep to “This is the day that the Lord has made ..” in 11 part harmony. Later in the morning Mark arrived from across the lake in Doug & Melissa’s classic 1952 12’ aluminum runabout. However, he left his insulin on the far side.

A final meal, a delicious egg-bake awaited, preceded by an emotional tribute to her fantastic, imperfect family from Janis.

Final thoughts.

In addition to the vocal interludes and the bodily damage, there were some other startling differences from previous gatherings.

• No discussions of football, baseball, hockey, track, soccer, the Olympics -  or any other athletic topic - except for one question on bike trails and a question whether tennis was really a sport
• Wine bottles, not beer bottles in the recycle. I actually took part of a 6-pack home!
• Someones made a sneak-away to visit a garage sale
• No early AM lake baths
• No kayaking or jet-skiing - excepting Jane. “Praise Jesus, God be the Glory, Hallelujah ride.”
• Lots of Stephen King-like laughter for seemingly no reason. Norman Cousins was blamed.
• Gluten free brownies.  Really?
• No oreos
• Somewhat less profanity
• Similar amount of belching
• Homeopathic remedy suggestions for a multitude of ailments
• A cousin arrival by motorized launch
• Smaller fires
• A father hosting his daughter & her boyfriend.  What was his name again?
• Effusive thank you’s - with a note.  Previous years - not so much.

And a few pearls ..

• Who needs deet?  Just fire a salt-packed airgun at the critters.
• All our grandchildren are well above average
• Someone is on a quest to visit every Culvers - 43 down.
• A house-fire will almost always result in a total loss. Upload your photos to the cloud.
• To relieve neck stiffness, hang. Or find pressure points in your bicep and press until you can no longer stand the pain.
• When RT was offered coffee, he asked to be taught to fish.
• We have family in Pine River and Roger owns a fine restaurant.  Try it.

So, in spite of the travails, a lovely weekend.  Great hosts, great place. A big thank you to the hosts for sharing their little bit of paradise.

Do we dare another?

Appendix A. Bonus - Recipes

Not exactly health food, but ... yum.

Jane's Almond Bars

9x13 15+15 min 350

Bottom layer

1 ½ c. butter

3 c flour

¾ c powdered sugar

Mix with pastry blender-like pie crust dough.  Pat evenly in pan.  Bake 15 min

Filling

12 oz cream cheese, softened

¾ c sugar

3 eggs

3 tsp almond extract

Combine cream cheese and sugar.  Add eggs and almond extract.  Beat until creamy.  Pour over  hot crust. Bake 15 minutes.  Filling should be set.  Jiggle pan or insert knife into center to check doneness.  Cool bars before frosting.

Frosting

3/8 c butter

2 ¼  c powdered sugar

2 ¼  t milk or cream

1 ½ t almond extract

Sprinkled frosted bars with sliced almonds.  These bars freeze very well.

Carol’s Almond Cookies

Esther’s Donuts

(These unfortunately failed to make an appearance. Brooten donuts substituted, a poor second place)

Just so no one can claim that there is nothing of value in this episode, I include something precious: Grandma Esther’s donut recipe.

Esther was famous in Lowry for dressing up as a witch on Halloween and dispensing donuts from a broom handle. She saw every kid’s costume every year – some of us more than once. I suspect she’d get a visit from the Pope County sheriff these days.

Step 1: Assemble the equipment. Purchase a good quality mixer - Kitchenaid makes a nice one ($300); a deep fryer ($100); a donut maker ($30); a good quality exhaust fan ($2000 installed – you might do without it but you will smell donut grease for 6 weeks and in 6 weeks you will crave donuts again. This is known in my trade as an infinite loop). You should only need to do step 1 once or twice in a lifetime.

Step 2. Assemble the ingredients.

3 well beaten eggs        [Farm fresh brown eggs of course.]

2 c. white sugar

1 c. sweet milk             [X-Gen translation = 1⁄2 & 1⁄2]

1 c. sour cream

1 t. salt

2 t. baking powder

1 t. soda

6 crushed cardamom seeds    [This if you want authentic, but, personally, no thanks. Esther made some with and some without.]

2 t. vanilla                    [From Axel Erickson, the Watkin’s man. During prohibition, this was in very short supply due to its use in stills.]

5 c. flour

1 t. cinnamon

1 t. nutmeg

Texture is everything. 2 of the 5 c. should be cake flour if you want it right. Ofcourse, Esther did not have this, but I think she sifted the bee-jeesus out of it. (She wouldn’t approve of my language, BTW)

Step 3. Execute to plan. This recipe involves scalding hot oil and boiling water so it must be performed by a responsible adult. This eliminates most people so I am wondering why I'm bothering.

Put the dough in the ice box over night. You can handle it with less flour that way. When each donut is cooked, have a pan of boiling water beside and plunge each one into it (Editor’s note: use a tongs) and drain on paper toweling. This takes care of any grease left on them and the shortening from the water is very good and flavorful for cookies.

Step 4: Cleanup. Hmm, what to do with that donut grease? Stash it in the cistern for reuse in 6 weeks. Throw away your cooking clothes.

Step 5: Consumption. I suspect you will squirrel away your own private stock somewhere, to be found appropriately on St. Patrick’s Day dressed in green - assuming you have any left after the execute step.

Summer Break

Ruby Robieson Bennett - Odes to Lowry

Editor note:  This, the final Ruby Robieson Bennett offering, is a set of "odes to Lowry".

Folks in My Home Town

5/18/99

They’re altogether beautiful

The folks in my home town!

They work hard, pay their bills,

Help their neighbors, when up or down.

The 1st Responders rush when summoned.

When emergency deems it wise.

Just glance around you once,

See neatest people with just greatest smiles.

Some places we know of just learn to live each day,

Glad to be alive.

Of course we cherish this truth also,

But go one better – we survive!

Yes, we are seasoned urbanites –

Where crops and weather set the bonds

So we have tons and tons of purpose

Which always draws as one.

It’s needful to be prayerful,

Where joy and thanks abound.

Just jolly glad being one of them,

Those folks in my home town!

I wouldn’t trade a single day,

Of living where I am,

For urban glitz and fame,

Or see those glittery lights up high,

Spelling out my name!

To lose this fulfilled wonder

Where we know everybody’s name

So, maybe there’s a smidge eye on my nose

My knees show I’ve been digging dirt,

I’d dare walk right down Main Street.

To learn this truth my heart knows well!

Impossible to locate a better place to live,

To leave, for me, would break my heart.

I love my people, the feeling the Spirit’s giving.

St. Paul’s Lutheran Church – Lowry, MN

The steeple stood high above all else, except the water tower in the village of Lowry. A symbol of faith, a place that held memories so dear to Ruby.

My Little Village

1/6/2000

I grew up in a village small,

Where everyone there knew my name.

Love, entwined my family,

church, school and friendships

Plus every precious day that came.

True, the Village grew to be a city

Time marched on, thence change came in.

Downtown for mail, bread at the grocers,

Greeting people; grin for grin.

Oh, that cool bank down on the corner!

Check, deposit, take home some cash.

Fun watching huge rollers while at Quinco.

Hair appointment – Hey! Best I dash!

Suddenly a shadow darkened all my pathway.

Life for me would never be the same –

Oh, little Village how it pains to leave you,

Changes even how I write my name.

Material things live for the moment.

Remembering friendships cause tears to start.

Realizing how many miles divide us –

I left you – part of my heart.

But God has seen us thru our sorrow,

Just as He watched us thru the years.

So it will be as we go onward

Loving us, alleviating fears.

I Slept on the School House Lawn

9/08/2001

My friend invited me to stay,

Her home a part of the complex new.

Several similar houses in a row,

Each complete with a familiar view.

In memory, recall years long past

When in school days we seemed to belong.

Dodging these trees, so small back then,

We’d run across the broad green lawn.

Now a tidy row of houses stands, instead.

Each a part of the complex, neatly clad.

What a change! In observation,

Replacing things we’d once had.

Taking all into consideration,

Time moves on. Like a great, great yawn,

Night time came, I slipped ‘neath the covers

Realizing I’d slept on the school house lawn.

(Published in the Pope County Senior Perspective – February 2002 – written after sleeping at Edna Mork’s – whose apartment was on the former school house property in Lowry, it was just like sleeping on the school house lawn to me.)

Lowry

Written December 30, 1997

On just a tiny hill it sits

Oblivious of its small size.

It makes this heart beat ever fast

When sight of water tower meets my eyes.

Lowry! Lowry! How I miss you!

My hometown, my little town, my place

So sparkling clean, each family place.

The steps to our house I’d run with joy,

I missed it more than pen could trace

Those memories are those that place.

Remembering every kindness shown our family

Through smiling face and hugs sincere

Carved in Lowry granite – just for me.

Ruby Robieson Bennett - Lowry Tales #8

Daughter's Note: This was one of the best things Mom ever learned – from a kid’s standpoint. We had  several apple and two apricot trees in Lowry and so appreciated the  apricot kolachie filling. They always disappeared before the apple or prune.

___________________________________

Kate Teaches Me

One Saturday morning, my neighbor Kate Koudella was over at our house and we were busy figuring out some sewing problem as we had done many times before.  She was a grandmother and a seasoned seamstress. I’d taken several sewing lessons plus made many of my children’s everyday clothes and other things usable around the house.  So, we often had “consult sessions” to straighten out a problem for each other.

Having finished our business, she was about to leave when I came back to the kitchen to check on a huge bowl full of rising bread dough.  It seemed ready to roll out, so I was tumbling it out on the floured counter top, which caught Kate’s eye, and she came over to examine it.

Rolling up her coat sleeves a little, she announced, as she pressed her fingers into the soft, pliant dough,  “Ruby, now I’m going to show you how to make kolachies.” “Kolachies!”   I gasped!  Thinking of those fruit-filled wonderful delicacies her church people made.  “Me make those?  How?”

She reached in my cupboard to choose a small juice glass, which was just the right size, then pressed it down on some flattened dough to cut it out – presto a small round mound.  Picking this up in her hands she began a series of motions, thinning & teasing the round, turning constantly as it grew larger.  Making sure it kept a higher lip on the outside of the dough while the inner side was pressed thinner, deeper – like a large vacant area – this would be where the fruit would be placed.

She said I should continue this way, making cookie sheets full, spacing them well apart and letting them rise again after filling each one with fruit.  She said to always remember the important thing was brushing the outer area of each kolachie lightly with oil.  Then to again brush each with oil as they just came out of the oven to keep them nice and soft.

I was so thrilled getting this lesson and used it successfully many times with my daughters helping me.  It was fun knowing I’d learned a special craft from an expert – at an unexpected moment.  A great day for me!

Ruby Robieson Bennett

Getting in the Frozen Clothing

Remembering way back, Mom hung some portion of her laundry out on the clotheslines, even in very cold weather. Maybe she was younger and stronger then, but we were all happy when she stopped this procedure – which we as a family thought a torture for her.  At any rate, this is one of the days she had a line full of long legged underwear for husband and several children banging away in the frozen air.

She had waited until I returned from school, so I could help her. One’s fingers did not last long manipulating clothes pins and frozen clothes. No doubt, a strong north wind was blowing so you felt your coat not at all, and she’d want to get this done fast so we could get inside quick. So, we were both working as fast as we could.

Breathlessly, one on each end, we finally unfastened all those long legged underwear and made a run for our house.

Reaching indoors we both made the first four steps together – then came the landing and whoa! Something happened. The legs on the frozen long underwear relaxed and sort of gave way beneath us – we looked down at them. Yes, they were there all right – but the hallway was heated just enough to cause them to become a bit limp. We felt them slump under us. Then we began to laugh! As they relaxed more – we laughed more. We felt like we’d conquered something! It got funnier and funnier, and we laughed so hard because we’d been so pent up and so fortified against the cold. Now we were warming and becoming foolish.

We carried these limp underwear items to the clothes bars and placed them around a space heater in the dining room. It threw fresh air about the home as the clothing dried and eventually was folded and put away.  Sometimes washday lasted until long after supper – counting drying time.

Dad bought Mom a clothes dryer when the twins were born, which was many years after the incident like the above.

I remember that so often! How we laughed at those silly, thawing underwear legs. What a sight they must have been. No wonder we laughed. Bet today we’d have howled with laughter.

Ruby Robieson Bennett

Ruby Robieson Bennett - Lowry Tales #7

Chautauqua & Circus in Town

In spite of the fact that our town was very small, we occasionally had a Chautauqua, which was a gathering in a large tent and everyone in town came.

I remember sitting on a plank-like seat and watching the eager crowd watching a fast speaker sell his bottles of “cure-all” liquid. Seems like a lot of sales included taffy wrapped kisses instead of prizes we expected. Many people spent money and gained very little to show for it. I can remember telling Dad how disappointed I was in people doing this. He’d smile and tell me, “Yes, people are like that.”

Circus in Town! Yes, it really happened! I know for certain, because my brother Jim was in his glory and kept a path beaten down from home to where the circus chose to unpack.  It was a small outfit, I don’t remember for sure, but don’t think it was the genuine three-ring type. As pocket money was always scarce, I do not think any of our family attended. But we all watched the parade as the animals marched into town.

Brother Jim instantly offered his services to help out, so was a water boy and really had a workout keeping elephants well supplied. We never heard the last of how many pails he needed to carry! But he was so very thrilled just being there and it must have been one of the highlights of his life.  This was a rare event happening in our small town, and we all responded in some way or another.

The Skating Rink

The area behind our house and across the alley had been a gift to the city from a former Lowry doctor’s wife (Mrs. Ann Gibbon).  It was for many years flooded in the winter by the Lowry Fire Department to make a skating rink.  This was an excellent winter attraction for all of the town’s children. Sometimes it took several floodings to complete a good solid skating area. Often a windy, snowy night would cause a rippley surface and reflooding would be needed.

Oh, how I loved to skate on that rink. I’d skate until my legs turned blue, and remember well a small pair of black skates I wore, until they were much too small.

Living in Lowry almost all of our lives, plus raising our children there, I was overjoyed to be able to watch our own children enjoy the skating rink as they grew up. Being just a few steps from our yard, the girls would lace up their skates in the kitchen and walk over to skate until the floodlights were turned off at night.

Even in our later years, we enjoyed watching the town children skate. Some would even stop and knock at our door, asking for a drink of water (since we were one of the closest and approachable homes near the rink.) 

We were thankful to have shared for so many years in this thoughtful gift to the children of Lowry.

Ruby Robieson Bennett
2001

Thompson’s Hill

Knowing full well this report will all be strange sentences to all but my immediate family, keep reading on. It contains a precious memory to those of us who were there.

Long ago, before Highway 55 was built through Lowry, our road out of town – to Glenwood and all stations east and south – was south bound out of Lowry and eastward, to the best of my knowledge was in time called Old 55.

It still exists as a gravel road over the same area, used every day by farmers whose land is adjacent and runs for miles without too many curves or turns.

About three and a half miles east of Lowry it slopes up a little hill, (trimmed down some in recent years – but still is a prominence), which is clearly visible to the naked eye from here especially on clear days.  It is this curving, grand comma going up the hill that attracts me. This is Thompson’s Hill! Unsung and unheralded – but an important little scene in my history.

Looking at it daily on my walk-jaunts about our town, I stop at a certain spot on the corner of Maple and Bryce Avenues to send my thoughts up that way.  Here I can see and hear Dad driving our Oakland down the hill approaching Lowry. We are coming home from some errand in Glenwood perhaps having spent a Sunday in the City Park, which we often did. We are all there – except brother Jim who usually had his own schedule. Everyone’s laughing and talking all at once – Ken, Clarence, Francis, and Ruby. How Dad can concentrate on steering is something else – Mom is trying to quell the disturbance. Ken probably has been sticking his head out too far and has already lost his cap! Ruby is probably teasing the boys and creating more fuss than anybody. She was oldest and most often the ringleader when it came to nonsense and mischief!

I stand there on my walk and think about all of this, amused, truly carried back, actually making a family visit briefly and come away refreshed and renewed again. As I laugh a little, I’m delighted I, at least, am a Lowry resident and out of this whole noisy group I can every day look out there to the small gravelly comma and instantly be transported back over 70 years. Some feat!

One day Bob drove me out there, just to measure the mileage, just to see it close up, just to glimpse the beautiful view of Lowry from that vantage point. We enjoyed it.

So, on your next visit to Lowry, don’t forget to visit Thompson’s Hill and refresh your memories. Our school bus drove that route the first year I rode to high school (1931) and it would probably have lots of stories it could relate about this, as well.

P.S. Important to insert a note about Dad’s Oakland. Well, to me that car was as long, as huge, and as commanding as any modern day limo! When I view the snapshots of it in reality, I’m amazed at what shrinkage has ensued. But time does take its toll!!!

Ruby Robieson Bennett
October 18, 1994

Ruby Robieson Bennett - LowryTales #6

Memories of Lowry School

April 24, 1994

Many years have passed since I was enrolled in Lowry Public Schools, now in my 80^th year, I shall try to recall accurately.

I entered fourth grade when we moved to Lowry and Mildred Distad was my teacher. She also taught a class in Ballet Dancing, in which class I was also a student. Years were 1923-24.

1925-26 entering 5^th grade meant moving upstairs to the south room where our teacher was a chubby Mrs. Murphy. Her big achievement was assigning many selections of poetry for our memorization. We learned so many and I can still recite a portion of many of them.

My classmates in these grades were Ethel Lidstrom, Florence Engebretson, Christine Shermak, Robert Shermak, and Frank Chermak. Sixth grade we had the same room and same teacher.   And much more poetry became real to us by memorization.

Years 1927-28 were 7^th and 8^th grades when Miss Signe Erdahl (later she became Mrs. Harold Eastlund) was our teacher. She was much firmer with us, insisting we stood straight and sat up tall. We grew to appreciate the special interest she showed in her students.

I think her chief delight was announcing:  “Today we are going to have penmanship class!” Out came the Palmer Method books, our pens and ink. Down the rows of desks the proper sheets of ink paper were passed out, and we began the rhythm of “push pulls” and the “ovals.”  How we hated these exercises!  Big sighs were heard all around the room as our attempts toward at least a passing likeness was achieved. Bigger sighs of relief when we were through. A few of us were awarded a huge “Palmer Method Certificate of Achievement” for our work, suitable for framing. I was lucky enough to find one with my name on it, of which I am truly proud!

Mrs. Erdahl taught music and many students excelled in this field. She also stressed extra library reading, with awards for handed in lists of completed readings. She presented such an interesting study of South America that we actually felt we were visiting this country, and wished we could.  Without a doubt she was the teacher that affected me more than any other. She never showed partiality, could be smiling, warm, and friendly. She was always proper and quick to correct our mistakes, so we could adjust our ways.

1928-29 our 8^th grade graduation exercises meant an evening service at Lowry Town Hall, an annual event. (May 31, 1928).

Following this we were back at Lowry School for our 9^th and 10^th years (I and II of High School). Our teacher was Miss Haugen, and the Superintendent was a Mr. Selmer Braaten. Class members remained as in previous grades. Year I we took English I, Latin I, algebra and general science. Year II we took English II, Latin II, geometry and social science.

One class began right after the noon hour and our class went to a basement classroom for this. I believe it was our English class. On very nice days our steps led us out on the square cement outside the door, just big enough for us to stand awhile, waste time, enjoy the beautiful day, and vex our teacher sorely.  This happened time and time again, to our delight.  It lasted only a very few minutes, but certainly was a long, long way from our class subject interest.

After enduring our second year in Lowry’s High School a new “era” began. Busses were bought in to transfer us to Glenwood High School and these classes were phased out in Lowry. We graduated, then, from Glenwood High School in 1932. Exercises for our graduation were held in the McCauley Opera House – known as “The Theater.”

The Robieson family (8 out of 9 graduated) made up the largest family for many, many years at Lowry School. Our years there included 1923-1944.

Ruby Robieson Bennett
1994

Ruby Robieson Bennett - Lowry Tales #5

This story happened in Dooley, Montana – but the central character is James A. Robieson who was station agent in Lowry and it was written by Ruby and appeared in the Pope County Tribune.

Railroad Station Agent Heard It First

December 1, 1983

Pope County Tribune, Glenwood, MN

First Word of 1918 Armistice big news in Montana!

(Editor’s Note: In today’s world of instant communication from anywhere in the world via radio and television, most people don’t realize that as recently as 65 years ago, getting word of a major event in the “hinterlands” was quite a feat. Ruby (Mrs. Bob) Bennett of Lowry relates here how the World War 1 Armistice was relayed to a small town in Montana where her father was the depot agent.)

This account of the WW I Armistice was brought to my attention recently by a very old friend dating back to my “Montana days.” She had been my “baby sitter,” our “hired girl,” who became a schoolteacher and, now 79 years of age, is living in retirement in California.  She took part in this electrifying occasion and even this many years hence she pours spirit into the story.

The year was 1918 and the month and date Nov. 11. The hour was 10 p.m. The scene a little town named Dooley, in northeast Montana, near the county seat of Plentywood, still on the map.

The hero of the story is my father, the late James A. Robieson of Lowry, station agent in that little prairie town.  Dad excelled in telegraphy; his keen ear was ever alert to the “wire,” even when off duty. Living upstairs over his office, he’d often listen in on off-hours, and would routinely check before bedtime, especially during those war-weary times, such as we endure now.

There were no radios, nor TVs, in those days, so the “wire” was the main source of late-breaking news, Dad’s alone to hear and to convey to all people in his area. Thus it was he caught the message at 10 p.m. on that famous historical date: The Armistice has been signed at 11 a.m. European time, and the war is over!

Hastily he summoned the “dray man” and the horse-drawn “dray,” then additional helpers moved the fire bell from its original position onto the dray; from there they went up and down the town streets clanging away, waking the sleeping town, shouting: “The war is over!”

As people awakened, they realized the fire bell noise was not coming from atop the jail on the east side of Main Street. As it came nearer and nearer, they saw lots of people following the dray, banging on tin pans, wash boards – anything that would make noise. All were yelling, “The war has ended!”

People hastily dressed to join the crowd, learning the “why”, then also shouting the earth-shaking news.  They followed the bell up one street and down the other, round and round the town; repeatedly traversing the few, small streets, as excitement was boundless.

At last the whole town from old folks to babies, assembled by the pond between the drug store and railroad tracks, where kids skated and rowed boats in proper season.  Somebody commandeered a few grain doors from the railroad and build up a huge bon fire in the ring of stones on the pond shore. Forgetting rationing, the village merchants raided their own store shelves, supplying bread, buns, wieners, catsup, mustard and some butter. They even cooked up a “boiler full of coffee.” The whole town had a real picnic to celebrate.

Then began the impromptu patriotic program: prayers, singing countless war songs, hymns, and much reciting of poetry. Those days, school children memorized lots of poetry.  My friend recalls her recitation: “The American Flag” by Joseph Rodman Drake. Due to its lengthy patriotic description I shall reward you by sharing it in part:

When Freedom from her mountain height

Unfurled her standard to the air.

She tore the azure robes of night

And set the stars of glory there.

Then there was “Paul Revere’s Ride”, “Liberty Bell” and so many more. Night was far gone, only the younger, the smaller had gone home; some never moved from the scene of the joyous outburst all night long. However, it came time to get back to the work-a-day world, so weary villagers proceeded to their duties. Two schoolteachers directed the school children to the schoolhouse, all in no condition to study.

They did manage to get through arithmetic and spelling before recess time came. The two teachers and pupils then all lay their heads down on their desks, forgetting to wake up until long after noon. Even the janitor slept on the hall floor!

Ruby Robieson Bennett
1983