An Iowa Homecoming
(It was time my city-raised children recognized their roots.)
By Debra Holliday
(This article appeared in both the "Denver Post" and the "Reader's Digest.")
Reprinted with permission from Debra Holliday.)
Not long ago I went home for a few days-home being Winterset, a very
small town in the middle of Iowa. I haven't lived there for 20 years, yet
whenever I go back, I'm home.
My Denver-born teenagers take great delight in the idiosyncrasies of
small-town life, beginning with my phone call to reserve the motel room. The
motel clerk asked for a local number in case there were problems with the
reservation. I gave her my stepmother's number. "Oh," she said, "which one
of the girls are you?"
Taken aback, I adjusted to the familiarity. "I'm Debbie, Dean
Leslie's oldest daughter I don't know if you knew him."
"My goodness, yes. All our kids had your dad as a music teacher in
school. And they loved him."
"Well, thanks," I said. "And what is your name?"
"I'm Mrs. Matlage. My daughter-in-law is Sheri Blaschke, who lived
next door to you."
"Oh, yes," I replied. "How is Sheri?"
By this time, my children were rolling their eyes and muttering, "I
can't believe this. Is there anyone in that town she doesn't know?"
When we arrive, my kids stared in disbelief as we walked into a lobby
filled with glass cases of antique plates and pitchers (unlocked, I might
add). Not a soul was in sight. I rang the bell. We waited quite a while.
My impatient city kids were accustomed to waiting in line, but waiting when
no one else was around was something new. Eventually the proprietor came in
from her house out back. "Had to get the cookies out of the oven," she said
with a wink. The kids exchanged smirks.
We went to a local restaurant for a hamburger. The waitress set down
our water glasses and stared for a few seconds. "Debbie," she asked
cautiously, "is that you?"
"Yes and you're.?" I knew she looked familiar.
"I'm Darcy's mother," she replied. And we were off. My kids
scrunched down in their seats.
She took our order and soon another waitress and the cook came out to
greet us. "Did you know," one asked the kids, "I used to baby sit your mother
when she was little girl?" The kids may have been embarrassed, but they had
to admit they had never received that kind of service in Denver.
Then came The Tour. My husband Randy and I drove past our childhood
homes, our high school, the church, and where we were married. We pointed
out my piano teacher's house, the woods where Randy had gone pheasant
hunting, and Mayme's Hill where every child in town had gone sledding.
On a walk around the town square, we ran into my third-grade teacher,
my husband's second cousin, and one of my high school friends-all of whom
greeted us warmly and stopped to chat. It was as if our 20-year absence was
only an intermission and now we were really home again.
My family and I were ready to return to Denver when I found myself
low on cash and stopped at a local bank. There was only one teller in sight,
a young woman I didn't recognize.
"We don't normally cash out-of-town checks," she said, "but I'll ask
my supervisor."
She turned away and shouted toward an office down the hall. "There's
a woman here from Denver who wants to cash a check for $100."
"No out-of-town check," came the reply.
"Too bad, Mom," my daughter said. "I guess even you can't bend the
rules."
"Tell your supervisor I'm Dean Leslie's oldest daughter," I said.
She relayed the message.
"Oh, then no problem," answered the voice. We were almost out the
door when I heard the voice add, "And tell Debbie to say hello to Randy and
have a safe trip home."
Now tell me, who couldn't love a town like that?
She Finds Her Winter Coat
Served Well in WWII
By: Alan Koonse
(Reprinted with Permission from the Madisonian)
In 1995, a young Winterset girl made her own personal contribution to
refugees in war-torn Europe. She gave what she could, an old winter coat.
In 1976, that simple donation brought a letter of heartfelt thanks
from the daughter of a Czech woman who had received the coat 31 years ago.
Celine McLaughlin was a 12-year old student at South Ward Elementary
School in Winterset when she heard of the national appeal for clothing and
money to aid the homeless, hungry, innocent victims of World War II's terror.
Her small donation had a special meaning for her. "During the war,
everybody was very enthusiastic about doing anything they could to help the
war effort," Celine recalls today.
Asked for letter
Because of her special interest in the project, she put a note in the
pocket of the old coat before donating it The message was simple and direct:
She asked the person who received the coat to write to her.
Thirty years passed. Celine married John Waring, moved to Omaha,
Nebraska, became the mother of seven children, and forgot about the note.
She forgot about it until recently, that is, when she received a
letter from the daughter of the woman who had received-and used-the coat.
The letter said: "When you were 12 years old in 1945 after the Second
World War, you gave a coat to be sent to the refugees in Europe. This coat
was given to my mother in Czechoslovakia and she found your note in its
pocket.
In Hard Times
"The coat served my mother in hard times and she kept your note,
gratefully, all these years.
"Since 1947, my parents lived in Israel in the kibbutz. I found your
note and decided to try and thank you, with my mother."
The letter was signed simply: "Sincerely, the daughter, Efrat Weil."
The letter-addressed to Celince mclaaughlin-was received in Winterset, and
postmaster marguerite Gallery forwarded it to Mrs. John Corkrean of Cumming,
whom she knew to be Celine's sister.
Gallery, who had been one of Celine's teachers at the Winterset
school when the clothing drive had taken place, said she remembered Celine
McLaughlin's name when she saw it on the letter that came into the post
office.
Didn't Remember Note.
Celine Waring said Efrat Weil's handwriting was "excellent" and she
believes the girl is a teenager .
"To be real truthful, I don't remember putting the note in the pocket
And it probably didn't occur to me at the time that the recipient may not
have been able to read English," she said.
"It amazes me that the child of this woman would be so appreciative.
When I got the letter I was very excited," she said. Waring said her
children and their friends have taken a keen interest in the letter that
bridged a gap of more than 30 years. The family is planning to write Miss
Weil soon, she said.
Celine Waring's family did write back to the Weil family. Through
correspondence with the father Shrage Weil, they learned that he had painted
the Israeli Room in the JFK Performing Arts Center in Washington, D.C. he
also sent Celine a print of one of the paintings. Celine and her husband
took the print into a shop in Omaha to be framed and waited upon by a woman
who became ecstatic when she saw the print when she saw the print. She was
Jewish and had been in a Concentration camp and confirmed hat Sharaga Weil
was indeed a very famous Jewish artist.
Sample recipes:
Corncob Jelly
12 bright red cobs 3 C. sugar
3pts. Water 6 red hots
1 (1 3/4oz) pkg. Sure-Jell
Boil broken cobs in water for 30 minutes. Remove from heat and strain liquid.
If liquid doesn't measure 3 cups, add enough water to make 3 cups. Add
Sure-Jell and bring to a rolling boil. Add sugar and boil for 2 or minutes
or until jelly consistency. (Put the red hots in with the liquid.) Pour into
8 small baby food jars that have been sterilized. Seal with paraffin. To
make corncob jelly, you must use field corn and not sweet corn. Field corn
has red cobs and is grown to feed cattle and pigs.
Early pioneers could make jelly from corncobs when fruit was not
available. I am sure the didn't have Sure-Jell, but knew of other ways to
make their jelly set.
The Cosmopolitan Federated Club of Earlham chose to have a booth and
sell corncob jelly at the first Covered Bridge Festival in 1970. The
Festival Committee wanted to have all things raised or made in Madison
County.
When the Cosmopolitan Club was dissolved the Ingenue Federated Club
of Earlham took over the corncob jelly project. We picked corn by hand and
shelled the corn to get our cobs. We put our jelly in recycled baby food
jars and decorated the tops with calico dust hats; some were painted and
sometimes decorated with corncob slices.
Two years ago the Federal Food Administration required that all
kitchens making jellies, jams or candies for sale be inspected. Due to the
inconvenience and expense, we dropped the project. Now I only make it for
our own use. It is my grandchildren's favorite jelly.
Each year people still stop at our Covered Bridge Booth and ask for
corncob jelly. Some would use it for gifts or favors or send it to
out-of-state relative or friends.
Gretchen Brittain
on page 251, Italian style veg. With pasta. if you put the page
ongraphicsthat would be greatlike to get some graphics to show; also p
203, the top half only, the Oatmeal Carmelitas Bars.