The following is taken from my father’s first book, a collection of his Post Script columns (this one from April 30, 1954): A salesman from Iowa was in town Friday. And he told us an unusual story which he insisted was true. It concerned a wreck a few days ago near Sigourney, Iowa, which has […]
I don’t know how the stray collie-like dog knew, but he always did. Thursday was printing day, and the day the dog we’d nicknamed Firecracker could make a soft bed in the pressroom from the trimmings the newspaper folder generated. One of my jobs, during summer vacation from school, was to pick up those trimmings […]
I had lots of jobs at the Gallatin newspapers. But one that held some of the most interest for me was writing School News. I did this from fifth through the eighth grades. Then in high school I revived the school newspaper for the campus, but that’s a story for another day. Dad came with […]
My parents purchased a maple spinet piano from Jenkins Music Co. in Kansas City when I was eight, and I immediately began piano lessons with Mrs. Eva Metzgar. Mrs. Metzgar was the town’s piano and voice teacher, and I spent many hours in her care over the years. What a stickler she was! At times, […]
Gallatin had no leash laws, so our dachshund, Copper, roamed the area at will. He often went to the doors of the neighbors and barked, awaiting a handout. But imagine my shock one day when I saw him walk jauntily down the middle of the road with what looked like a whole cake in his […]
This story always made me giggle and wonder, but my father swore it was true. The event took place at his Grandma Franklin’s house on east 14th Street in Kansas City. She lived in a rambling two-story house. The dining room, where Thanksgiving was held, was lit by an old gas light fixture. All the […]
My father enjoyed including jokes in his weekly Post Scripts columns and simply liked to pass along to others funny things he had heard, whether in print or in person. Below is a brief selection: Kenneth Mitchell, who served as Farmers Home Administration supervisor in the area for many years, took delight in springing a […]
Note: The following came from my father’s Post Scripts column on August 15, 1963, and concerned one of my classmates for a time, Joycelyn Hook. Not long after I come to Gallatin, perhaps two or three years later, a little girl walked into the office and asked to see the editor. I went to the […]
One day when I was working part-time in the summer at my dad’s newspaper office, a man came in red and fuming. “You sent me the wrong newspaper,” he said, slapping his copy of The Gallatin Democrat on the counter. “But they are just the same, sir,” I said, “except for the title.” Clearly, he […]
When I think of the song that goes “Dear hearts and gentle people,” I think about Gallatin. In the early part of the 20th century, before paved highways made an assault on the face of rural America, thousands of towns looked similar to Gallatin, Missouri. Most had between 1,000 and 2,500 residents. Many were county […]