The River
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Sep 16, 2012, 10:01 AM
Dear Louie,
You might have seen this letter before, but thought you might enjoy it again - long ago, we were young.
The River
One of the constants but not one of the major elements or features of Hartford has been and is the Rubicon River. In 1935 the WPA built attractive stone buildings for events and storage. The river was widened as a swimming hole and wading pond. In today’s standard the pond would be a mud hole, but in 1935 it was a charming swimming hole where we would congregate for summer afternoons.
There under the tutelage of Mrs Ulrich, a recreational program was held. Most of the attendants were kindly leaders, untrained, but attentive and inventive. Running races, baseball games, playing on the swings, climbing ladders and trees, sunning on the banks… all activities of summer were carried out.
There was no vandalism, the kids were happy, naive, and unconcerned.
However, there was much to be concerned about, if we had to be concerned. The employment rate was low, the unemployment rate was 20%. Government programs employed many.
Parks were built, streets were conditioned, libraries were built, and local and state parks were developed. The CCC program trained young men under a quasi military program, and helped maintain a semblance of order and control. The unemployed took whatever work could be found on farms, in local industries which had orders, and for the county programs. Men who had worked for the larger plants were without work, and in Hartford it meant that the Kissel workers were without jobs.
General Assistance programs distributed food stuff once a week consisting of pork and beans, grits, potatoes, flour and sugar; the staples were given on receipt of invoices obtained from the county offices. I remember pulling a wagon, on only one occasion to the City Hall, and dragging it home, alone, and under the eyes of all our friends.
I walked barefoot; we had no money for summer shoes.
In the spring the river would flood, wash out the foot bridges and we would float the bridges all the way to Rubicon, a distance of five miles. There we would abandon the bridge and walk the tracks back home, barefoot. Feet were tough, callused, and dirty.
My folks never knew of the adventures.
Nor did they know of the occasional vandalism…
The Kissel Car Company had been closed, shut down, and boarded up. It became the target of resentment for the families of the unemployed auto workers. One day, my cousin Dick and I were walking along the river bank, adjacent to the Kissel Company when he observed that “those rich bastards had no right to fire his father.”
It so happened that the path was a gravel path, and stones were at hand. One stone was thrown, for distance, one stone for height and soon one window in the plant was broken, soon another and at the end of the exercise, twenty eight panes were broken.
For years the dastardly prank remained a mystery.
And until now it has been a mystery… known only to Dick and I; and the reason known only to Dick and I.
Even kids lose self esteem and hope when unemployment is common.
But getting back to the river.
To the north and west of West Park ball diamond was an area of forty or so acres of poor farm land. We lived on the north side of Hartford and on Sunday afternoons during the summer I would run down to the park, along a path through the farm land, over the footbridge, to the ballpark. I would stop on the bridge to catch my breath and look for fish. In the early years fish would swim in the river, but later there were no fish, just slime under the bridge.
The local tannery and cannery and the outboard motor company took care of the fish; the combined oils and toxins removed more fish than all the illegal springtime spear fishing of the Reberg boys.
Nothing was alive in the river, but there was much activity in the park.
We lived on the north side; my cousin lived on the south side; he was left handed, I was right handed, he played the outfield and I played shortstop in our pick up teams. He organized a better team of south siders, I organized a thinking team of north siders; we played pickup games on the hardball diamond. They won, most of the time.
The diamond had been built in the 1920’s when the common council bought eighty acres and built a ballpark. The outfield was lined with rows of trees between the diamond and the highway. Each tree was dedicated to a member of the armed forces who had fought in World War 1; they still stand today, but most have been replanted as death has taken the original trees; quite like the course of the old soldiers.
A Sunday afternoon game was played every other week, the Land of Lakes, alternated with the younger Land of Rivers team. Tuesday night games under the lights were played weekly. The park was used, the crowds were large and the activity was centered in town. Crowds were large at the night ball games and I was employed selling soda and popcorn, watching the moves on the field and in the stands.
The activity in the stands was sometimes more entertaining than on the field. My heroes were the young guys who were drinking an orange soda, smoking a cigarette, eating popcorn and talking to a blond or brunette. That, my friend, was living!
The lights were excellent, the infield was grass mowed precisely, the dirt surface was raked to perfection, the lines were limed straight as a fast ball; all chores done weekly by a dedicated man named Dell. He was the most tolerant individual I have ever known; he tolerated kids playing on the diamond after his toil to cut grass and pick up small stones. His attitude encouraged us to pick stones and help him lime line the bases, we learned he taught.
The outfield was something else. From left field to right field the ground rose about twelve to eighteen inches, and the center fielder was running up or down the hill. Football high school games were played east to west in the outfield and cagey old Hal Beatty always managed to be going downhill in the fourth quarter.
I vividly recall a triple play, the Hartford Land of Lakes played a Waukesha team for the championship. The bases were loaded; a grounder was hit to third base; Monroe threw to the catcher, Roundy Wenzel--stepped on home, threw to Bob Monroe, stepped on first; threw home and Roundy tagged the sliding runner from second. The place went nuts, Hartford won, and the game was replayed for months at Vogelsang’s tavern, and every bar which sold beer; all of them did.
Names of the ball players included Schaller, Theisen, Monroes, Wenzels, Trotter, Schwalbe, Shinners, Basler, Favor, Lutz Lindert, Smith, Duponts, and Vogelsangs-- and many others. After the game, the game was replayed at Erv’s bowling Alley, and a variety of taverns. Beer was consumed,driving casualties happened and some tragedies occurred.
And that, Louie… was the way it was.
Jim
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