The Curious Case of the Returned Trunk – December 1923

“Thieves Keep Auto But Return Trunk, Bag and Clothing”

Please note: This is a true story. The names of the people have been changed. The details have not.

On an early December night in 1923 a man from one of the small towns reported to Waterloo, Iowa, police that his car had been stolen.  He had parked his vehicle in front of the Scobby residence at 217 Second Street West (now the site of the Dan Gable Wrestling Museum). No details are known about why this man was visiting that location. Newspaper reports show that car theft was occuring fairly regularly in Waterloo that year. At the time, he was a 29 year old, married farmer. It appears this was the home of a respectable family who may have also had some boarding rooms. The (Waterloo) Evening Courier and Reporter reported that this man, Martin,  had his new Ford Coupe with license number 12-5778  stolen. He further reported the stealing of a  trunk and suitcase which were in the car.  About one week later, a large package and the suitcase were mysteriously delivered by express to Martin’s home in the Dysart area. His address was plainly and correctly written. The place of mailing  was St. Paul, Minnesota. According to the paper, the name and address of the sender were on the package but were believed to be fictitious. Practically all of the stolen clothing, which consisted mainly of new and valuable women’s apparel was in the returned packages. No trace of the automobile was found. Police theorized that the thieves drove the auto to St. Paul and “finding the contents were of character dangerous to attempt to dispose of, determined to send them to the owners in a way which would cause the least liability of discovery.”

How curious! Why would thieves who had stolen a valuable automobile trouble themselves over some far less valuable clothing? Surely being traced back to a stolen vehicle would have been more significant than being found with a bunch of clothes. Why risk going to a station and having these items shipped? Minnesota is known as the Land of Lakes, surely they could have found a river or lake along the to throw the trunk and suitcase in. Were there no lonesome places where they could have buried the loot? Why would the thieves spend their money returning these insignificant items to someone from whom they were inclined to steal?

Perhaps knowing more about the victim can shed light on these questions. Martin came from a prominent family in the Mooreville area, a settlement located between Waterloo and Dysart, Iowa. His grandfather was one of the first white settlers in Geneseo Township . County records of this wealthy and influential family in date back before the 1860s.  The local papers of the time chronicle his parent’s business ventures including purchasing land close to home but also in the Dakotas and California. He had married Alfreda, the daughter of another prominent family, and taken up farming in 1914.   Between 1914 and 1922 newspaper reports show that he was doing what other new husbands and fathers do. He was renting land from his father, selling timothy grass, purchasing hogs, and shipping hogs to the Chicago markets. The couple do appear to have done quite a bit of traveling in those years. From the social columns it is unclear if these were unsuccessful moves out of area or just long visits in the Dakotas  and California.

In 1911, Martin’s father, Carlton, decided to sell his farm and move to California for the winter along with his wife, Lacy. Martin was just 17 or 18 at the time Carlton was quoted in the paper as saying that his children “would have to find a way to look after themselves”.  In December of that same year  Martin’s sister, Elsie,  got married and moved with her husband to a new community. In language that would never be used today, the Traer Star Clipper reported “The young folks were intending to be married in the spring, but matters were somewhat hurried by the bride’s parents who intend to spend the winter in California.” By this time, Carlton had already sold the farm. The paper continued “So this daughter took the first chance that came along and found a splendid young fellow to take care of her.”

In 1920, the father died and left his estate to his wife who by then was back in Dysart. She died four years later in 1924. Her will which had been drawn up in 1918 revealed an estate  worth $50,000.  The conditions of the will were a bit strange and may provide a clue about Martin. Money was set aside for her grandchildren and after that was divided into four equal parts. Three of her children received their full share immediately. However, the last 1/4 share was to be divided between Martin and his brother, John. Additionally, that share was to be held in trust by the Dysart State Bank and the brothers received the interest only. Upon their deaths, the money immediately passed to Martin and John’s children. Starting almost immediately both Martin and  John along with the  bank were sued by creditors for money from that inheritance to pay for  outstanding debts. These court cases drug on and on for so long that in 1938 the bank tried to remove themselves from management  of the funds. Another person was appointed by the courts and that person turned the responsibility down.

The early 1920’s appear to have been a challenging time for Martin. In 1919 it was noted in the paper that he had lost a cow and a good horse. How this happened was not clarified.  In May of 1922 he was caught up in a prohibition sweep by the Tama County Sheriff. Arrested with a gallon of  alcohol in his car which was parked outside the Dysart Opera House during a dance, hee pled guilty to possession and transportation of alcohol and was fined $137.00. In February of 1923, he was arrested by the Waterloo police on a traffic violation of cutting corners. Within the same week of having his car stolen in Waterloo, his brother, John, was caught up in a gambling sweep in Dysart and was also arrested.  The rest of his life story is not entirely clear. It is obvious that he and Alfreda divorced. In May of 1929 she married another Tama County resident and moved to Greeley, Colorado, where she lived out the rest of her days.  By 1950 Martin was living in Brooklyn, New York with a wife. By 1960 he was in Florida.  It appears he died in Florida in 1970 at the age of about 76 years old. How he made his living after leaving Iowa is unknown.

So Reader, what do you think?

Does it make sense to you that the random strangers who stole his car returned his items via Express or do you have another theory?

What other information do you need to know in order to make up your mind?

Please post your thoughts to the Facebook page where you are reading this or send me an email. I’d love to hear your thoughts.

 

Iowa’s Celebrated Mad Stone – Rabies in the 1880’s – Tragedy in Mooreville Iowa

Iowa is dotted with numerous towns which were started and later abandoned. Many of these have a lone marker but many are just memory to the locals. The Iowa Ghost Towns website lists almost 50 such places in Tama County alone. One such town is Mooreville which was  located between Dysart and Waterloo on what is now County Road V37. The last house of the settlement which was occupied into the 1970s has since been torn down. All that remains is a marker and some small cemeteries which are home to the remains of its founding citizens.  Located in section 24 of Geneseo Township in Tama County, Mooreville had a post office from 1871 until 1900.

Mooreville Postmark 1896

Before the settlement at Mooreville was established the area had a different name, Six Mile Grove. The town’s hopes of a prosperous future were dashed when the railroad was established in Dysart instead of Mooreville. It’s too bad. It’s a beautiful part of Tama County and would  have made a nice setting for a town with the Wolf Creek running through it and the lovely trees that fill the hills in this area.

1875 Plat Map Tama County – Geneseo Township

 

The first white settlers in the Mooreville area were the Hills and the Riley’s. The two families arrived in the Spring of 1853 with Joseph Hill being the patriarch of the family and John Riley his son-in-law. John was married to Joseph and Sarah Hill’s daughter, Charity.   Joseph and his wife, Sarah, had eight children who settled the area with him and continued his legacy after his death in 1855. Their journey to Geneseo Township and subsequent settlement in that area are chronicled in the “History of Tama County Iowa” which is available online here. A section of the Traer Historical Museum is dedicated to the Geneseo area.

Joseph Hill

Sarah Hill

John and Charity Riley

In the summer of 1882, the Hill farm was being operated by Joseph and Sarah’s son, George and his wife Cornelia. Their daughter, Mary had married Alpheus Goodpasture and relocated to Fort Scott, Kansas. According to the Courier (Waterloo), Arthur Goodpasture, their grandson, had come for  a visit with George and his mother, Sarah. Sometime in May, Arthur heard a noise in the barn and went out to check for the source of that noise. On his return trip to the house a strange dog jumped upon his back. When he turned to grapple with the dog, he was bitten on the wrist and forefinger of the right hand. He was unable to free himself from the dog’s bite and the hired man was forced to pry open the jaws of the dog before the hand was released. The dog was shot but not before it had  bitten two horses and two calves. The horses and one of the calves died of rabies.  The other calf went mad and had to be shot.

Mr. Goodpasture showed no symptoms of his bite for about six weeks but then started complaining of hydrophobia on a Sunday night in July. He was unable to  swallow water placed in his mouth. By Monday evening he had chills and was given a dose of quinine. He continued to get worse. Dr. Griffin of Vinton, Dr. Evarts of Waterloo and Dr. Knott of Mooreville were all called and concurred that the patient was suffering from hydrophobia caused by rabies. The physicians called for the “celebrated mad stone” from forty miles away but this was of no effect. Arthur remained conscious until the end. Pain relieving medications were given but he continued to have severe spasms. He died on Wednesday of that week.  He was about 25 years old and left behind a wife and an eighteen month old son.

What is a Mad Stone?

Before a cure for rabies was developed by Louis Pateur in the late 1800’s Mad Stones (also known as bezoar stones) were used to treat rabies and snake bites. The practice goes back several centuries. A mad stone is formed in the stomach or intestines of cud-chewing animals. In American folklore, the most powerful of these come from albino deer with pink eyes. In essence it is a hair ball composed of  mineral salts, hair and fiber ingested by the animal. They form from calcium deposits similar to how an oyster forms a pearl. The calcium clings to some foreign material such as hair and slowly adds more layers. If you cut through one you would find rings, similar to a trees growth rings.

Before using, the stones were boiled in sweet milk. The wound to be treated needed to be bleeding and if it was not the skin had to be scraped until it did bleed. If it did not adhere, it was assumed the person did not have rabies. However if rabies was present, the stone would attach itself to the flesh for a long time, drawing the poison out and absorbing it into the stone. When it fell off the wound it would be boiled in milk again to release the toxins. The stone would then be applied to the wound again. If it did not stick, the person was considered cured. If it stuck it would be left to draw the remainder of the toxin out of the body. According to lore, a mad stone can neither be bought or sold to remain effective. They were generally passed down from father to son but their presence in a home was known by those who lived nearby and their owners were frequently called upon to help. The stone’s shape could not be changed or it would lose it’s effectiveness.  Additionally, using the stone was not intended to  involve any kind of payment. The location of “Iowa’s Celebrated Mad Stone” is unclear. A search of newspapers.com produces over 350 results for the use of mad stones in Iowa between 1854 and 1940. Several references are made to one in Paris, Iowa.

Did they work?

Likely not. Rabies can take up to a year to develop after a bite occurs. Someone treated with a Mad Stone immediately after a bite could still develop the virus months down the line. Rabies is also not as easy to catch as one may think. Depending on where a person is bitten the chance of developing the disease are between 10 -90%, with face and head bites being the most dangerous. Like all folklore however, its effectiveness may have been more in the belief than the actual stone but either way, they provided hope to people in what seemed like very hopeless circumstances.

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Charlie’s Depression Wedding Part I

As Charlie started to return to consciousness, he recognized the buildings of his small Iowa town on that mid-August day in 1935. From his position, flat on his back in the middle of the main street, he noted the sky was clear, without evidence of rain. Despite this, his farmer’s bones knew that rain was on its way. If only his mind were as intuitive as his bones, it might have warned him of the impending danger he was in last Spring when all of this could have been avoided. The temperature was in the mid 80’s, but for the first time in a long time, he felt relatively cool down here in the dirt. It had been a hot summer with many days over 90 degrees and the entire state needed a break from the oppressiveness of it all. Charlie, more than most. His head slowly began to clear and he noticed  a crowd had gathered to gawk. I hate all of them, and this town, and everything that had happened to me here, he suddenly thought to himself. He would leave, he vowed to himself. Maybe go back to Wisconsin where he had lived for a time as a younger man.

Rolling over on his right side he saw his unwilling sparring partner, Bill, also lying in the dirt. Charlie couldn’t quite make out the details, but he knew that Dr. C.S. Stoakes was tending to his face. With great satisfaction he remembered clocking the older man right outside the post office. A clear case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Charlie already had a full head of steam built up after his unsuccessful confrontation with the postmaster.  How dare he refuse to give him his wife’s forwarding address. She was HIS wife. He had a right to know. Upon leaving the post office, he saw Bill, his former employer and friend. The rumors that he had helped her leave town rang in his head and his anger boiled over. Quickly and deliberately he marched over to him and without warning, swung three roundhouse rights at the 59-year-old until the man went down to the ground with Charlie on top of him, still pummeling him with his fists.

His momentary revery over those punches did not last long. He heard the crunch of footsteps in his left ear, rolled in that direction, and realized that C.D. Kontz, the town’s marshal, was coming for him. Behind him, he could see Olin Smith, manager of the telephone company, who had intervened in the fight to defend Bill. Olin’s right hand was bandaged with blood seeping through the rags. The stain formed the shape of a mouth, Charlie’s mouth. Normally, he would have recognized the seriousness of striking one person and biting another, but the last few months had depleted his sense of reason. Like a caged animal, he was looking for any outlet for the rage that consumed his insides.

Kontz and a few other men jerked Charlie to a standing position. They half walked; half dragged him to the jail. Mercifully, the Marshal shewed the other men away once Charlie was safely in his cell muttering something about leaving rabid dogs alone. Jail can be a time of reflection but not so in Charlie’s case; not yet anyway. When Mayor B.E.Barkdoll, arrived a couple of hours later to conduct the hearing, he found a man still so full of rage that instead of admitting his own guilt, he insisted on filing charges against Olin for knocking him down and stopping his path to justice. Thankfully, cooler heads prevailed. Barkdoll and Kontz who knew better than most the events of the summer, agreed to leave Charlie in jail overnight and reconvene in the morning when perhaps their old friend’s sense of reason might return to him.

Although he was more subdued in the morning, it did not necessarily bring a return to complete sanity. They let him out of jail anyway. Bill, either as an admission of his own guilt or for another reason, agreed not to press charges. Olin did the same and Charlie walked out into the bright morning sunshine. He headed down the street to his car which was still parked where he left it yesterday. Passing the post office he exchanged glances with postmaster Ralph Schroeder. It occurred to him that Ralph’s face revealed something he had not seen before. For the past two months, the citizens of this town had looked at him with unveiled amusement, pity, and ridicule. He had seen them whispering about him behind cupped hands and newspapers. Ralph’s face had not shown outright fear exactly, but the kind of wariness one wears when encountering an unknown dog and it occurred to him that maybe people were afraid of him now.

He got in the car, started the engine, and began to drive. Where should he go? Anywhere but home. In July, he and his new bride, Margaret, had rented the former Kennedy Studio building from Mrs. Claus Andresen which was far too public for him now. Driving to the eastern edge of town he paused and debated whether he should go south which would take him to his original hometown just a few miles away or north toward the Mooreville area where he had previously rented a farm.

So lost in thought he was surprised when he found himself at Hayward’s Grove sitting in his parked car with no recall of the four mile drive. He sat there now looking at the trees and hills which two months ago had been a patchwork of green and delicate Spring flowers but now was beginning to take on that tired look that the Midwest gets when Fall is near.

For the thousandth time he wondered how things had gone so wrong. In four years, he would be fifty and yet he made a fool of himself like a naïve schoolboy. Being a fool in a small town is like a slow walk to the gallows from which there is no return. Everyone watches and either jeers or cries, but you never get the sweet release of death. You just keep walking; secretly hoping all the while that someone else will do something worse and draw the attention away from you.

Once again, he let his mind drift off to the land of “what ifs”, fully aware how pointless this exercise is. Humans are creatures of habit and Charlie’s habit was to return to that horrible day in 1923 when his world really had shifted off its axis. He had married Minnie on Christmas Eve day in 1912. They were young and the world seemed so full of possibilities then. Charlie met Minnie though her older brother, Alfred, who had married Charlie’s sister, Addie in 1908. The two men had gone into farming together, renting the Stevenson farm five miles north of town in 1909. One big happy extended family.

About three years after their marriage, Charlie and Minnie left Iowa for Clark County, Wisconsin, where he had managed to purchase a farm. Their family grew quickly and within eleven years they had seven children: a new child being born about every year to year and a half.  But then, in a heartbeat, everything changed. Minnie died eleven days after giving birth. Overwhelmed with the responsibility of parenting seven children between the ages of 9 and a few days old, Charlie sold the farm, packed Minnie’s body in ice for burial in the Newhall cemetery and returned to Iowa and the support of his family and friends. From that day until now, his life consisted of rented farms and odd jobs all of which was a hard step back from the life they had been building in Wisconsin.

Then, as if all of that had not been enough, came the Great Depression. Charlie had managed to purchase ten acres of land from the former Charles Hill farm where he and his son, Leonard, raised vegetables. They sold the vegetables from their truck garden and took what odd jobs they could find. His children grew up and on to their own lives. In March, Charlie’s dad, Sam, was hospitalized at the University of Iowa Hospital in Iowa City. Two of his brother’s, Albert, and Clarence, went to Iowa City to see their father. When they arrived, they were informed that the old man had already passed away. In a moment of impulse, they decided to jump a train back home and while trying to board the train, Albert slipped under the wheels which severed one of his legs completely and mangled the other. All of that worked together to push Charlie into action to grab a better life for himself before it was too late.

 

Back in 1912 when he had unexpectedly taken the train to Vinton to marry Minnie, the local paper had said he was one of the town’s most prosperous young farmers, insinuating that he was a good catch. He was painfully aware that no one saw him like anymore. He was 46, alone and had limited prospects. Charlie had wanted what everyone else wanted, the love and companionship of another person. So, Charlie pursued what seemed to him the most logical solution to his problem. Answering a newspaper ad for a matrimonial service out of Missouri, he sent them $10 and received a list of twenty prospective brides. Responding to all  twenty, he heard back from three women in different parts of the country. Of these, he had chosen a widow, Mrs. Margaret Ferguson of Little Falls, New York, to be his wife. He proposed to her sight unseen. She had consented and the couple set June 26 as their wedding day.

Sitting here now, he remembers the feeling of elation he had that maybe, finally, his life was going to get better. He became so enthusiastic about his prospects that he placed an ad in the local paper inviting everyone in the area to come to the wedding. It was true that he had wanted the love and companionship of a good wife, but he also had an almost desperate need for some financial security . So, in another completely unexpected move, he decided to raise some cash by charging admission to his wedding. Knowing that people would not want to pay to attend an ordinary wedding, he became determined to turn it into more of an event with games, food and prizes. He printed up handbills and started handing them out all over town.

How could he have known that his novel idea would grab the attention of newspapers across the state? Soon, editors were telling the story of Charlie’s “Depression Wedding” from Des Moines to Davenport. Suddenly, Charlie had committed the second most deadly sin of small town living in the Midwest. The one right after making a fool of yourself or being made a fool; he drew attention to himself. A lot of attention.

On the day before the wedding, Charlie traveled to Vinton to secure a marriage license. He gave his age as 46 and Mrs. Ferguson’s as 40. He showed a picture of her to the clerk, handed him a handbill, and offered him free admission if he might come to the wedding. From Vinton, he traveled to Iowa City’s bus station where he met Margaret and her eleven-year-old son, Jarvis, and brought them back home. Her older son, James, age 17, hitchhiked the 1000 miles and arrived just in time for the scheduled wedding day. Had she mentioned she was bringing two sons? He could not remember now.

It was a good thing that Charlie had set a contingency plan because on the 26th, it did indeed rain. Finally, at 11 a.m. on the 27th under a bright sunny sky, Charlie and Margaret were married in Hayward’s Grove in front of about 200 people. They had marched through knee-high blue grass to the sounds of the “Bridal Chorus” played by Mrs. Harry Heisler on her accordion. Little Ms. Ramona Reimer acted as ringbearer while her parents Waldo and Viola looked on. All the important people in there lives were there. Charlie’s daughter, Wilma, served as a bridesmaid and Margaret’s son, James, stood up for him as best man. Still, the turnout was much lower than he had hoped for and the take disappointedly small as many did not pay the 25-50 cents he had asked.  With his expectations having been so high, he could not hide his disappointment well and this upset many in the town who had never heard of anything so outlandish as paying to attend a wedding. After they had said their “I dos”, Woodrow Pettit and Leo Gulick played their instruments while Katherine Shafer and Mabel Aschenbrenner sang “When the Bluebirds Sing in June” as well as several other favorite tunes. The free cigars and ice cream eventually arrived from town and overall, Charlie thought they had a nice day, although not profitable.

On Friday, a free dance was held in town in their honor after which, Charlie felt that he and Margaret could really start their life together. He rented a house in town where they could be more comfortable. Margaret seemed to be settling in. She spent a few days with Charlie’s daughter in Vinton where James had secured a job at the canning plant. He believed he was finally going to be happy but that was not the case. Shortly after the wedding, he and Margaret had begun to fight. Then, just four weeks after that golden day in Hayward’s Grove, a mysterious car drove up to their house before dawn on a Monday morning. Margaret, James and Jarvis slipped out a side door and into the car which was seen driving out of town at the break of dawn. The rumor mill immediately kicked into high gear with reports that Margaret had received money in the mail and/or been given money by someone locally and Charlie believed that person was Bill. There were rumors that they had moved to Vinton or Indiana or back to New York.

Rumors and insinuations were not what Charlie needed right now. She had made a fool of him. He needed to know where she had gone and why. He needed to know the truth. As he sat looking at the grove of trees which had held so much promise just two months ago, he began to devise a plan to get to the bottom of it. He felt confident that some people in this town knew where she had gone, including the postmaster and Bill, and he was going to find out no matter what.

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