On the other side
of Milwaukee there was another gas station, then vacant lots going north
to McKinley. For several years that space was used for carnivals and Christmas
tree lots. There was another gas station on the east side of Milwaukee
at Sunnyside, and in the forties the Buttemiller
clinic was next to the North Shore station. At Milwaukee and Park there
was a gas station owned by Wayne Gratz, that
later became Gustafson Motors. Just east on the
north side of Park there was a large funeral home.
My uncle, Frank
Suydam, lived on Park Place, at the corner of Park Avenue. His grocery
and gas pumps faced south onto the avenue. Next to his store there was
a large white barn housing Exon trucking. Art
Exon lived next door.
Bill
Weidner's tavern was on Park, east of Second, and
Harry Gratz had a gas
station at Fourth, across from Boehm cleaners.
On the northeast corner of Milwaukee and Park there was a restaurant,
owned by Joe Wickersheim who sold after the
war to Marvin Laycock, who was a survivor
of the Bataan death march. Just north on Milwaukee there was a large house
bearing the sign "Wayside Rest Home."
Pete Larson, who operated a garbage service for
many years, had a house and barn that housed his trucks on the northeast
corner at Hurlbut. Our cousins, Tom and John
Suydam bought the business after the war. Local wits asked what wages
the Suydams paid. The answer was always "fifty dollars a week and
all you can eat."
There was a gas station
on the corner at East Maple across from Central
park. That park was notable mainly for its use as an ice rink when the
firemen flooded it. There was a jerry-built shack for warming and changing
and often there was a bonfire going in front of the shack.
A large building
on the Broadway corner had apartments above. The corner office was a real
estate and insurance firm. There was a butcher shop operated by Max
Haas. Max wore a straw hat and tossed in an occasional soup bone for free
if customers refrained from asking him if he weighed his thumb along with
meat. Paul Snethen had a barber shop in the forties
and Hershberger's appliance store sold 78 records;in
the early thirties some labels like Bluebird sold for thirty-nine cents.
Columbia and other major labels were fifty cents. At some point John
Vondracek, who had repaired radios at Titus brothers moved into Hershberger's.
Between that building
and the Public Service building there were
two large houses. A small block building housed Young's
store which had moved from Church behind Taylor
Drugs. That building was demolished later. The south house held, at one
time, a hamburger place. The north house belonged to Dr.
Smith, an elderly doctor who practiced there for many years.
The Public
Service building went to the corner at Church. It was distinguished by
a sort of tunnel which led to a landscaped area in the rear. The offices
along the tunnel had windows onto the tunnel. At various times North
Shore Gas and Public Service Electric had stores there. In those days
the utilities had places where people could walk in and pay their bills,
because many people didn't use checking accounts until after the war.
A gas and electric store sold appliances. Public Service customers exchanged
burnt-out light bulbs for new ones for many years. At various times that
building held Gertrude's beauty salon, Chicy
tailors, Engelhardt's linens and a savings and
loan. There were apartments above.
Harry
Taylor's drug store was on the corner. My cousin, Bill
Wilson, worked there right before the war and became a partner (later
owner) after the war. Bill had a handsome Mercury convertible and on occasion
I got to ride with him into the country when he delivered prescriptions.
Bill enlisted in the navy right after Pearl Harbor and that fall was blown
into water from his ship during the North African landings. After recovering
he went to the Pacific with a naval air unit where he was a chief pharmacist's
mate. What with stress and tropical diseases his hair was white by the
time he was discharged in 1945.
My father and his
co-workers at the Public Service Company
had a shop and office on Church behind the drug store. At one time Young's
milk store was also there. Carl Schutze and
his family had a house between the Public Service building and the telephone
company building where my uncle, Murrell Suydam,
worked. Mrs. Schutze was known for her cooking.
The best cherry pie I ever ate came to us from her: a flaky bottom crust
filled with fresh pie cherries topped with homemade whipped cream.
The northeast corner
of Church was a vacant lot that held the board honor roll of men in service
in the war years. The building next to the corner lot held North
Shore Gas at time, a cleaners and the shoe store and repair
owned by the Jordan family. A flight of stairs led to the second floor
where Stuart Matthews had his dental practice and
residence. Park View tavern was laid out so that
patrons at the bar sat facing south into the bar mirror. Those desiring
a view of Park had merely to look out the front window. Sometimes my Uncle
Murrell would take me into the Parkview and tell the bartender to "give
the kid a beer." It came in a shot glass, tasted fine and nose-wrinkly.
It was great to swagger out onto the sidewalk, hoping to be seen by envious
friends. At one time Proctor's candy store was
on the north end of the building. That was later a drop off for a cleaner
until that section was down. The vacant lot next to the Triggs
building at Milwaukee and Cook was used for parking, Christmas trees,
fireworks and once in the thirties, a small carnival.
 The
corner building at Cook held the Triggs market,
Lovell's Drug Store (later Petranek's),
and a National Tea grocery. On the second floor
Willis Overholser, the village attorney, had
his law office. The Honeywell photo studio was
there for many years. They had large portrait cameras. The photographer
ducked under a black cloth cover to operate the camera. A Japanese man
with one arm (Takeguchi) worked there. Ed left
shortly after the war started and never came back. He may have been placed
in a detention camp by the government. It is difficult now to believe
the level of hysteria that prevailed after Pearl Harbor, even thousands
of miles from the Pacific.
Just east on Cook
was Harry Pester's blacksmith
shop. He was still there after the war, but his outhouse had fallen victim
to vandals. He allowed kids to stand in his shop doorway to watch him
at the forge. Franzen Lumber ran down to First.
It had its own rail siding which also served Libertyville
Lumber on the east side of First. At Franzen Lumber you could walk through
the main building on the tracks, even when the yard was closed. The rail
freight and railway express were on the tracks on the east side of First.
The northwest corner of First and Cook was the site of the village street
and water departments. The corner building was adjacent to another right
on the street which processed water softeners. Trucks were stored in a
large garage at the rear. Simon "Sam"
Alkofer was village public works for many years on two different tenures.
Going west up Cook
there were two or three houses and a shortcut path that led to School
street. The Paul Odom family lived in one house, from
which they ran a taxi service. Ted
Odom lived there as well. He was known for having a trap line that he
ran during the thirties and perhaps later. Various trappers had lines
around the Des Plaines and around Butler Lake. There was a building that
held a harness shop in the thirties, then later an auto parts store, next
to the alley that led to Enderland's tavern. The
tavern's front door faced west toward Milwaukee, but the view was of the
rear of the stores on the main street.
The building at the
corner of Cook and Milwaukee was rather usual in layout. The corner store
for many years was C.O. Carlson's men's store,
later taken over by Howard Thompson. Mr.
Carlson was village clerk. He wore wire-rimmed glasses, suspenders, arm
garters and was never seen on the street without a hat. Kids referred
to him as "C.O. Plenty," after a character in the Dick Tracy
comic strip. Schanck Hardware was the next store
as you went north on Milwaukee. It had doors onto both Cook and Milwaukee
and, in effect, wrapped around the corner clothing store. It was a classic
hardware store of that period with narrow board floors that were kept
oiled. It had a high, tin ceiling and ladders that moved horizontally
to access the high shelves. It was a large, gloomy space that clerks lit
up by pulling strings attached to bulbs hanging from the ceiling. There
was a tin shop floor toward the rear, along with an elevator operated
by pull rope. A garage opened onto the alley behind. Our next door neighbor,
Harry Helfer, was a part-owner of Schanck's.
The second floor
had a large room used by the village players. Scotty
Robertson's barber shop looked onto Milwaukee. Scotty was a bright, friendly
man with a notable burr in his speech. He had two barber chairs, a magazine
table, a coal stove, and a counter that held the cash register and the
candy that kids got after their haircuts, which were twenty-five cents
at one time. Occasionally, Scotty would ask some boy seated on the plank
that spanned the chair arms if he wanted a shave. That was usually good
for a laugh. Scotty shaved necks after stropping his razor on a leather
strap attached to the chair. A dash of bay rum and snapping of the covering
sheet and you were ready to see the world. Scotty had served in WWI and
enlisted for a second time. He barbered on a cruiser that was sunk in
Pacific, if I remember correctly. Right after the war he was back in business,
looking none the worse for wear.
The next building
held Ace Hardware, owned by Ernie
Griffith. Emory Kirkman worked at Ace and lived
on Cook at Brainerd. The next store was J.B. Morse
men's store. During the war that space became empty and was the Wildcat
Den, a youth center where kids could play ping pong, talk and dance. My
brother Don was general factotum and tells the story that I "got
flipped on the ping-pong table by Helen Kristan
and looked pretty silly." I don't remember that occasion. Decker
and Neville Drugs had a classic soda fountain of that period and a big
magazine rack in a window alcove where you could stand and thumb magazines.
There were wooden booths and a pay phone booth toward the rear. Bill
Decker lived in a large, handsome house on Cook west of Brainerd. Mark
Neville, Rena and their kids, Arlene
and Mark, lived next to us on Brainerd. Mark was
generous with cardboard signs for kids building scenery for model railroads.
The store had a good selection of Comet model planes, flying and solid
models that sold for a dime. Extra large flying models cost a quarter.
Arlene Neville was very popular in high school, went on to become a professor
at Lake Forest College, married an administrator there and eventually
moved to Los Angeles. Mark, Jr. was a dentist.
A boyhood friend,
Chuck Jamieson, got an evening job at Decker
and Neville jerking sodas. He was big on ice cream and told me that he
could eat all he wanted on the house. After two or three days he told
me that his sweet tooth was sated. Mrs. Neville told my mother that their
all you can eat ice cream policy had never failed with soda jerks. There
were apartments above.
 Prior
to the war Jewel Tea opened a grocery that was
the biggest in town. Among other offerings it had Birdseye frozen foods,
an innovation at that time. The Newcastle Hotel
occupied the second. floor and a ground floor restaurant which became
Woolworths ten cent store. I worked there one
year with Nick Salgado, doing janitorial work. We
earned forty cents an hour, which wasn't bad for high schoolers. Mackey
Jewelry was next, with apartments above. The corner building at School
Street held the post office in the thirties
before the new post office was built on Church. It was a butcher shop
briefly, then Harry Egloff's bakery. The Egloffs
lived on Cook just west of Lange Court and their kids were widely envied
for their access to sweets. The corner store front was the Hershberger
appliance store, later to become a bank.
The second floor
had various medical offices, the dentists Gaebe and
Johnson after the war and, I think, Doctors Taylor
and Penney all during the thirties. The most notable
feature on the second floor was the movie operated
by George Mikesell. Its flat floor had wooden seats
and patrons watched a screen that was rolled up after the shows ended.
That movie went out of business when the Liberty
Theatre opened in 1937.
 School
Street was all houses except for Central School
which held grades through eighth and served the north end of town. Two
of the largest families in town lived there; the Satterfields
on the south and the Krumreys on the north. In winter
kids sledded down a slope into an open area behind the stores that was
sometimes flooded for skating. The original Central School was a two-story
layout with a large central staircase. Classes stayed all day in one room,
each of which had its own cloakroom which was like a long narrow closet
with a door on one end to the hall and a door on the other end opening
directly into the classroom, which had its main entrance door opening
directly from the main hallway. There was a large room on the second floor
which was used for plays, musical events and such. The fifth grade was
just east of the large room, at the end of the building. The meeting room
had a tubular fire escape that allowed kids to slide down it and exit
onto the ground outside. The fire escape was a play spot on weekends.
Kids could get up it from the ground and slide down. Two doors at the
top of the chute allowed exit but not entrance.
There was a school
newspaper, of which I was co-editor one year, along with Virginia
Titus. The part of the paper I handled was mostly thinly disguised stories
and articles from "Boys Life" and "American Road For Boys,"
modified only slightly. I was proud of a multipart serial called "Doom
Tocsin", but wasn't quite sure what a tocsin was. There was a lunchroom
to which you brought your own lunch in a paper bag or lunch pail with
thermos jug. From time to time we had assemblies at which appeared slight
of hand artists, jugglers, singers, movie travelogues and whatever. Those
events helped relieve the tedium of learning the Palmer method of handwriting
and the rote learning of arithmetical tables. Students sat in wooden desks
with built-in inkwells. A favorite trick was putting baking soda into
the ink and with luck the gas would pop the cork and spray a shower of
ink. The grounds held swings, a slide, a sandbox and an area where you
could toss a baseball.
Men teachers were
a rarity in grade schools in the thirties. Women teachers were single.
Mr. Hudson was the principal for a number of years.
He lived on Newberry and his son, Alan, was a lifeguard
at Liberty Lake in the early forties. Carl Baylor
was superintendent of schools and perhaps acted as principal. Mr.
Bartlett was the seventh grade teacher--this is roughly between 1932-1940.
Miss Schreiber taught sixth grade. She swung a
mean fistful of wooden rulers against boys who acted up. Miss
Paulson ran the fifth grade. Other teachers were Miss
Barnstable, Miss Russell, Miss
Gilmore, James Flood and John
J. Miller, who was the principal and taught eighth grade in the late thirties
when the new school was built.
The new Central
School was opened in 1939. It was a modern design and style. Memory says
that it was built by the Public Works Administration rather than the Works
Progress Administration. Both were New Deal agencies set up to help deal
with the Depression. Definitely, it was the WPA that did the lagoons and
such at Butler Lake.
The new school had
an auditorium with a stage, and even a library, though with precious few
books. The library housed Mr. Miller's cactus collection
until parties unknown vandalized the cacti with sharp pencils. The person
responsible was caught and given a few days at home. Pursuing a similar
path in high school, he was placed in a state reform school and later
still hit the big time with a term in a state prison, the only kid I can
remember who went that far astray. The new school had lockers, a big step
ahead of the old cloakrooms. During a medical exam it was discovered that
I needed glasses and so became "four eyes" to my fellow students.
Three years of not being able to see the blackboard rendered me a near
illiterate in math and sentence diagramming and a near wimp on the playground,
being under strict instructions from home not to get my glasses broken.
The building on the
corner of School held at various times an IGA grocery,
Knutsen's butcher shop, Flagg's
barber shop, a restaurant, Gibson's electric, Maiden's
hardware. There was a small popcorn stand right on the sidewalk edge at
the north end of the building, then Bert Finstead's
restaurant.
 The
last building in the block ending at Newberry was the Liberty
Theatre, built in 1937 by Fred Doby. The gravel parking
lot wrapped around the theatre. It was movie house standard for that time
with a lobby and two aisles running down the sloping floor to the stage.
The center section of seats was about twice as wide as the two side sections.
Bizarre visual effects were had by sitting way off to the side or down
in front where you looked up at the screen because the floor sloped up
at that point.
The rear rows were
often sprinkled with courting couples and for some reason smaller kids
tended to sit way down in front. The Saturday matinees cost eleven cents
and featured news, coming attractions, a cartoon, one or more serials,
and a double feature, usually westerns with Buck Jones, Ken Maynard, Tom
Mix, or one of many western heroes. Shorts and serials could have Flash
Gordon, the Three stooges...it really was bargain viewing.
Regular showings
at night and on Sunday were single features, coming attractions, newsreel,
cartoon and a short. Often, the short would be something like the Kirkpatrick
or Lowell Thomas travelogues, or "Believe It Or Not" with Robert
Ripley. The evening shows were usually at 7PM and 9PM.
Bank Night was held
once a week. Ticket stubs were put into a cylinder on the stage and a
small boy or girl would volunteer to be blindfolded and draw a stub. The
money prize varied according to whether it was a regular or super Bank
Night. The theatre had an organ which played an accompaniment to the activities
on stage.
High school boys
in uniform acted as ushers, showing patrons to seats with a flashlight,
and maintaining order. In those days people didn't smoke, talk with friends,
play radios or whatever. Violating the rules could mean an inglorious
ejection and serious offenses could mean a ban of two weeks, enforced
by the manager, who had an eagle eye and a long memory. One of my friends
got a two-week ejection for throwing banana peels across the projection
beam. Rather than tell his parents he took the eleven cents the next Saturday
and spent it at a soda fountain. Unfortunately for him, his father chanced
by on the street and saw him in the act. It was a small town and if you
got out of line too much or too often the chances of discovery were high.
Whether this was the reason or not, there was almost no delinquency whether
adult or juvenile. Certainly, times have changed in this respect.
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