INSTALLMENT FOUR - MEJ's BIO (Threshing Time)

Threshing time
 

The thresher was powered with steam using the belt system.

During the teens and the twenties, the work of harvesting and threshing grain was somewhat different than it is in the sixties. Horses were of course used to pull the grain binder, and as soon as it was cut down it had to be shocked up again. This job almost always came during the hottest part of the summer with the thermometer somewhere between 90 and 105 degrees. After the grain had stood in shocks for a week or so, anywhere from eight to twelve neighbors would band together to form a threshing ring. Then a steam threshing rig would be hired to do the threshing job. It was always a highlight in a small boy’s life to see the enormous steam engine pulling the threshing machine into the farmyard. It was big and black, it belched a lot of black smoke, and it had many mysterious little gadgets on it, such as a system of water pipes to inject water into the boiler, the governor, the big belt wheel and all the other little wheels, to say nothing of the most interesting part of all – the WHISTLE.

Pitching bundles into the steam thresher.

                  For a steam rig like the ones that used to come to our place, the crew consisted of an engineer, separator man, and water boy. The engineer was kept busy seeing to it that the steam pressure in the boiler was kept at the proper level, somewhere around one hundred and twenty pounds, if my memory is reliable. The separator man’s job was to keep all the bearings and axles on the threshing machine oiled, adjusting the straw blower from time to time to build a nicely shaped straw pile, and seeing to it that the grain wagons did not run over. The water boy was responsible for getting the water needed for the steam engine. His equipment consisted of a team of very tame horses. They were hitched to a wagon on which was mounted a three or four-hundred gallon tank. The engine usually required two tanks of water every day. That meant the water boy had to scout around and locate either a pond full of water or perhaps a creek where he could fill his tank by the use of a hand-operated force pump. If he was slow in getting back with his load, the engineer would summon him with three long blasts on the whistle.

This machine is more indicative of the machines running in the 40's and 50's.

                The whistle on the engine was also used for other signals. For instance, two long blasts meant that the men unloading grain at the bin were taking too much time; the wagon at the threshing machine was in danger of running over. A series of short toots was to tell whoever was next in line to unload bundles into the machine that he had better get on his load, even if he wasn’t quite satisfied with its size, and tear for the rig or take a lot of ribbing from the rest of the crew later on.

                After the day was over, the fire would be allowed to go out in the fire box of the engine. That allowed the steam pressure to drop to zero. In the morning the engineer was on the job long before daylight, to start the fire in the engine. Just as soon as he had enough pressure to make any kind of noise with the whistle, he pulled the string. This was to notify any other engineer of any other rig within hearing distance, “I’m here and I’ve got steam pressure up, how about you?”

                Another noticeable thing was the rivalry between the ladies who did the cooking for the crews. The meals that were placed on the tables were cooked with one idea in mind: “this dinner has to be better than the men got at so-and-so’s place yesterday.” Since the entire crew consisted of either eight or ten bundle-pitchers, two grain scoopers, the engineer, the separator man and the water boy, it had to be a fairly large dining room to accommodate everyone.

*** Stay tuned for Installment #5.

INSTALLMENT THREE - MEJ's BIO (Transportation)

Transportation

1916 Reo

My father bought his first car in 1916, a Reo. It was built by a company founded by Mr. R. E. Olds, one of the great auto race drivers of that day. It was powered by a four cylinder motor and had a canvas top, something like today’s convertibles, except there were no glass sides. Instead, it had side curtains made out of the same material as the top. The panel behind the back seat and a few of the side curtains had insets of isinglass which was transparent; otherwise the only glass that was used for protection was the windshield. However, this Reo was not the first automobile in the neighborhood. The very first self-propelled vehicle I can remember was a high wheeled truck owned by a butcher from Sioux Falls. This truck had wheels that were about four and one half feet in diameter, about two or three inches wide at the tread, and had hard rubber tires. It was built by the International Harvester company. Since there were no graveled roads and certainly no paved roads, these early cars and trucks did not venture out even after a fairly heavy dew.

1909 Ford

The first passenger car I can remember was a four passenger touring car. The term “touring car” meant that it was larger than a two-passenger job. This car was owned by a member of our church in about 1912 or 1913. It was powered by a two-cylinder motor which was mounted cross-wise under the front seat, and had to be cranked (started) by hand from the side of the car. I have forgotten the name it carried but I found out that it was an assembled job. That meant that Sears Roebuck & Co., the concern that sold it, bought the motor from one company, the steel frame from another, the wheels from still another, and so on, fitting them all together to become a horseless carriage.

After autos became more numerous, more gasoline was also needed. There were no gasoline service stations yet, so gas was sold by hardware stores, blacksmith shops, grocery stores, and anyone else who had room for a storage tank in a building. The gasoline was usually delivered by horse-drawn wagons with tanks mounted on them. It seems that gas-powered trucks could not be trusted. Therefore, it can be said that horses were used to put themselves out of existence.

1931 Chevy - Belonged to Gene Straatmeyer in 1948 who purchased it for $65.

  Since we had never had an auto before, we also did not have a garage in which to keep it. It was therefore decided to use the alley of the granary as a garage. This alley has a sliding door on each end.

After my father had instructions about how to start and stop this new contraption, he decided to put it in the “garage,” namely the alley of the granary. Everything went well until he had gone as far as he thought necessary into the garage and decided to stop. But his mind went blank just then and stop he could not! He did remember that horses used to stop if he would say “Whoa!” but in this case it did no good. Both he and his family were all very happy that both sliding doors were open at the time.

Note: MEJ would have been amazed at the ease with which his daughter collected these pictures of old cars. It is too bad he never knew about the joys of the Internet.

INSTALLMENT TWO - MEJ's BIO (The Early Years)

AUTOBIOGRAPHY

The early years

Perhaps the first story about my life should be the one about the night of my birth. My parents told me that it was a very hot night, which was not unusual since I was born on the fourth of August (in the year 1900). It was also very humid that night so the mosquitoes were having a ball. Window screens in those early days were not as well made as they are now, and the little pests were finding their way into the bedroom through the screens. So my father went out to get some paint for the screens, which stopped that invasion. Incidentally, I am still a very popular target for the mosquitoes we have now in the summer time. If anyone wonders why I was born here at home, it was because the only transportation then was by horse power. Automobiles were non-existent and hospitals were not within driving distance. Even doctors were very scarce.

My father farmed the same 240 acres that we now own. It took much longer to do the same amount of work in those days than it does now. My father always had a hired man to help with the field work during the summer. This extra man was always hired from the first of March until the corn was picked. That date was uncertain and could be any time from the first of November until as late as the first of January, depending on the weather. Of course, when my brother and I were old enough to take over some of the work the hired man was supposed to do, he was no longer needed.

During the years when I was old enough to work with horses, we always had at least fourteen horses, plus one or two horses that were used only on the road. These were the ones used to pull the one-horse buggy, the surrey and the buckboard. They were not used for field work except when it was absolutely necessary. Perhaps they could be called "Sunday" horses. The tame old team that I remember best was a pair called George and Nance. Of course, their names were pronounced with a Low German twang, so it came on “Yorts un Nence.”

Old Yorts was quite a horse, though. As was our custom, all the horses were turned loose in the barn yard after supper in the summer time for a good roll and a bit of grass before being put back in the barn for the night. One night when all the horses had bunched up some distance from the barn, it was time for them to go in. My older sister, Ann, and I were standing directly in the path they would take to the barn. I got out of the way but Ann panicked and fell down directly in front of Yorts, but Yorts took off with a prodigious leap and landed at least ten feet beyond where Ann lay, unable to move because of fright. Could it be possible that this incident had something to do with Ann’s height? You have all heard of being scared out of a year’s growth; she did not get very tall.

One evening just at dusk, I was told to go on an errand to my uncle’s place just a fourth of a mile away. When I had reached about the halfway point, a coyote in the neighborhood began howling to his mate a mile or so away. This coyote howl is a sound that can make a coward out of almost anyone, so with this sound in the air, I became a quivering little boy almost too scared to move. But I was also sure that if I went back without doing what I was supposed to, it might be a little difficult to sit down comfortably for a while. So, with a lot of loud whistling to keep the old courage up, and a lot of hard running, the mission was completed.

 

School life

Our family life when I was a child was like that of any other family of the community, in that almost all of the neighbors near enough for us to be acquainted with were of Low German Descent and always spoke the Low German dialect. Because of this, every child, when entering school, found out that there was a language other than the one used at home; that is, the American language. What happened then was that as soon as the children were outside the schoolroom, they all spoke their home language, Low German. The first teacher that made the rule that only the American language could be spoken on the school ground and then tried to enforce it, almost lost her job because of it. It was the parents more than the children that objected. They claimed it was none of the teacher’s affair which language the children used when they were outside the schoolhouse.

School laws in the early days did not say at what age or in what grade a pupil could quit school. If you were through the sixth or seventh grade you could safely stay home and forget about school. I believe I was the first one to graduate from the eighth grade in our district. Soon after that the old school building was sold, converted into a grain bin and a new school house was built. I have often wondered if there could be any connection.

INSTALLMENT ONE - Autobiography of MEJ Plucker

THE MANY EXPERIENCES ENJOYED BY THE PLUCKERS

 

Memoires from M.E.J. Plucker

Written in 1967, just a year before his death.

 FORWARD

This history is written mostly for the younger generation in our family, those of you that were too young to see the changes that came to pass since the early 1900’s. Naturally, not all the small details are going to be mentioned, just those that made the greatest impression on me. It always gave me much pleasure to listen to the tales my father and grandfather would tell about events that happened before I was born. Stories of large Indian tribes that camped on grandfather’s land, the location of the makeshift post offices out here on the prairies, and many other very interesting things.

 My grandfather had four brothers and they all had large families, so the name Plucker is fairly prevalent in this community. My father and mother had six children. Ann, who is six years older than I am, married a doctor and lived in Princeton, Illinois all her married life. Wilbur, my brother who was four years older than I am, lived only until he was 22 years old. Esther, born two years after me, died when she was four. Lydia, who is eight years younger than I am, married a professor and is living in Dubuque, Iowa. Alma, born two years after Lydia, is married to a teacher.

Wilbur, Menne and Ann

The stagecoach trail from Sioux Falls to Yankton crossed the farm where we now live, about one-fourth mile north of the present house and barn yard. This trail did not follow the same pattern as the present roads, that is, straight north and south, and east and west, but angled across the country, so as to miss the existing ponds and sloughs, and hit the streams at a point where it would be possible to cross without upsetting the stage. The trail also crossed what is now the Germantown cemetery, and from there across my grandfather’s land to the Heeren place, one mile west of the Germantown church where the nearest prairie postoffice was located. My grandfather’s house was located about a half mile south of the state grail. One day my father heard some shots when the stagecoach was going by, and a few days later they heard that a man had attempted to hold up the stage, but was shot to death.

In our pasture is just a faint sign of what was at one time a bridge across the small creek that runs through our farm. When I was a small boy, the old timbers were still plainly to be seen, but have since disappeared. It must have carried quite a lot of traffic at one time because of the ruts made by the wagon wheels; but now even the ruts have been erased by floods carrying silt into them. No doubt it was built for the convenience of a few of the early settlers who went to the little village of Lennox to trade.

When you see a farmer planting corn now with his four-row planter, think of how our forefathers were obliged to put in a crop of corn. After the field had been plowed, it was smoothed down with a harrow and then a home-made machine called a planker. This broke up all clods and left the ground smooth as a cement sidewalk. Then another home-made machine was used to make the necessary spaces between rows of corn. This rig was a wooden platform about four feet wide with wooden teeth pointing downward, spaced forty inches apart. The reason for the forty inches: It was the amount of space needed by a horse to walk between the rows when cultivating. This apparatus was pulled across the field, first in one direction, and then across at right angles to the first crossing. This made a checkerboard pattern. Then three kernels of seed corn were placed in the ground at each place where the marks crossed. Of course, this planting had to be done by hand with a man carrying a small sack of seed corn and a hoe or a spade. It seems to me that it would take as much time to plant a field of corn as to harvest it later, also by hand.

This method of planting corn had been discarded by the time I had anything to do with that particular job. It was used by my grandfather when he first came to this state from Illinois. The first planter I can remember was a horse-drawn two-row machine. The primitive machinery described above had disappeared by the time my father started farming for himself.

My grandfather accumulated quite a large empire before he finally quit buying and trading for more land. Before he distributed the land to his children, he owned 960 acres, all close to the Germantown church. At one time he was offered a 160 acre tract in exchange for one horse, but he couldn’t spare the horse.

The grandfather I have been mentioning up to now was my father’s father. My mother’s father(1) was not nearly as well known to me. He came to South Dakota in 1886 as the pastor of the newly organized Germantown church. I believe that it was his first experience as a minister, and he was also the first pastor to serve Germantown. He was here for only a very short time. His next charge was at Marion, South Dakota.

(1)

Ernst Phillip Witte was born in Lippe-Detmold in Germany in 1873. He came to America  when he was 23 years old and settled in Fosterburg, IL. Having lost his wife in 1878, he followed his calling to become a minister. He entered the seminary at Dubuque, Iowa and eventually began his work at Prairie Dell church near Shannon, IL. From there he took the train and followed the German immigrants west and became the first minister of Germantown church near Chancellor, SD.

On May 5, 1886, Germantown Church was organized with 21 persons as Charter Members – among them were Menne and Engle Plucker.  (Jean Straatmeyer’s great grandparents.)

Land for the church site was given by Engel & Menne A. Plucker.  The first service was held in May of 1887.  Phillip Witte was the first pastor.

PLUCKER FAMILY PHOTOS

I believe this picture was taken in about 1910 or 1912. The setting is the manse at Germantown Presbyterian Church near Chancellor, South Dakota.

 

Sitting on chairs in the middle of the second row is Menne Alberts Plukker and his wife, Engel Anna Poppen Plukker. They are surrounded by many of their relatives, including John Poppe Plucker, my grandfather, (seated beside his wife, Christina Witte Plucker) second and third from the right in the second row. Grandpa Plucker is holding Lydia and Grandma is holding Alma.

On the left side in the third row at the end, you can see my father, Menne Elvin and his sister, Anna. Above them is Wilbur, who died at age 22 from a fall off a horse.

This shot would have been taken a bit later and professionally done. Aunt Alma was the only one who even hinted at a smile.

Back row: Menne, Wilbur, Anna. Front row: Alma, Christina, Lydia, John.

In a close-up of the folks shown above, you will see the officers of the church as well as ministers and their wives.

My Grandfather, John, is seated fourth from the left. 

The church was an extremely important part of the Plucker life. My Great Grandfather, Menne Albert, gave the land on which the Germantown Church is located. In addition, he gave the land for the Germantown Cemetery which is right across the road from the church.

As time went on, my Grandparents Plucker moved the family from the farm into the town of Lennox, South Dakota, a distance of about eight miles. Their house was always referred to as "the big house" because of its height and many rooms. That house is over 100 years old and is still on the same site. However, the town the Lennox has built up around it on all sides.

I will leave you for this posting with one of my favorite pictures: The baby in this photo is my father, Menne Elvin Plucker (born in 1900). Behind him is his brother, Wilbur and his sister, Anna.

I have this in a large (18 x 22) beautifully framed picture that my Aunt Alma very graciously gave me many years ago.

Cindee's CHRISTMAS GIFT -

            We were poor.  My husband had just graduated from seminary.  This was our first home and the salary was small.  It was December, 1961.

            We lived in a big, square, drafty house out in the country five miles from a small Midwestern town.  Our first daughter, Cindy, was almost three and her baby sister, Sandy, was only eight months old.  I wanted to make their Christmas just as wonderful as I could.  But we seemed to be destined for a slim Yule Tide.  There was a doll in a store window in town that Cindy wanted.  She talked about it all the time.  But, sadly, there was not enough money.  All our money had to be spent on essentials.

            There was one week left before Christmas.  I was dealing with the wringer washer in the basement, washing and rinsing a week’s worth of laundry, putting each piece through the wringer three times.  My husband was working on his Sunday sermon in his study.  When I came up with a basket full of wet sheets, pillow cases and large, heavy items to hang on the outside clothesline, he went to get the mail from our box at the edge of the road.

            “Guess what!” he shouted at me, but I had clothespins in my mouth.

            “Hm-m-m-m?” I replied.

            “All the ministers in the Synod received Christmas checks and guess how much it is?”

            “How m-u-m-m-ph?” I guessed, clothespins slipping to the ground.

            “Twenty-five dollars!  And just before Christmas!  We can really use this!”

            “I can really use that,” I thought. 

            The rest of the clothes, the little girl things, the diapers, shirts and blouses were hung on the lines that had been strung in the basement.  They would dry slowly and be ready for folding the next day.  The clothes outside would come in later in the afternoon, frozen stiff, but mostly dry.

           

            The next morning, I planned to go to town to get what I considered necessities for Christmas, and by now the extra $25 was burning the proverbial hole in my pocket.  Perhaps I needed gift wrap or another trinket for the tree.  Cindy wanted the doll.  I was thrilled to be able to go shopping – to spend the money.  Money that was unexpected and free!

            Cindy and I got dressed in our warm winter duds, jumped in the little blue Rambler and took off for town.  My husband was the designated baby-sitter for Sandy.

            We had our treasures (including the coveted doll) safely tucked into the back seat of the car and Cindy and I were on our way back home.  The road was hard surfaced and straight as a string between town and home.  But it had been snowing and Cindy had her little red boots on.  Her snowy boots were supposed to stay on the floor of the car, but being a wiggly little girl she got very close to putting her boots on the seat.  She wanted to sit on her knees so she could see.  (Car seats and seat belts were only a gleam in the eye of some transportation safety bureaucrat at that time.)

            I looked over at her and noticed the activity.  I kept my hands on the wheel, but I said, “Keep your feet on the floor!”  Then I kept looking at her to see to it that she followed my instructions.  My hands on the steering wheel must have followed my eyes on my child.

            I’ll never know where she put her feet because at that instant something was happening to the car.  I felt the difference right away, turned to look out the windshield and pulled my foot off the gas pedal, but by that time we were flying in a blur of white.  The car was moving about 45 to 50 miles per hour, I’m guessing.  I didn’t have time to hit the brakes.  Since I already knew there was nothing I could do to change what would happen, I just held on to the steering wheel and waited for the car to come in for a landing.

            We were down at the bottom of a 15 foot ditch.  The car was covered with snow.  I looked over at Cindy and discovered that she was fine.  She wasn’t even crying.  I was calm -- completely in control of things.  I shoved as hard as I could to get my door open and crawled out of the car pulling Cindy with me.  We looked up and saw the edge of the road about 10 feet above us so we began to crawl.  On hands and knees we scrabble through what seemed like tons of snow.  Finally we reached the top. 

            We stood there, brushing ourselves off.  I really didn’t know what to do then except to start walking and just as I was about to do that, a car pulled up.  I don’t know what kind of car it was or anything about the driver except that he was a neighbor.  He was kind too, because he said he’d take us home.  I don’t remember our conversation, but I suppose I said, “I’m the minister’s wife from Ebenezer Church, just down the road.”

            So we got home, all in one piece.  But the car was missing.  Into the house we went.  My husband was in his study and came out to greet us.  The minute I saw his face, my “control” went out the window and I fell apart in his arms.  I cried, “I ran the car into the ditch!”

            He said, “Is Cindy OK?   Are you OK?”

            I said, “Yes, we’re both OK.”

            He said, “Where is the car.”

            I said, “Well, it’s somewhere in the ditch between here and town!”

            He said, “But, where?  Was it closer to town or closer to home?”

             “I don’t know!” I wailed.

           

            One of our parishioners drove over, picked up my husband and they went looking for our little blue vehicle.  They drove all the way to town and didn’t see it anywhere.  They looked in both ditches, all the way.  No car.  On the way back, they finally spotted a patch of blue in the ditch nearly buried under all the snow.  It was obvious that it wouldn’t be driving anywhere anytime soon.   To get back on the road would take the assistance of a tow truck.

            The tow truck came, pulled the car up on the road and back to a garage where it was thawed out.  There was snow everywhere!  It was packed under the hood, under the car, under the fenders and everywhere a bit of snow could possibly get.  But when he tried the starter, my husband was thrilled to find that no additional problems were in the offing.  It started without further incident.

            Alas, the cost of getting the car back on the road was exactly $25!  The Christmas gift was gone – as well as the money I had spent in town – money we could ill afford.  The next couple of weeks would be slim indeed.  But Cindy had her doll.

            Let this be a lesson for all:  be content with whatever you have………. Phil. 4:11.

Addendum (Twenty years later):

The same doll was taking a bath with Cindy's daughter one day, the plastic stiff and somewhat fragile. But she still worked well for a bath tub mate. Kirsten pulled the doll closer to her and the leg came off. Totally horrified, Kirsten started screaming and screaming and needed to be out of the tub – right now. Cindy got her calmed down and went back to the tub to get the doll. Cindy fixed it in right front of her, but it was never the same again. The doll was relegated to a top shelf in the attic closet where she couldn't be seen.

THE PLEASANT VIEW CEMETERY

On a recent trip to South Dakota, we visited the grave site of my great aunt Johanna Christine Thaden. The cemetery is located southwest of Luverne, Minnesota.

(The death of sister Johanne Catherine (Hannah) on January 18, 1876 at 13 years, eight months and 22 days of age was tragic. It was said that she died of “consumption.” A local carpenter made the coffin. When the pall bearers picked up the coffin, the handles fell off and they dropped the coffin. Following the church service, the coffin was opened and Hannah was lying face down and much of her hair was pulled out. A carrier was dispatched by horseback to a doctor in Luverne. He listened through his stethoscope, but could hear no heart action. The doctor slashed her wrist and no blood came, so he declared her dead. Her tombstone remains in the Pleasant View church cemetery today, easily read and in good shape. It is a beautiful country cemetery.)

Throughout the midwest, churches were started by ministers who "rode the circuit." They packed their Bibles and rode their horses among the struggling rural pioneers, holding services in sod huts for a few families. Eventually, as the rural communities grew and prospered, sufficient money and labor were available to build small churches. 

In 1873 a minister from Jackson, sixty miles to the east, arived in nearby Rock County, Iowa in July despite "bad weather and the great distance to travel," states the Evangelical Minnesota Conference History (p. 73). That pastor was the Rev. William Oehler, who organized a church society consisting of the Bertuleit, Carner, Loose, Miller, Nuerenburg, and Nuffer families. A little later they were joined by Bahnson, Borchert, Hoefer, Mickelson, Munz, Ohs, Rogge, Taubert, Thaden and Zellmer families. In time the Engel, Finke, Oesterle, and Passer families were added.

As a temporary meeting place a large tent of boards, horse blankets, and bed sheets was constructed across the road from the original Loose farm. In 1874 six acres of land at the southwest corner of section 31 of Luverne Township were purchased. Plans to build were delayed for a year because swarms of grasshoppers arrived at harvest time and devoured the cash crop. In 1875 a small church was built on the purchased site. That church was 20 x 30 x 7.

Johanna Christine Thaden - Died - Jan. 18, 1876.

The slim stone on the right is the Thaden stone - hard to find.

Original church site.

Early records reveal little information concerning the cemetery. Much may be gained from reading the names, dates and inscriptions on the monuments. The rigorous life on the prairie took its toll in small children and young women. Many babies did not survive their first year.

The view is just as pleasant today as it was over 100 years ago when pioneers purchased property from the St. Paul & Sioux City Railroad to establish a church and cemetery. Although the church is no longer there, the burial ground continues in respectful silence to harbor the dead.

Most of the above was taken from an information sheet provided by

The Pleasant View Cemetery Association