Poole and Pat's Store - random rambles by Rod

  Early recollections are distinct, but putting dates on them and expressing them with historical accuracy is difficult.  Glenn Stover returned from service in the Army in January of 1946, according to a biography prepared for his retirement from the postal service in 1978? I have no reason to doubt the accuracy of that biography, since Glenn was consulted and had good recall for history recent to him.  Grandma May was the Postmaster at Poole while Dad was in the service; I presume my recollections of the Store in Poole began then.  The Post Office was originally in the front of the store, in the SW corner, immediately to your left as you entered the store from the South door. I took many afternoon naps there in the window or on the mail bags, although I tend to think of those naps as taking place at the rear location, where Dad moved the Post Office, I presume, after he purchased the store back from Tom Morton in 1947.

  I remember Eggleston and Dudley being proprietors, and that was before Tom Morton took over the store in 1946.  Dudley spent lots of time in a rocking chair behind (north) the Post Office. Seems to me E & D brought the cats to the store to combat mice and rats.  The cats were huge tabby cats, weighing 16 to 17 lbs.  Dad had to get rid of them when the "inspector" didn't approve.  I remember seeing the inspector's report; Dad pointed it out to me.  A note at the bottom said "NO CATS."  I could read a bit at the time, and was puzzled, because I mis-read the cursive writing and thought it said "NO EATS."  That must have been later after Dad took over the Store from Tom Morton.
  Dudley later operated the road magnet, a large electro-magnet slung behind a truck, whose purpose was to pick up metal objects from the gravel roads that would pose a threat to tires.  Dudley would dump his load into a tarp in front of the store, and there were curious items to look at.  I assume it was a County operation.  And there was controversy over the operation, as some contended that the magnet would pull up, but not capture, buried chunks of metal that would then become a new hazard.
  Eggleston retired to his home on the Eastern edge of Poole.  He had lots of shop space and garages there, I think he was a carpenter.  He also made the dangdest things like fountains and statues out of concrete and broken glass.  Dad considered buying the Eggleston place and looked it over seriously. This was about 1950-52??

  I have little recollection of Tom Morton as proprietor.  I do remember the family visiting the Mortons in Neleigh, Nebraska; Joy was born in Neleigh in April of 1945 and that visit must have been before Tom took the store in 1946.  Perhaps the trip was in part to inform Tom of the opportunity? (Aunt Ellen Gruber Ingerson [another brilliant mind] indicated that the trip to Neleigh might have been for Joy's baptism, probably May, 1945)

  The train through Poole was quite an event for a child.  It might have been a daily event, and it seems to me a typical train was only about five to seven cars, including the caboose.  Trips to the depot were a big event; I remember the tall-wheeled green and yellow carts, and I assume that mail was conveyed by train.  Aunt Wilma took me on the train once (at age 3 or 4?); I think it was to Pleasanton, although it may have been to Ravenna (it was certainly one or the other!).

  A town event I remember involved a big tent pitched in the vicinity of the later ball diamond, north and east of the store. I can only guess that it was some kind of revival, as surely a medicine show wouldn't have been that large. As a child, I was immensely curious and intrigued.

  According to the biography, Glenn Stover agreed to take over the store from Tom Morton in the Spring of 1947. This agreement probably encouraged the vacation to St. Louis; did Glenn know then that vacations would be nearly impossible in the future?

  The Spring flood of 1947 took out enough of the railway between Ravenna and Pleasanton that it wasn't worth repairing.  I recall monitoring the flood by poking sticks in the side of the roadway approaching the river bottom, then checking them later in the day or the next day. Sometimes the sticks were gone.  When the flood waters subsided, Patti Hughes and I had great fun catching fish stranded in shallow puddles in the mucky river bottom. We'd put them in the watering tanks at the Hughes place.  Although known as the "Spring" flood of 1947, it must have been late Spring, about mid-June as I remember celebrating my 5th birthday in St. Louis on June 8.  Todd has the cancelled check dated June 14.  In 1992, Dad indicated that he utilized the Poole railroad for a single shipment of cream before the flood took out the tracks. In 1993, he indicated that it may have been a single shipment of stock and supplies.  Whatever, the tracks went out shortly after Dad took over the store again in 1947, and he had to resort to hauling cream to town, and began taking delivery of food supplies by truck.

  George Duncan had processed cream, dealing with Fairmont.  Dad switched to Farmer's Union. Eggleston and Dudley continued, although not too successfully.  Dad indicated that Dudley was too lazy to process cream.  Morton also processed cream.
  Dad moved the Post Office to the rear of the store, and installed a checkout counter and deep freeze in the SW corner where the Post Office had been. Cigarettes (20 cents) were above the deep freeze; candy rack to the right of the deep freeze. Between the deep freeze and the candy rack were the cones for ice cream cones and the ice cream dippers and the tub of water for rinsing the dipper. Wonder if it was refreshed regularly?  Everyone seemed to survive.  There was a glass slabbed Toledo scales, with a rotating slide rule that would allow reading a total price for the given weight on a horizontal scale allowing numerous different prices per pound.  You had to do tricky things for expensive items, like add two columns for a 63 cent per pound item, add the 50 cent price to the 13 cent price.  And there was an adding machine with a printed tape that accompanied the orders when completed. Orders were recorded on little yellow tablets, about a dozen items per page, with carbon copies kept if the order was charged.
  The biography indicated that Dad converted the store to self-serve as opposed to clerk-filled, but many patrons were accustomed to leaving an order, and that became one of my jobs, probably not at age 5, but I'm sure I was "filling" orders by age 8.

  I remember when the original meat coolers went out, accompanied by some stench other than spoiled foodstuff, I think it was kind of an emergency. Modern replacements were found (in Aurora?) and the old coolers were hauled across the street to a handy dumping place, the site of a grain elevator that had been torn down. It seems to me the sliding doors of the old cooler were salvaged and maybe sold, but I remember breaking up the cork insulation from the old coolers, and it stunk just like the store when the coolers failed. The new cooler was placed just North of the main checkout counter. The cooler held mainly lunch meat, summer sausage, chipped beef, pressed ham, and other cuts of meat and cheese. There was a milk section at the floor level nearest the checkout counter, and a soda pop section at the other end. That was an early job; stocking the pop, being careful to bring the cold pop to the front, lest a patron get a warm one! The counter behind the cooler was for chopping and slicing. Dad would tell of some predecessor, perhaps Mr. Anderson, who intentionally embarrassed some female patron by putting a stick of salami in his pants, then dramatically whipping it out and chopping it off saying "Damn thing is always getting in the way!" I recall when Dad set up a female customer, pretending to convince her of the advantages of a certain brand of toilet tissue by reading the label and quoting that it had 1000 shits as opposed to...then oops, sorry, that's sheets !
  I spent many idle hours in the store. I guess I inherited a sense of humor from my folks. A few times, I'd carefully open (so as to not crack the shell) some walnuts, eat the meat and replace it with a little note like "ha, ha" or something, glue the shell back together and return it to the bulk bag. More than one customer returned the nuts to the store, and I don't remember getting in trouble for it.

  Bread was delivered daily to the store by Debus, who left a standing order in the breadbox at some wee hour in the morning. The order was mostly sandwich bread, some cinnamon rolls, and a few twinky type things. The bread was indeed fresh; I swear it was still warm when the store opened. The aroma was distinct and unique. The breadbox sat out front, made of sheet metal, about 3 feet square and about 2 feet deep, with an external wooden frame. Don't recall any bread theft, even though it was there for the taking at least an hour before the store opened at 8:00 a.m. Another job was to "bring in the bread." I'd stack the loaves on one arm, then carry a load with both arms extended. It was so fresh, the bottom loaves could be squashed, and I'm sure many loads were spilled.  The bread rack was to the right as you entered from the south, some of it put out in the bay window on the right.
  I’d occasionally set up my own little store out front behind the breadbox, attempting to sell mulberries, chokecherries or elderberries harvested from the Loup. The mulberries never sold, but Minnie Perry would buy the elderberries.

The South Loup River, looking west, about a half-mile west of Poole

Ah, the Loup. Many memories. Clothes shed under the bridge. Skinny-dipping. Set lines for catfish. Hand-over hand on the rebars under the bridge. Running the top of the bridge railing. Building a raft. Sinking the home bath tub. Real Tom Sawyer experiences.

  Canned goods could spoil.  A bulging can was treated with care and gigerly carried across the street to the dump and flung at the concrete jumble, remnants of the bowels of the long gone grain elevator, in hopes that it would explode or at least create a colorful splatter.

  Food delivery was an event.  Early on, there was Blackbird brand, maybe it was Nash-Finch?, but what I remember is "Our Family Fine Foods."  A large truck would come, and would occasionally smash into the corrugated roof over the sidewalk, leaving a crumpled autograph. Actually, the aluminum eaves served as kind of an early warning system; the crunching sound came well before any structural or frame damage was done.  Numerous boxes of foodstuff was rolled down from the truck on ball-bearing roller skate wheel tracks.  The challenge was to stay ahead of the trucker, who was shoving boxes down the track.  The boxes were then carried to the "back room" or placed in front of the display "islands" where the shelves would be stocked.  Again, the delivery truck had a unique aroma; probably from fruits and vegetables. Bananas were packed in crates in selzer? paper and in sturdy crates; would like to have one now!  Banana crates were recycled by returning them on the next trip.  Apples, oranges, peaches (flats) and grapefruit (Blue Goose) came in crates that were used for kindling.  We didn't know they'd be collector's items in a mere forty years.  Oddly enough, produce and fruit were not displayed in a cooler, but out on racks, although excess supplies were placed in the "walk in" cooler in the feed, salt, eggs & oil "back room" behind the cream station.  The fruit, particularly grapes, would attract swarms of gnats.  Mom canned a good deal of produce that was on the verge of spoiling.

  Did the Mortons live in the back of the store while Tom ran the store? Bernice and the kids (Susan born September, 1946) lived there after Dad took over the store.  (see /Patstore_WSnell.htm) I remember visiting them, or rather the fence and gate around the cistern area on the East side of the store.  Tom took a "vacation" from the family for a while after selling the store.  How long were they there?  I remember Bernice living in Ravenna, one block east of Safeway later, but don't think Tom was around.  Then they moved to Surprise, Nebr.  Then was it after that Dad rented to Ed Pool and wife?  The back of the store was a residence before it became a stock room.  So I think Bernice & kids were there only briefly. Or had Ed Pool lived there before Mortons?  Dang.  Where had Ed lived before renting the back of the store?  I remember visiting the Pools back there.  There was always something I wanted in the middle of a big table; I think it was some kind of hard candy, maybe lemon drops.  Ed would come out into the store occasionally.  Very old.  He left some things behind; I have some of his carpentry tools, antique wood planes.

  Any event that drew people was a big event for the store.  Pepsi & peanut sales soared.  One repeated event was a merchandise auction that would come in during the summer and run for more than two nights.  Lights were strung across the street south and west of the store to the old implement business foundation slab.  There they’d auction merchandise.  Toasters, mixers, utensils, and gobs of other stuff.  Don't know whether it was inferior or stolen or what, but there would be 50 to 100 people show up for the evening auction, sitting in folding chairs or on the foundation walls.  The "auction" was a gimmick; they'd indicate that a particular item was the last of its kind in stock, but the next night there'd be another like it. Also, they would refuse to sell above a certain minimum. People would come to the store for refreshments. Pepsi & peanuts (the peanuts were poured in the bottle to create a salty, crunchy “head”) were a standard item, but ice cream cones and root beer floats were popular, as well.

The Cream Room...
  Dad was a Farmer's Union "agent" for cream. Farmers would bring their fresh cream in a variety of containers, usually five or three-gallon cans. The can was weighed and recorded; the empty can weighed later, and the difference in weight used in a formula that included the fat content after testing. Dad sometimes issued checks in payment for the cream, but usually, the value was just applied as a credit to their account. A true "trade." Testing the cream included stirring with a glass rod, dipping out a small sample, somehow getting an exact amount into one of those little bottles with the long neck with a graduated scale and an oval of buffed area for writing some identification. Ah, yes, a little white balancing scale with tiny cream-can shaped brass weights on one side, the test bottle on the other. Dad spent hours with one foot up on the cream-can rack, dipping a slender glass rod into the test bottle to draw out a bit of cream to get the scales to balance. Then a precise amount of some testing fluid was added, measured in drops from an eye-dropper. Then into the centrifuge for mixing and whirling. A reading from the scale on the long neck somehow determined the fat content for that batch of cream, and that determined the amount of the check.  
  The batch of cream was poured into regular 10-gallon cans that had been washed and drying on the rack. The farmer's can was washed, racked to dry, then set outside where he'd pick it up sometime. The can washer looked like a drinking fountain with a water storage tank and double handles about two feet long sticking out; one for operation by hand, the other by foot. Somehow, the water was heated; I guess it had its own little kerosene burner? You'd place the can upside-down on the bowl and give it a few squirts.
The water drained into a slop can, which had to be emptied from time to time.
 There was no fresh water supply at the store! There was a cistern with a hand pump, but I guess that water wasn't trusted. We carried water from the house in a cylindrical 5-gallon can (wonder where it went?). That was another of my jobs, and an excuse to learn to drive the '48 (?) Willys jeep wagon long before licensing age.  The cans weren't really clean; the washing water wasn't very hot.
The cans had a peculiar odor that would sometimes make you gag; a metallic sour cream odor.
If the cream wasn't kept cool, it would tend to ferment, or get "ripe." If it was ripe when Dad received it, he had the option to refuse it. Cans of ripe cream were cooled with water and gunny-sacks in a large (4x4 ?) tin pan in hopes the lid would stay on until it could be taken to town.
The accumulated cream would be taken to Ravenna twice a week. Dad used the Willy's wagon, then a '52 Ford Ranch Wagon, then later a jeep wagon. Never a pickup truck! As a licensed teen, I would gladly haul the cream to town on a Saturday night just to get to town on a Saturday night! I'd frequently have a date for 10:00 or 11:00 p.m.! A 10-gallon can of cream weighed 85+ lbs.; I developed good strength tossing them from the vehicle up on the railroad cart. I wore gloves to avoid the metallic smell, but it still hurt like blazes when you'd smash a thumb against another can or while edge-rolling the can into place. We must have hauled empty cans back, and there were times when empties weren't available, requiring another trip.

Some customers...
  Lee Behrendt, while waiting for his order to be filled or his cream to be processed, would delight in stacking some items under the Toledo scales such that it would register only so much. Dad would be talking as usual about some issue, while he was piling lunch meat on the scales. Eventually, he would discover he’d been had. And Lee would purchase the whole pile, regardless.
  Adolf Castle, a huge man with crusty elbows. He usually shopped late on Saturday nights looking for a bargain in spoiled fruit, knowing it wouldn’t survive until Monday. “For the hogs.” Dad said it wasn’t for the hogs, if he had any at all. I remember Adolf doing the same thing in Ravenna when I worked one summer (1959) at the Safeway store.
  Wes Heapy couldn’t walk, but he had massive arms that gave him some mobility.  He would sit in his car in front of the store, usually with the car door open, and probably listening to a Yankee baseball game on the car radio. Wes was a large man and his car keeled to the left. The first car I remember him driving had doors that opened from the front.... a late 1930s Chevrolet? There were tobacco stains drooling down from the driver’s window. He replaced that car with a light green ‘51 or ‘52 Plymouth; I remember thinking that he should have chosen brown to match the tobacco drool. When he was ready to go, he’d have a list of supplies to fetch, and the exchange would be in his car. The supplies usually included chewing tobacco (Red Man?), and he’d leave behind a splotchy puddle of tobacco juice.

Saturday nights...
  Saturdays were big days. Farmers would leave their cream and eggs, and an order, then head for Ravenna for other shopping (or the Cozy Tavern). The whole family would spend the evening helping out, and have a dinner of soup and sandwiches at the back of the store next to the Post Office and near the stove.

The back of the store...
  The original stove was a pot-belly sitting on a metal protective pad and was the only source of heat for the entire building. There was a constant supply of wood and cardboard from fruit crates and canned goods boxes. The pot-belly was later moved back to the stock room and replaced with a propane burner with fan. The top was hot enough to warm soup. I remember the pot-belly getting so hot that the sides would glow and readily ignite a piece of kindling. It’s a wonder that the store didn’t burn down years earlier!
  The stock rooms were a delight to explore. In addition to store stock, there was a pump organ (now in the hands of Kerwin), an old Edison victrola (Rod), and boxes of carpenter’s tools, apparently left behind by Ed Pool.
  The stock room was particularly interesting late in the year, as Dad had a running contract with the Ravenna Bethlehem Lutheran Church to supply bags of Christmas goodies. Each bag contained an apple, walnuts, peanuts, hard candies, chocolate peanut clusters and chocolate stars. I think Dad tried to hide the chocolates, but I had plenty of time to snoop. And sneak and gobble.

  Near the back of the store was an odd door leading to a “dumb waiter,” odd cylindrical shelving that could be lowered below ground level. I assume that its original purpose was to keep milk products and other perishables cool. I knew it only as a junk closet.
  A lean-to housed the dumb waiter; it had a window opening to the back of the store near the cistern. It was some time in the mid-1950s that Dad noted that some cigarettes were missing and suspected that this window had been used for entry by a thief. Dad rigged a trap that would dump a perched bucket of oil on an unsuspecting intruder. The trap worked and the incident became Dad’s favorite story to tell for at least forty years. One of the Krejci boys had been breaking in for cigarettes. As Dad told it, the thief explained the grimy oil in his hair with the story that there had been an oil can throwing fight with the neighbor kids. (Right. In the wee hours of the morning!) Mrs. Krejci (Laura) “stormed” down to the store upon opening, and huffily demanded, in defense of her son, that Dad clean up the oil dump as it was a hazard. Dad showed her the trap and presented a bill for the missing cigarettes.

Scents:
  The breadbox. Fresh bread was delivered before dawn. It was always warm and limp. Our job was to brink it in to the bread rack.
  The stock delivery truck had a unique scent from the combination of bananas and other fruit. Oranges and grapefruit (Blue Goose?) came in baskets, peaches in “flats,” and bananas in coffin-shaped boxes filled with shredded paper.
  Sweeping compound. A nightly chore was to spread oil-soaked sawdust on the wooden floors. The morning chore was to sweep it up, catching most of the previous day’s collection of dust. The compound was colored blue or a reddish rust color, which was bright enough so as to not miss any.
  Cream cans had an unpleasant odor; that of sour cream or the distinct metallic odor of stale water.
  The walk in cooler was used to store eggs in 3-dozen egg flats; 48 (?) dozen to the case. Eggs had a peculiar odor.
  Salt blocks, feed, kerosene, oil.
  Mail bags. A musty smell that I was well aquainted with from napping on the bags.
  The two-holer in back; it was a real stinker.

Conclusion ??..
  How does one conclude a random ramble of memories? I only wish that I had more appreciated the unique experience of Pat’s Store, and that I had been more intellectual about recording observations. I’d have gathered enough material to write several short stories of Poole in the past.

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