Back in the early days of our country, most folks were, to some degree, engaged in farming. The Founding Fathers and our early Presidents were no exception; most of them owned farms or plantations from which they earned the bulk of their incomes, as public service paid very little in those days and there were no pensions.

One of these worthies, James Madison, was the principal author of the Constitution, served in Congress and as Secretary of State under President Thomas Jefferson, and then was elected the fourth President of the United States, leading the nation during the War of 1812. Madison had inherited his father's estate, a 2750-acre tobacco plantation near Orange, Virginia, that was (and still is) called Montpelier.

After the end of his Presidency in 1817, Madison retired to Montpelier and took a keen interest in his crops and livestock as he tried to restore the long-neglected plantation to a profitable operation.

In 1818, Madison addressed the Albemarle Agricultural Society, of which he was then the president, on the subject of "Why Farmers Should Use Oxen Rather than Horses." He started out by saying, "I cannot but consider it as an error in our husbandry, that oxen are too little used in place of horses."

 
A span of Milking Shorthorn oxen named Herschel and Walker and owned by Tillers International of Scotts, Michigan, pull a plow at the 2013 Horse Progress Days in Clare, Michigan. (Photo by Sam Moore) 

The complete address is too wordy to quote in full, besides being written in the flowery, over-blown (at least to modern ears) style of the early 19th century, so I'll paraphrase the main points as follows:

• If the expenses associated with using horses or oxen are compared, the ox is the clear winner. The ox can be fed only grass and hay, while the horse requires a lot of grain, usually corn, which requires much labor to grow and "greatly exhausts the land" as well.


• My best estimate is that more than half the farm's corn crop is consumed by horses, and by getting free from this consumption, half of the labor and wear on the land would be saved, as the task of growing the pasturage and hay necessary for the oxen is much easier and less expensive.


• But won't the ox at hard labor require as much grain as the horse? Certainly much less, if any. From my own observation, where the work of the ox is neither constant nor severe, I say that plenty of good grass or hay will suffice without grain. But, if the work is hard, I feel that two teams of oxen, each at work half the time and at rest the other half, might be kept in good condition on only plenty of grass and hay. But, as this double set of oxen would double the supply of beef, tallow, and leather, their double consumption of grass and hay is off-set.


• Objections to the ox are: 1. That he is less tractable than the horse. 2. That he doesn't stand heat as well. 3. That he doesn't do well singly, as in cultivating between the rows of corn. 4. That he walks slower. 5. That he's not capable of road work, as carrying farm produce to market.


• The first objection is mistaken; the ox is more docile than the horse. Any "intractability," where it exists, is caused by poor training and lack of use. The second objection, too, has little foundation. The ox is as adaptable to different climates as is the horse, and they are being used successfully in warm countries such as Greece, Italy, India, and the hottest parts of the West Indies. The third objection, also, is not a solid one. The ox can, when properly harnessed, be used singly between the corn rows as well as the horse. As to the fourth objection, it is true the ox walks slower than a horse, although not all that much. Oxen are well chosen for their form and are usually not worked after they are about 8 years old, when they are best for beef. Because of this, oxen may be kept to nearly as quick a step as the horse. May I say a step quicker than many of the horses we see at work, who, because of old age, or poor condition due to the costliness of the food they require, have lost the advantage of speed.


• The last objection has the most weight. The short legs and cloven hoofs of the ox are a disadvantage in deep mud, or on frozen or hard paved roads. If the distance to market is short and when bad weather can be avoided, and when the amount of field work far outweighs the road work required, oxen are nearly as good as horses. When extensive road work is necessary, shoeing oxen may be considered, as the cost of shoeing oxen is nearly the same as horses and will help if the oxen are used in rough, frozen fields.


• In some situations, the savings realized from using oxen instead of horses may balance the hiring of transportation of produce to market. The cost of such transportation plus the value of the grass and hay consumed by the oxen is balanced against the value of the corn, amounting to one half the crop, and of the grass and hay consumed by the horses. The value of the oxen when slaughtered for beef must also be considered.

After making his case for oxen over horses, Madison closed his address with the following: "The mule seems to be, in point of economy between the ox and the horse; preferable to the latter, inferior to the former; but so well adapted to particular services, that he may find a proper place on many farms. He is liable to the objection which weighs most against the ox. He is less fitted than the horse for road service."

I can't imagine why Madison felt the mule wasn't suited for "road service," but that's what he said.

Well, according to the USDA Planting Report issued, May 13, 2013, the corn belt as a whole has been able to plant 28% of the planned corn acreage, with my state of Ohio at 46%. At this same time last year, 83% of Ohio’s corn was in and the corn-growing belt as a whole was at 85%, but 2012 was a year with an unusually early spring.

It seems that when I was a kid, we routinely didn’t begin planting until near the end of May. Of course we had to first plow under last year’s hayfields, then disc it a couple of times, and finally harrow it with a spike tooth before the soil was considered fit to plant corn. With a 2-bottom plow, 7-foot double disc, and a 3-section spike tooth, soil preparation took a while.

Our old No. 919 John Deere, 2-row, horse drawn corn planter didn’t put the seed in the ground very fast, either and I remember many years planting corn well into June.

To get straight, evenly spaced corn rows in those days depended upon the skill of the driver and the planter’s row markers. Those row markers! I’ve told the story of when I was just a little shaver of four or five and Dad was planting with a team, turned at the end of the field and dropped the disc row marker right on top of my head. Of course, I shouldn’t have been where I was and, although there was enough blood to make my mother faint when she saw me come screaming, there was no permanent damage except for the scar.

After the horses were sold, we shortened the tongue of the planter and pulled it with the tractor. When I was old enough to drive the tractor, Dad rode the planter and he often had to yell at me because my mind would wander from the task at hand and the tractor would wander off the mark.

After a while, a 3-point hitch was welded up for the planter and corn planting became a one-man operation. I don’t remember the row markers being used after this so by this time I guess I was old enough to make straight rows without prodding.

Last spring, I had the opportunity to see how a larger-scale farmer plants corn in the modern, tech-savvy world. Martig Farms, near Salem, Ohio, where I live, puts in more than 2,000 acres of corn each year and they were hard at it when I was there.

The large field where they were working had been in wheat the previous year and had been chisel plowed in the fall. A Cat Challenger tractor was pulling a 36-foot wide Krause field cultivator and a Great Plains seed-bed conditioner with open basket crumbler rollers, ahead of the planter, leaving the soil in excellent condition for planting.

A John Deere 1770, 16 row planter set for 30-inch rows was doing the planting behind a John Deere 8320T tracked tractor and I rode in the tractor cab for about an hour, getting my first look at GPS planting.

Remember how I said that back in the day the only assurance of straight, evenly spaced rows was the driver and row markers? Well, this planter had row markers but they were never used, and amazingly the driver never touched the tractor’s steering wheel while crossing the field. In spite of this, the rows were arrow-straight and each pass was spaced exactly 30 inches from the previous one.

This was accomplished through the miracle of GPS (Global Positioning System), which I don’t really understand. Briefly, there are a number of satellites, owned by the U.S. Government and circling the earth while continually transmitting a signal giving the satellite’s position and time. A receiver in the Martig’s tractor cab grabbed the signals from several of these satellites and, by means of a computer program and other wizard-like stuff, kept the tractor and planter in a straight line and in exactly the correct position to assure no missed or overlapped spots.

At each end of the field, the driver raised the planting units, clicked a button to turn off the GPS control and manually turned the rig on the headland into position for the next pass. He clicked on the GPS again, let go of the steering wheel and the tractor was automatically steered a little left or right into the precise position for the next sixteen rows, where it stayed with no further driver input.

Back and forth we went across the field at a steady 4.5 MPH, planting about 15 acres each hour. I think that on our hilly Pennsylvania farm, the largest field we had was maybe 17 or so acres and I’m sure it took at least a couple of days to plant the thing.

Actually, the Martig’s 16-row planter is small compared to some of the behemoths out there; a 1260 planter from Case-IH is available in a 36-row, 30-inch spacing configuration – of course, it costs more than a quarter of a million dollars to buy – a far cry from our old John Deere 2-row that undoubtedly cost less than $50 new. Think of it! With one of these babies, around 50 acres could be planted every hour!

My grandfather, and even my father, would be astonished at the progress that has been made in agriculture, and they would be appalled at the cost of the equipment, fuel, seed and fertilizer necessary to plant crops today.

I can hardly believe it myself.

Probably twenty years ago, I was prevailed upon by my (now deceased) cousin Peg Townsend, to record my childhood memories. At first I was reluctant, but finally I did it. The following ramblings are excerpted from those memories, and they concern what we ate on our farm during the 1940s.

Before the war, Mom made root beer, which we all loved. She bought Hires (I think) Root Beer Extract, mixed it with sugar and water, and sealed the concoction in Mason jars that were stored on a shelf in the cellar. Sometimes a jar would burst because of the carbonation, but most of them turned into excellent root beer. Unfortunately, due to wartime sugar rationing, she had to stop brewing her root beer.

For the same reason, we stopped using sugar in our iced tea; I still prefer my iced tea unsweetened.

Even though we had our own milk, Mom seldom churned butter. It probably just took too much time; once in a while she'd give me a half-gallon jar of milk and tell me to shake it until it turned to butter. It took a long time and a lot of shaking. We mostly ate oleomargarine on our bread. In those days, because of the dairy lobby, they weren't allowed to sell oleo that was yellow colored. The oleo was dead white and came with a small cellophane packet of orange food coloring that you could mix in it if you wanted. Sometimes Mom would go to the trouble of mixing it, or make either my sister or me do it, but most of the time we spread our bread with white oleo. I don't think it bothered us.

My sister and I ate a lot of what we called milk toast for breakfast. It was homemade bread toasted and buttered, and covered with sugar and milk. Our favorite snack was a slice of bread with oleo and sugar.

We also ate warm rolled oats, probably in the winter, and dry breakfast cereals with milk and sugar. I remember Wheaties and Jack Armstrong, the "All-American Boy." We ate Shredded Wheat, and some kind of a Ralston cereal that was promoted by Tom Mix and his "TM-Bar" ranch. I saved box tops and, when I could either save up or con Mom out of the 10, 15, or 25 cents needed, I sent away for some of the great offers that were touted on the backs of those cereal boxes. I had a Jack Armstrong pedometer, a round metal gadget, about 3 inches in diameter, painted blue with a yellow dial, that you hooked over the top of your shoe or sock and it recorded how many miles you walked. I had at least one Tom Mix pocket knife that had the red and white checked colors of the Ralston Purina Company, along with the brand mark of the TM-Bar Ranch on each side. I also remember a "Secret Decoder Ring" put out by someone, probably Little Orphan Annie.

My favorite meal was meat, potatoes and gravy, and Mom's homemade bread or rolls. I wasn't much for vegetables, although I know I ate some of them, and we had lots of corn and tomatoes from our large garden. I would pull the soft inside out of a fresh, homemade roll, smear butter all over it, and gobble it down. Then I'd stuff the outer crust with meat, or whatever, and eat that. Really good!

I loved hot cakes. I had a child's book called "Little Black Sambo," in which the small hero ate stacks and stacks of hot cakes and Mom teased me about being just like him. She used a long black griddle that covered two lids on the coal range, and on which she could probably make 5 or 6 cakes at a time. After everyone had eaten their fill, there was usually a cake or two left over which our dog really enjoyed.

In the spring we often ate dandelion greens. Mom would pick the tender young dandelion leaves over which she'd pour a concoction of vinegar, crumbled bacon, and hot bacon grease. She also fixed leaf lettuce the same way.

We raised a lot of strawberries; several of the neighbors paid to pick them for themselves and we picked some for sale, while we ate tons of them while they were in season. I didn't enjoy picking strawberries, but I loved to eat 'em. Mom sometimes made shortcake, but most of the time she just mashed the berries with sugar and I ate them with bread and butter.

For Sunday dinner we frequently had pork and baked beans, probably out of a can, I suppose because Mom could put them in the oven before church and they'd be ready when we got home.

In the summer, she'd sometimes pack a picnic lunch and after church we'd take off on a long afternoon drive, stopping along the road somewhere to eat. I only remember the destination of one of these drives; we went to the Allegheny County Airport near Pittsburgh and got to see a plane or two take off. I think we also once went to see Brady's Leap on the Allegheny River northwest of Butler, PA.

We always carried our lunches to school in a tin lunch box with a Thermos bottle. I can't remember what Mom put into the Thermos but I remember I often managed to drop mine and break the glass liner, much to my mother's chagrin.

My favorite lunch sandwich was Velveeta cheese with Heinz brown mustard and leaf lettuce. We usually had carrots, celery, or cucumber sticks in the fall. Once, I was eating a cucumber and one of my small schoolmates, who didn't speak too plainly, said, "Hey! Where'd you dit dat tutumber, tid?"

It's fun to write down your childhood memories – I recommend that everyone do it. Not only will it bring back a lot of memories, but it will afford your kids and grandkids a lot of amusement.  

Detail from a 1940s magazine ad for the shredded wheat breakfast cereal made by the National Biscuit Company. We ate this with milk and sugar, although we usually tore the biscuits into chunks first. 

Here are some more Lazy Farmer rhymes from my collection. Enjoy.

6 February, 1954  

Mirandy once was fond of pets, but with each passing year she gets less patient with the mischief that comes nat’ral to a dog or cat. For instance, Fido used to be okay with her as well as me; but now a harmless little trick will make her grab her broom or stick and use a thousand words to say the pooch must go without delay. The poor mutt might do nothing more than scatter knitting on the floor or barely get a snarling start at pulling her rag rug apart before she’s screaming into sight demanding that he be shot tonight.

There’s no use arguing, of course, I’d only be unheard and hoarse; so I just nod my head and smile and send the dog to hide awhile; Mirandy soon calms down and then the pup can show his head again. But even if she stayed irate, I’d never follow her mandate; why, Fido is this man’s best friend, he’ll stay right here until the end. That hound’s the only person here from whom I never need to fear a sassy word or plaintive guff about how I don’t work enough; he’s treated me, throughout his life, much kindlier than has my wife.  

18 October, 1952  

I never have quite understood why ev’ry man, however good, is made to suffer pain like sin because of whiskers on his chin. I’ve asked the preacher why it is and all he says is, “Well, gee whiz…” You’d think that Adam was the one who swiped that bright-red Jonathan; by rights it ought to be the girls who have long beards to match their curls, but all the suffering they do is listening while me and you stand in a pool of blood and soap and try our level best to cope with stubborn stubble made of wire and wind up with a face like fire.

A thousand men have spent their lives, no doubt without help from their wives, a-tryin’ to invent some tool for making shaves both quick and cool. But I’m afraid I’ll have to state their progress ain’t been very great; in fact, they’re farther off the track, instead of forward they’ve gone back. The old straight-edge had this appeal: You could at least use it by feel; I’ll swear it meant a lot less woe than either mower or a hoe. And yet a plain blade also slips to slice your nose or cheeks or lips, so all you do is stand and scrape, then grab for some adhesive tape.  

21 April, 1951  

You’ll never catch me looking sour about a little April shower; I never feel regret at all when gentle rain begins to fall, because I figure that I git a double benefit from it. For one thing, all those raindrops mean that things will soon be turnin’ green and winter’s bare, depressing sight will disappear ‘most over night. The smell of ozone in the air foretells days that are warm and fair, with tree buds poppin’ out all o’er and flowers bloomin’ by the score, with pastures carpeting the land while small grain grows to beat the band.

But there is still another gain provided by an April rain which tickles me ten times or so as much as that it makes things grow. Whenever ground is soaked and wet, why then, of course, I cannot set upon a tractor seat all day and work my happiness away. As soon as it begins to storm, whenever puddles start to form, it means that I can quit right then and rest until it’s dry again. So I say, let the rain pour down, why should I growl or fret or frown? If crops ain’t in, that is no crime—it means less work at harvest time.  

5 April, 1952  

Most folks have never recognized that of the things man has devised, not many cause so little harm as Sunday dinner on the farm. Of course, I know you understand that there’s no vittles quite so grand as those your mother, then your wife, have fixed on Sunday all your life. No boy or girl can ever grow up on a farm and still not know the special pleasure that comes when the Sabbath bustle starts again, or when they sit, all scrubbed and neat, at linen-covered board to eat—with “comp’ny” plates and silverware—the best food you’ll find anywhere.

But there’s another merit, too, that maybe hasn’t dawned on you: Except for Sunday, when you must dress up until you think you’ll bust in coat, white shirt and choking tie, perhaps you might grow old and die and still not know how un-sublime such rigging would be all the time. I’ll bet you’ve never stopped and thought ‘bout those poor devils who are caught in city jobs and have to wear their fancy duds ‘most ev’rywhere. That’s something I could never do, and so a Sunday’s useful to remind me once again that I can go six days without a tie.  

I have an issue of the The Ohio Farmer paper from August 14, 1858, in which are some interesting tidbits:  

“Mr. James Hall, of Atwater, Portage County, sold recently 100 mutton sheep for the sum of $800.”  

“G.C. Beardsley, of Trumbull County, has sent us a sample of wool from a Spanish buck that he purchased in Vermont in 1856. He writes, ‘the fleece weighed in the dirt, twelve pounds; washed, it weighed ten pounds.’”  

“The New York State Agricultural Society is offering a $250 premium for a machine that will plow satisfactorily by steam power. One application has been received.”  

“Accident - On July 29th, Mr. John Bratton, while mowing on the farm of H.C. Belden, in Howland, incautiously stepped in front of the mowing machine, and his leg was cut off just above the ankle. Mr. Bratton is a very industrious, steady young man, and his misfortune is to be regretted.”  

Dr. M.L. Wright, of Cleveland, advertised his newly patented porcelain false teeth, which he claims are held in place “without the aid of Metallic Plates, Clasps, or Springs.”  

D.D. Duty, of Cleveland, “takes pleasure in announcing that he can furnish a casket, of his own manufacture, that is highly ornamented, with a thick plate glass running the entire length of the top. A full length view can be had with ease.”  

“CLEVELAND INFIRMARY. There are in this Institution, as a charge upon the city, a number of boys and girls, including infants, whom the Directors will bind to service until they come of age, with suitable persons, upon their producing testimonials from the Clergyman, Magistrate, or Trustees of their town, that they are suitable persons to have the care of, and bring up such children. Application may be made to: R. Hussey, Acting Director, Cleveland, Ohio.”  

Wyandts, Putman & Son, from Milton, in Stark County, Ohio, offered the Pitt’s Grain Separator and Thresher, with Carey’s Double Grand Horsepower, which they claimed to manufacture. The ad says: “They will thresh and clean, in the most perfect manner, from 300 to 600 bushels of grain per day, and are without any doubt THE threshing machine of the country.”  

Under the heading, “Anecdotes and Fun,” are the following gems:

“Why is a chicken sitting on a fence like a cent?  Answer - The head is on one side and the tail on the other.”  

“A duel was fought in Mississippi, last month, by S. Knott and A.W. Shott. The result was Knott was shot and Shott was not. In these circumstances, we would rather have been Shott than Knott.”  

Seth A. Bushnell and William P. Hudson, of Hartford, Trumbull County, Ohio, advertised themselves as, “Breeders of Durham Cattle, Jacks and Jennets, South Down Sheep, Chester, White and Suffolk Pigs.”  

On the front page is a letter from a man named James Johnston about conditions he observed as he travelled through Ohio during 1857. Mr. Johnston writes in part:

“In travelling through your state last summer, I seldom saw a barn for hay or grain, or even shelter for cattle. This I think very bad economy. There is a very great waste of grain from letting it stand in shocks. I was told it stood thus for months, until the farmers got time to thresh it, and then they generally took the straw away from the machine by horse-rakes, and left it laying in heaps on the fields to rot.  

“The hay put in barns would be a great deal more profitable to feed than when put into stacks. I think barn hay is worth one-half more than stack hay, but not when put up in such small stacks as I saw in Ohio, the majority containing not over two to three tons. If farmers would put from ten to thirty tons in a stack, there would be much less waste. If the hay was cut earlier, and put in large stacks, it would be much better; but houses for both hay and grain soon pay for their cost.  

“Their poor cattle and sheep have no shelter in winter, but have to stand out in all storms, and often to lay in snow, with the thermometer at from 20 above to 20 below zero. This is very unprofitable to the owners, and also unmerciful to the dumb brutes.  

“If they would erect good sheds for their sheep and cattle, and barns for their grain and hay, then they might keep their stock as it should be kept, and make large quantities of valuable manure. I did not see a manure heap in Ohio, only where the cattle had stood and been fed, and the manure left there to waste. 

“I read in the Cincinnatus, that large sums have been expended in Ohio in building schoolhouses and churches, which is laudable as a state without education and religion cannot prosper. Still, with the temperature at zero, and my cattle and sheep exposed to the pitiless storm, I don’t think I could sit very comfortable in a church, no matter how elegant and warm, even while hearing the most eloquent preacher.”  

Sounds as though Mr. Johnston wasn’t much impressed by the way farmers in Ohio did things. It doesn’t say, but Johnston was probably from the east, where farmers had had a lot more years to improve their farmsteads with barns and other amenities. In 1858, Ohio was only about five short decades from being a part of the western frontier.

I hope you enjoyed this brief glimpse of Ohio farm life on the eve of the Civil War.

Illustrations: Two new farm implements advertised in the 1858 Ohio Farmer.

For the past few weeks the media has been hyper-ventilating about the U.S. Postal Service discontinuing Saturday deliveries. Hundreds of small post offices have been closed and more are on the list. This is about one of those.

Erma Dickey Wonstetler was appointed assistant Postmaster of the tiny U.S. Post Office in Signal, Ohio, in 1906, at the same time as her father, Jefferson John Dickey, was appointed Postmaster. She served as his assistant until he retired in 1940, and then succeeded him. The Post Office served about 200 customers and was located in a small general store owned and managed by Mr. Dickey, his daughter, and her husband, Alvin Wonstetler.

A year after her appointment as Postmistress, Mrs. Wonstetler wrote an account of her typical day which she titled, "Highlights of a Country Postmistress in (a) Village Store," which I've excerpted here.

Highlights of a Country Postmistress in (a) Village Store

It is 7:30 A.M. when I throw open the doors of the Post Office and Store for the daily routine.

In walks Chuck, "Give me a 3-cent stamp and a pound of baloney. I want the baloney sliced thin and I want one of them there big stamps, 'cause Mom wants this letter to go in a hurry and I think the big stamp is the fastest. Don't you?"

Then Bruce speaks up, "I'd like a dimes worth of Cartwheels and a Money Order. Mother put the money in the envelope and said you'd know how to fix it. Be sure it goes on this bus, 'cause she is getting me a football and I need it, you bet."

Then in comes Helen, saying, "Mike wants this letter C.O.D. and give me three Air Mail stamps." "But, Helen, what is the amount of C.O.D. you want?" "Oh, I don't know. Mike said you'd know." (I didn't) consequently, Helen had to make another attempt with her letter.

Then Paul says, "Aunt Erma, give me the keys to the basement and I'll fix your furnace while you write a money order for my Dad and be sure and get it in this mail."

They all act as if there never would be another mail.

Soon in comes Don on his bicycle to catch the school bus. He is about crying, for a dog chased him, threw him off his bike and tore the knee out of his pants. He says, "Oh, Aunt Erma, would you sew up my pants. I can't go to school like this." So, in all my rush I fixed Don's pants and sent him to school happy.

Now it is time to get the 8:23 mail out and ready to sort the incoming. Then I hear such as:

"What? No Plain Dealer this morning? That same thing happened about four months ago. It's surely some mail service. I'll bet it's laying up at Lisbon's Post Office and they never got it in the mail. I'll just write to the Plain Dealer and let them know about this service."

"Isn't this the morning for the Ohio Farmer?" "No, tomorrow is the day." "Oh, I thought it was today."

"Hey you! Didn't I get a package?"

"Say, is there any mail for the teacher? If there is, he asked me to bring it down."

"Aunt Erma, will you call my Mom and tell her the package didn't come."

A lady came running in and said, "Did you see anything of my Country Gentleman? Well, that's funny. It was supposed to be here yesterday and here it is today and no Country Gentleman, (I) suppose the Postmaster or Clerk hasn’t finished reading it yet."

"Oh, Mrs. Wonstetler, would you please fix this horse collar up and send it back for me. We got it from Sears. They are a few cents cheaper than yours (Dickey & Wonstetler sold horse collars in their store), but they made a mistake and sent the wrong size. So here's a quarter. You just send it back and if that is not postage enough, will pay you when I come back. Much obliged."

"Missus, Missus, me got cheese, send me daughter and her man in Detroit. Me no got box send him in. Me know you fix him up. You fix him up good, me bring you cheese for your trouble." Your stomach is so upset you can scarcely tie up the rotten stuff. It takes all summer to make this cheese, it is made in two pound cakes, as hard as a board and all green with mold, but still he thought that that would be nice for my trouble. I told him I couldn't eat cheese.

Then the phone rings. "Hello, Erma? I hate awfully to bother you, but would you please look and see if I got a package." After walking forty feet from the phone to the office and back, "Sorry, but no package." "No package! Well, that's funny. I sent to Montgomery Ward’s only day before yesterday and not here yet. I'll write and tell them a thing or two. Why, I'm entertaining the Ladies Club tomorrow and I just got to have those paper napkins and Jello."

Man's voice, "What! No old age pension checks today? Well, that beats the deuce. They hardly give a feller enough to live on and every month get later. It surely beats the devil how the government runs things. We should be getting $40.00 and they just give us a measly little $24.50. I'd like to tell them fellers a thing or two."

Then in comes John, another foreigner, "Where's the Missus? Me want send Jim Brown for fence. Me no figure up how much me need. She good figuring, she get him for me." So, I get busy to figure how much fence it will take for John's farm, make up his order, send his money order and John goes home happy till he needs another order.

"Say, how much bigger are these stamps gonna get? No wonder the Post Office Department is in the red!"

"Has the mail gone yet?"

"Do I have time to write a card before the mail goes?"

And so on throughout the day. This is a cross section of life in any one of our 45,000 post offices. And it's an interesting, entertaining day, especially in a small town office. It's a great life!

**

Can you imagine walking into a Post Office today and asking them to wrap a cheese or figure how much fencing you needed to order?

ILLUSTRATION: A postmaster peering through the Postal cubical window in an unidentified general store. The window is surrounded by brass-fronted postal boxes and well-stocked store shelves can be seen in the background. (Photo courtesy of Library of Congress)

We hear a lot about economic depression, lay-offs, business failures and bank closings every time we turn on the TV or open a newspaper, and we’ve all read a lot about "Robber Barons" and the greed of big business during the first part of the last century. However, I wonder how many corporations today would do what the leaders of Deere and Company did back in the early days of the Great Depression of the 1930s.

Deere had total sales of $63 million in 1930, a figure that fell to just $8.7 million by 1932. In 1931, employment was cut by 75 percent, from 4,800 workers to 1,270, and these few survivors were working reduced hours, often at "make work" jobs. Wages at the Plow Works were cut from $0.57 to $0.53 per hour in 1931. Salaried employees’ pay was cut by 5 to 10 percent, and by 25 percent a year later. Minimum pensions were reduced from $30 to $25 per month. Paid vacations were eliminated during the years 1931 to 1936.

Deere did not, however, cut out everything. Employee savings accounts, upon which the company paid 5 percent interest, had been established in 1920, and this money was made available to laid-off employees to tide them over. In addition, company-paid group insurance was continued for laid-off workers, and the firm made an effort to help needy employees with cash payments.

Another example of Deere & Company's concern for the welfare of its employees and the City of Moline was the impending failure of the Peoples Savings Bank of Moline during the early days of the Great Depression.

The roots of the bank went back to 1857, and John Deere had served as president of the then First National Bank of Moline during 1866. In 1891, Charles Deere organized the Peoples Savings Bank of Moline, with Charles himself as president. In 1905, the two banks merged and, when Charles Deere died, William Butterworth became president of both Deere and the bank.

Thus, the Peoples Bank of Moline had always been considered the Deere family's bank and many Deere employees had their money in the institution. In addition, Deere and Company had consistently kept more than $2 million on deposit in the bank.

Then, during the banking crisis caused by the Great Depression, bank examiners found that the bank's cashier and two other employees had, over a period of time, embezzled $1.2 million, which they had then lost in real estate investment schemes. The bank's capital was virtually wiped out and it was in grave danger of having to close, which would have meant the loss of savings for thousands of Deere employees and other Moline residents.

At the time, William Butterworth was in Washington as head of the United States Chamber of Commerce and Charles Wiman was running the company. Wiman and three other company officers made the decision to bail out the bank. Wiman called a special meeting of the Deere and Company Board of Directors on the morning of the day the bank examiner was to close the bank and told them: "If we do not do this the bank closes ... As I view it, there are approximately $7,000,000 of savings deposits in this bank, largely made by the wage earners of our factories, and the effects upon them of the closing of the bank, and the resulting consequences to this Company, are beyond calculation."

Deere & Company therefore gave the bank a check for $1,290,000, staving off the crisis. Later, when the bank needed additional funds for a cash reserve, William Butterworth, Charles Wiman and Dwight Wiman gave the bank $650,000 in exchange for notes which were never fully paid back.

After some consideration, I doubt very much if even Deere and Company would be so generous today.

 The new John Deere Model A was introduced in 1934 during the depths of the Great Depression.
Courtesy Sam Moore.