The Possum That Came For Dinner

A Remnant of Russellville's Manufacturing Past 

Last Saturday my wife and I attended the 175^th anniversary celebration of the founding of Russellville, Mo.  Richard Morris, Benjamin Griffin and Buckner Russell were responsible for the survey that established the city of Russellville on May 3, 1838.  That was only a couple of years after a brand new prison opened in Jefferson City and Davy Crockett died at the Alamo.  But it was an unlucky possum that arrived just in time to be dinner that was indirectly responsible for determining the town’s approximate location in 1831.

It was in 1831 that pioneers Lamon Short and Enoch Enloe, Sr. and their families travelled by wagon from Tennessee through this area on their way to Henry County to take advantage of the fertile soil and abundant wildlife.  A broken wagon wheel forced an unplanned stop near present-day Russellville.  When, during the course of repairs, Mr. Short discovered a bee tree and a tasty possum near the site of their breakdown, he decided their journey was over.  “We are going to stay right here, where we have both sweetness and meat at the same place” Lamon reportedly announced to his family.   Enoch Enloe, Sr. and his family traveled a few miles further south and staked their claim near a large spring, joining the Short’s as the areas first settlers.

The development of Russellville has not been without its challenges.  A brand-spanking new Masonic and Oddfellows Hall was completed in May of 1875, only to be destroyed by a tornado in June of 1875.  In August of 1881, the Lebanon Branch of the Missouri Pacific Railroad linked Russellville to Jefferson City by rail.  On December 18, 1881, a horrific train wreck killed prominent local citizens Christopher Wagner, Green C. Berry and Oscar Monning instantly and Chris Gemeinhardt died a short time later.

Over the years, a large number of entrepreneurs have called Russellville home.  Factories producing saddle trees, brooms, staves, chairs, overalls and cigars have all called Russellville home.  In the early 1900’s, a tomato canning factory operated for several years.

Though crime is low in the area, it has not been non-existent.  On October 26, 1933, the Central Missourian reported on a street fight in Russellville.  “It was evident both parties had been imbibing too freely in intoxicating liquor” said the article, warning that “such disturbances as this should be dealt with in a determined manner and law violators given warning that such will not be tolerated by the peace loving community”.

Perhaps it was that editorial comment that inspired H.E. Robertson to “make love, not war”.  Per the Central Missourian newspaper, on April 12, 1934, Russellville’s Karr Theater building was filled to overflowing for Mr. Robertson’s trial.  Justice W.B. Thompson’s presided.  Mr. Robertson was on trial for “forcibly hugging and kissing Mrs. Bonnadell Enloe”, the wife of Herbert Enloe, Mr. Robertson’s closest neighbor.   The jury took only 80 minutes to find Mr. Robertson innocent, but the case is still a matter of public interest for history buffs 80 years later. 

As of 2011, 813 extremely well-organized citizens call Russellville home.  Their 3-day Septaquintaquinquecentennial was a model of organization.  Thankfully, the taste of area residents has changed since 1831.  Though local honey was available for sale, frog legs - not possum - was the main meat dish for those dining at the celebration.   

 

 

 

 



 

He Once Was Blind But Now Can See

Joe Wilson and Denney, in front of still-flooded Wilson's Serenity Point

The Noren Access on the Missouri River just northwest of the Capitol was open to the public again Tuesday.  It had been closed since Sunday when 31 feet of floodwater tested the 30 foot levies.  As of this afternoon the river level was down to 28 feet and still dropping.

 

 

My wife and I dropped by Tuesday afternoon to check out the damage at Wilson's Serenity Point, a park-like setting adjacent to the Noren Access.  Standing there was Joe Wilson, namesake of Wilson's Serenity Point.  It was Joe's vision, money, hard work, and stubbornness that created an area of flowers, picnic tables, a nature walk and a small campground where once stood just a boat ramp and a parking lot.

 

 

"You've got to meet my new dog!" Joe told me excitedly.  And then he told me the amazing story of how Denney, a down-on-his-luck black cocker spaniel came to join his household.  Denney's former owner was dying, being cared for by hospice, and no longer able to care for a pet.  Joe took over and arranged for Denny to come and spend time with his owner during his final days.  After Denney's owner died, Joe began a search for someone to adopt Denney.   Never an easy task, placing Denney was even more challenging.  He was blind.

 

 

But Joe was in luck.  He found a lady who said she would adopt Denney on one condition:  that Joe loan her the money to buy the things she would need to care for him.  Joe gave her eleven twenty-dollar bills and made arrangements for the lady to pick Denney up.  The time came and went, along with Joe's money.   The woman was a no-show. 

 

How did Joe feel about losing over $200 while doing a good deed?

 

"I was never so happy about anything in all my life!" he told me.  "I fell in love with that dog.  I've placed over 2000 dogs and that's the sweetest dog I've ever met.  I didn't want to let him go!  I'm GLAD she didn't show up."   So Joe adopted Denney into his own family, which consisted of Joe and 4, now 5, obedient, well-trained, confident dogs.

 

But that's not the end of the story.  When Joe took Denney to the Vet, he told the Doctor "I'd do anything if I could just get that dog's vision back".  The vet did some tests.  The good news is that Denney had lost his vision due to cataracts, not glaucoma as Joe suspected.  The even better news is that the MU Veterinary School was able to operate on Denney and restore his eyesight.  The bad news is that it cost $3,000, which Joe gladly scraped together with a little help from his friends.  He even got his $220 back from the husband of the woman who "borrowed" his money.

 

As Joe opened the door to his truck (which was running with the AC on to keep the dogs comfortable while we talked), three dogs hopped out, including a once-blind black cocker spaniel whose former owner had died, but was now the epitome of a "lucky dog". 

 

"Ain't he a dandy?" asked Joe, tears welling up in his eyes, as he picked up Denney, the formerly luckless mutt whose life he had saved and whose vision he had paid dearly to have restored.

 

If Denney could talk, I suspect he would have said the exact same thing about Joe.

 

 

 

 

 

 



The Missouri River - No Place for Explorers

Missouri River - 1804 - Pathway of the Explorers

Missouri River - 2013 - No Explorers Allowed

 

 

The Lewis & Clark Expedition explored what would become Jefferson City, Mo in early June, 1804.  They had it easy for 2 reasons:

1.      The Missouri River, the longest river in the U.S., was not at flood stage at the time; and

2.      The Jefferson City Police Dept. had not yet been established.

When I attempted to do a little exploring of the currently flooded Missouri River early Sunday morning, a barricade and a police SUV blocked my way.  I guess I can understand that.  In 1804, if you did something stupid and needed rescuing, you were on your own.  In 2013, if you do something stupid and need to be rescued, emergency personnel risk life and limb to save you and, as thanks, you might just sue them for letting you do something stupid in the first place.  Hence, the manned barricade leading to the Noren access below Jefferson City’s twin bridges.

On Saturday the barricades were a few hundred yards closer to the river when my wife and I visited.  Picnic tables were readily available - provided you didn’t mind sitting in waist-deep water with God only knows what swimming at your feet.  The pedestrian bridge across the river was open and the fitness-minded and curious traversed the span for a bird’s eye view of the river and the State Capitol.  The swirling, coffee-colored water carried debris, both natural and man-made, on its way to St. Louis where it would take a right-turn, join forces with the mighty Mississippi, and head to New Orleans.

Mark Twain once described the Mississippi River as “good for steamboating, and good to drink, but worthless for all other purposes, except baptizing.” Anyone on the banks of the Mississippi River today that’s there after a baptizing might find themself in the hereafter sooner than they expected.
 

Halfway across the Missouri River pedestrian bridge I saw a family peering at something under the bridge.  There, six feet below their feet, a pigeon rested on a girder, resting up from whatever activity normally occupies a busy pigeon's time.  Later, as I was busy taking pictures of the floodwaters, something warm hit my arm.
 

Oh yeah.  Now I remember how pigeons stay busy.

 

 



                               Missouri River Pedestrian Bridge

                               Gee, I'm Glad That Cows Can't Fly       

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