SHORT STORY

As many of you know, I am also a writer. I have a book being reviewed at this time, and would like to share one of the short stories and a poem that will be in the book.

I have titled the book “It is greener on the…other side”. It is a collection of short stories and poems that I have written over the years.

I DIDN’T KNOW HIS NAME

                The fall air coming through the open window was drawing my attention to what was beyond. The soft flittering of the crisp white curtains seemed to be motioning me to look out. Walking to the window, the smell of the crisp fresh autumn air filled the room, and the sounds of the chirping birds became sharper. They would soon be gone, heading for their homes further south. The approaching hard winters of mid-Missouri were too much for many of them.

                As I turned from the window, the teapot on the stove began to whistle. The water had come to the temperature necessary to prepare that proper cup of the English tea I so loved. I scooped the tea into the metal ball, placing it in the teapot, and poured hot water over it, just like I had been taught. It would steep while I prepared my cup – one teaspoon of honey and a smidge of cream. When the tea was ready, I carefully poured it into the cup and watched as the black tea became a dark brown. I had my perfect cup of properly prepared tea. As I took my first sip, I glanced down at the scribbled notes that lay on the counter. Why do I make such notes and lists, they never seem to get completed. But today had to be different  - a short story had to be written.

                I had been promising myself for a couple of weeks that I would write for at least thirty minutes every day – another broken promise. As I continued sipping on the relaxing tea, I gazed out the window – as if to reach out there for an idea. Unsure where I even wanted to go with this story, I pondered ideas over and over. Nothing seemed to click. The notes were ideas, which I was hoping would turn into a story. I went over them with a sharp eye for just the right idea.

                My thoughts began drifting to something that had happened at school last week. I was amused as I thought, so I decided to write down some of my thoughts from this event – just for the future. This event happened while I sat in the sterile hallway of the Resource Building, waiting for a class to begin. I was always early so sitting there was somewhat relaxing for me between classes. This day provided a little more entertainment than usual. Seems one of the residents of the school might be lost in this lower level of the building. He seemed somewhat confused as to which room he should be going into, or out of.  It was becoming rather comical as he darted in and out. I almost wanted to shout out – “the other way.” I noticed he went into a vacant room, and stayed in there for some time. I was concerned that he might be hiding. So I turned my attention to a magazine on the table.

                Several minutes later, there he was again, this time walking very close to the walls. I shifted out of his way so that he could make it by my chair. He continued on, sometimes fast, other times at a slower pace. I lost him again; he had gone around the corner. Then without realizing it, he reappeared. This time he was standing in the middle of the room, looking like he wanted some help with directions. I wasn’t very good at it, I didn’t speak his language. Suddenly he whirled around by the janitor cleaning the bathrooms. He barely missed his demise. I became worried that there might be a very gruesome accident about to happen and I certainly didn’t want to be witness to the event. It just wasn’t my day for blood and guts to be splattered about the hallway. The janitor just looked at him, then me and smiled.

                 I took my eyes off of him for some time to talk to fellow students. They had also noticed the confusion of this resident. We laughed at how he seemed to be totally lost and confused, and there was little we could do to help him – we didn’t speak his language. As we watched him try one more time to cross the room and try to regain his composure, another student said he was going to help him. We watched as the student picked up this rather large water bug and carry him gently outside to a tree, where he placed him on the ground. Maybe now he would find his proper home, and become less confused. He seemed to be thanking us for saving him. We all watched as he turned and walked confidently through the blades of the green grass, and after a short time we lost sight of him. He must be headed in the right direction, or so we hoped.

               

Written by Marilyn Duncan – Buck

Copyright 2007

THAT TIME OF THE YEAR IS JUST AROUND THE CORNER!!!

FARMERS MARKETS

The weather has been rather mild this winter, so many are starting their gardens early this year. If this weather continues, it could be an early crop producer for many. Now we can only hope that a heavy frost,downpours, or heat does not wipe them out.

Farmers Markets usually open up the first week of May in this area. The market in downtown Kansas City is open year round - but most of their items are trucked in from out of state. I was just told that Riverside’s farmers market opens next weekend.

I am a huge supporter of farmers markets that only allow locally grown produce rather than trucked in produce, and I will drive that extra mile to make sure the produce I am buying is locally grown. I feel that it is important to know where the produce comes from and how the
farmers/vendors grow it. By that I mean is it hot house grown or preferably grown naturally in the ground, what it is fertilized with, and any insecticides that are used on the plants. That is very important information to me. I want to know what I am feeding my family.

In our road trips on weekends, we also look for and support local farmers old fashioned roadside stands. This is where the farmer sets up a stand on his property and sells his excess produce. I love these and often get some fantastic buys! I also enjoy getting to know local farmers! There is
nothing like a good old farmer’s tale!!!

Organically grown produce is becoming more and more available to consumers at the markets. This is a good thing for the consumer!Watch your markets this year for vendors who provide this produce.

I am already receiving emails, newsletters and postings on Facebook from vendors that we buy from, and I am getting very excited for them to open!

I am looking forward to a great year for local farmers! And for the consumers!

Happy shopping!
Marilyn

TOURISM - a part of history "Squirrel Cage Jails"

PART THREE

Davies County Jail - Squirrel Cage

Gallatin, Missouri

In this writing, I will be looking at the “squirrel cage” jail that is located in Gallatin, Missouri – a short drive from the Kansas City area. Great day trip for those living close, and it is open to the public for tours.

This jail is one of the only three jails of this type still standing. While the others were designed under the patent of Brown-Haugh and built by their company, Gallatin was built by Pauley Jail Building & Mfg. Company out of St. Louis, Missouri.

The jail was built during 1888-1889 and kept open until 1975 when it was closed. The cost of building the jail has been recorded as $11,261.15.

The jail had one of the first indoor plumbing systems in Gallatin. The refuse collection and disposal system was one of a kind back then. With every revolution of the cage, the flushing of the collection would go to pipes below and out.

This particular jail featured a one door entry to the cells and was one story. The jailer used a hand crank to rotate the cells. The continued maintenance of the gear system below was a nightmare to the jailers who had to perform the tasks. It was a tight crawl space and often filled with raw sewage.

In 1964, the jail was condemned as a fire hazard by the State of Missouri. The jail was then modified, but closed permanently in 1975 as a jail. Today it is a museum of sorts, and open to the public for tours.

Gallatin’s rotary jail differs from others built; the sheriff’s home was attached to the jail during the original construction.

Confinement in these jails was almost a cruel and unusual punishment for prisoners. One prisoner served a yearlong sentence in the jail. The small cells (8ft tall and 7 ½ ft. long) were so cramped and offered no room for a lot of movement. There was a bunk and toilet area. Bathing was done outside the unit. The cell lacked proper ventilation, and the floors were iron which made them cold during the winter months.

A fear of the prisoners, as well as jailers was the amputation of limbs that might be hanging through the bars when it rotated. The fire hazard was always there, and could be a death trap if the jail was to catch on fire.

Another health hazard for the prisoners was that they had to eat in their cells. Food was good though, as the Sheriff’s wife did the cooking and prisoners were served the same thing as the family. The prisoners’ food was passed through a “grub hole” in the area where prisoners were allowed.

The diagram below shows the pie shaped cells – they were tight and very uncomfortable. This drawing is from the original patent, but does represent the way the Gallatin jail cells are arranged. Gallatin was a one story jail.

As the years started to take a toll on the workings of the rotary, parts began to break and repairs were becoming harder. Decisions were made by counties that had these jails, to modify them, close them or tear them down. They are a part of history, so thankfully three survived.

I would highly recommend a day trip to the Gallatin “Squirrel Cage” jail to see part of the American history that is still available. Walk through the area and see the pie shaped cell, along with all the scribbling’s on the wall from the prisoners.

The Gallatin jail is also listed on the National Registry of Historical Places!

Enjoy!

Marilyn


Note: Learning about the past is always exciting. Just a side note, many paranormal invetigation groups have been visiting these three remaining jails for activity.

TOURISM - a part of history "Squirrel Cage Jails"

PART TWO

The Montgomery County Jail in Indiana (shown below) was the first of the rotary jails to be built. The cost of the facility was $29,000 and was completed in 1882. It is a limestone trimmed red brick jail with attached sheriff’s quarters. It was built in the Richardsonian Romanesque style of architecture. It was used until 1973 and is now home to a museum and on the National Register of Historic Places. It was a two story unit, and is one of the last three to be standing. It is now a museum and offers tours of the facility.


William Brown and Benjamin Haugh , along with John L. Ketcham joined together to form the Haugh, Ketcham and Company after the patent was obtained for the Rotary (also known as the squirrel cage and the lazy Susan) jail.

They would over the years in the late 1800’s build several of these jails throughout the Midwest.

Here are a few of them (only three are still standing):
Montgomery County Jail – Crawfordsville, Indiana
Nodaway County Jail – Maryville, Missouri
McCracken County Jail – Paducah, Kentucky
Pottawatomie County Jail – Council Bluffs, Iowa
DeKalb County Jail – Mayesville, Missouri

The jails operated as follows and caused many problems, physical injuries to the prisoners, sanitary, and equipment failures. Diagram and blueprint of the jail system below

The machinery in the jail consisted of a round cell block with pie shaped cells around the central core. The central core contained all the plumbing and ventilating systems. The cells were divided by plate iron partitions. They also contained iron bunks which were attached to the wall. There were no bars in this cylindrical cell block. Rotation of the cells happened within a stationary cylinder. There was only one door per level that was enclosed in iron-barred vestibules stacked as the cells. The cell block would rotate until the correct cell was aligned with the door, and then the prisoner could be let out or in. No cell had continuous access to the door, and there was not a cat walk around the cells.

Rotation of the cells was done by a hand-crank, located on each level just outside the iron-barred vestibule area. One man operated the crank. Below is the patent cover sheet.

Pottawatomie County Jail – Council Bluffs, Iowa(pictured below) is the home of the only three story rotary type jail which was built in 1885 at the cost of $30,000. The jail closed in 1969, but looks much like it did when it was in operation. The walls of the cells are filled with scratching’s from some of the infamous prisoners. It is well restored as a glimpse of that era of our society. It to is now a museum and is open to the public for tours. It also is on the National Registry of Historical Locations.

In Part 3 of this look at Squirrel Cage Jails, I will be taking a look at the jail located in Gallatin, Missouri. It is a one story rotary jail, and was copied and built by a St. Louis firm.

Until then........

SQUIRREL CAGE JAILS - a part of Missouri History

TOURISM - Squirrel Cage Jails

PART ONE

I am going to have to break this writing into three separate blog postings. The topic is part of American history, and writing about it takes some time. I first wrote about these jails during my senior year at University of Missouri - Columbia. I am going to try and condense my thirty-five page research paper into a three part blog. I will not be able to cover everything I included in the paper, but hopefully I will be able to entice you into looking at these jails further.

Researching items and locations in Missouri that attract tourists has been a passion of mine for several years, and while at MU I was able to fine tune my interest. I am not necessarily interested in the numbers (although they matter), but I am interested in the why. Why do tourists visit some of the points of interest, but not all. I am trying to highlight some of the little known attractions that would make great day trips for local tourists.

It took four months for me to research this topic and to visit the three remaining locations. I will cover a little of the history and basics of this unique type of jail, and then finish with a look at the Missouri connections and locations.

The topic is “Squirrel cage jails”, “human rotary jails” or also known as “lazy Susan jails”. Originally there were 18 of them in the late 1800’s and mainly located in the Midwest.

In the late 1800’s, William H. Brown – an architect and Benjamin F. Haugh – an ironwork businessman, both from Indianapolis, Indiana designed and patented the rotating jail concept known as Squirrel Cage Jails. The patent was issued on July 12, 1881 to Brown and Haugh. They declared in their paperwork that the object of their invention was to jail where prisoners could be easily controlled without constant supervision from the jailer. The overall concept was to provide maximum security with the least amount of jailer supervision. The Gallatin, Missouri jail was built by a St. Louis company that changed the patent jail a little.

The pie shaped cells and the revolving mechanism proved to be a problem as the jails were used. Living conditions became almost unbearable with sewage conditions, and several prisoners lost arms and hands from the rotating of the cells. The mechanism would also lock up, keeping the jail from rotating to allow for meals and other tasks. These type of jail was not as efficient as its designers had intended. They actually become so dangerous that their use was discontinued in the early 1900's.

There were originally 18 of these jails built, and today only three are left standing. Most were closed in the period between 1960 -1978. All but the three were torn down. Today those still standing are being used as museums of some type and are open to visitors. They are all on the National Historical Registry.

In the next blog posting I will be writing about two of the rotary jails that are unique in their own right, and are in other states. My last posting will be about the jail in Missouri, located in Gallatin.

Enjoy a little history and tourism information!

Marilyn

A TRIBUTE POEM TO MY FATHER

TWELVE YEARS PASS
Written by Marilyn Duncan – Buck
September 2006


Twelve years have passed.
At times moving fast -
then slowing down to the
movements of a snail.

Each day begins, and then it ends.
Moments with you I spend,
remembering the lessons
you taught and explained
along the way.

Swirling winds bring your words
of wisdom and knowledge - hard lessons
learned - you taught me
to listen so carefully to every howl.

The cool crisp air of fall brings a chill.
I reach for a wrap -
but you are there with arms opened wide
the warmth of your hugs has not faded.

Rain is falling now a new rainbow waits.
Your artistic eyes caught the vivid colors
on your palette, and with each stroke, your
brush reflected your vision.
The beauty of the view you shared for
others to see.

Your strong will to live life to
it’s fullest – has been passed on.
All that remember, watched the
courageous battle within, as you
marched to glory in full uniform –
head held high!

As the rain fell that fall night 12 years past,
you gave your salute and marched off
to find a new land.
The tears of that night were real, but concealed
by the rain.

When daylight came and the rain stopped
eyes opened to a new day, alone and in dismay.
The rainbow appeared – first ever
bright, then graciously fading.
It was as if you were saying as you
traveled your new path.

“Today’s a new day, you will be fine.”

I smiled as I look to the heavens now,
knowing with each rainbow to come
your mark will be seen, your presence
will be known and you will continue to say
to all.

“Today’s a new day, and you will be fine.”

MY HERO

MY HERO
Written by Marilyn Duncan – Buck
February 2003

In a matter of a few months I would see the spirit of a devoted soldier fight his last battle. Being raised in a military family I often took my father’s courage, strength, commitment, and devotion to his family and country for granted. My father protected us from any fears or concerns he may have been feeling, but I was about to witness it firsthand.

At the early age of 17, my father entered the Marine Corp. He enlisted so that he could help his divorced mother during the depression. He sent most of his small checks home to her to help feed and clothe his younger brothers and sisters. His service in the Marine Corp took him to the China Sea at the end of W.W. II where they fought the Japanese. He was part of what has come to be called a “China Marine”. After his Marine Corp stay was completed he joined the United States Army, going to OCS (Officer Candidate School) and was commissioned into the United States Army as a Second Lieutenant. His first duty station after OCS was in the Nevada desert. Some might think that would be a great station, but not so. He was in charge of a group of soldiers who would be located one mile from ground zero during the testing of the atomic bomb. Little did he know that this was one battle be would fight much later. My father was what some in the military called “a soldier’s soldier” or a “mustang” working his way up the ranks. His thirty year career took him too many places and into two more conflicts, the Korean War and Vietnam. His love of his country was such a humbling experience to witness. It gave me a pure in-depth respect for our country and those who proudly serve and defend it. I proudly wear the name “army brat”, as it has given me an education that can never be replaced.

On a cold mid-Missouri evening in February 1996, my life changed forever. I received a telephone call from my father. This was unusual, as he preferred face to face conversation. This stemmed from his days spent as a Commanding Officer in the Army. But tonight he used the telephone. “Sis,” he said. “I have some bad news.” My heart stopped, as I thought it was something about my mother. She had been critically ill the year before and we almost lost her. I was about to find out, it was not my mom but my father.

As I leaned up against the wall, as to hold myself up, he continued. He said that the next morning he would be entering the hospital for surgery and that I should be there. Before I could ask why, he said, “I have colon cancer.” I must have gone silent, my mind remembering this big strong solider, because I heard him say, “Are you there?” My heart was pounding so hard. We continued to talk for some time, as if it was our last. I told him I would be there. I sensed his fear for being alone.

The next day came too soon, I had to be there at 5:30 a.m. and it was 4:00 a.m. I seemed to be in a daze as I prepared myself. When I arrived at the hospital, many members of my extended family were entering the hospital. We all made our way to the waiting room, where family seemed to take over. This man who was about to have surgery was somewhat of a mentor to us all. He was respected and loved by all.

Before surgery, we all gathered around his bed, talking and praying. Although my father believed in God, I did not see how much he depended on God until his illness. As we finished praying, he was kissed and hugged by each person there. As they prepared to wheel him out of the room, he looked at each of us and said, “I will be fine, you all take care of each other, this is just another battle I will fight and win.” Somehow we believed him. His voice had a lot of authority in it when he spoke. Time seemed to creep by, and then we received the news we were not anticipating. It was not good. The cancer had spread very fast since diagnosis and there was little hope. His cancer spread from his colon to his liver and was attacking his brain.

During the next few months, my father tried everything, chemotherapy to radiation. He was fighting his “enemy” every step of the way. He was treating his cancer like the enemies he fought in W.W. II, Korean War and Vietnam, never retreating. It was during this time that we were to find out that the doctors felt my father’s cancer was caused by his direct exposure during the testing of the atomic bomb. Yes that was many many years before, but studies were done on those soldiers that witnessed that event and it was shown that many of those soldier’s that witnessed that event had developed these fast spreading cancers and died from them.

From February to September of that year his fight continued, until his enemy decided to really fight dirty. In September, his brain was completely taken over by the cancer and he began to have seizures. As the ambulance took him to the hospital, I took a good look at the man I considered my hero. This would be his last hospital stay. I looked at the man who stood 10 feet tall to me, with broad shoulders, and a very sharp mind. He now looked like someone who had been in a concentration camp. The twinkle in his eye, firm touch and words of encouragement were gone.

During the next few weeks, my brother, mother and I would take turns staying by his side, never leaving him alone. My shift was 5:00 p.m. to 7:00 a.m. every day, as I did not work. I drove the 25 miles each way daily to sit with my hero. When we would talk, I would listen to his war stories that I had heard my entire life. We would talk about my grandchildren, his great grandchildren and the apples of his eyes. He would tell me about the nurse who bathed him daily and how they would sing his favorite hymn, Amazing Grace. I never knew that was his favorite hymn. He would start to sing it and would fall asleep. I would sit there holding his hand and remembering my years with him. Wondering why my father did not let us see the sweet, gentle side of him.

On a cloudy day in late September, I began my usual drive to the hospital, not knowing it would be my last. As I entered the room I sensed something different. My father, who all along had refused any type of pain medication, had slipped into a coma. As he laid there, my mother kissed his hand and told him see would see him in the morning. I touched him and let him know I was there. He squeezed my finger, our little signal to each other. That evening about 9, the nurses came in to turn him. His hand was in mine, and then as they turned him, he clutched my hand and went lifeless. I had just felt the life of my father leave. I said out loud, “Daddy I love you.” He was gone, his battle was over and his enemy had won.

The next few days were a blur, a large military funeral with two honor guards, Marine Corp and United States Army, and hundreds of family and friends. As I sat at the cemetery, listening to the taps played from the far away bugler, the 21-gun salute, looking at those in uniform, I was reminded of my father. I clutched the flag that had draped my father’s casket and my thoughts went to all the battles this soldier had fought for his country and his undying love for it. He had never given up and never retreated from any of the battles. His courage, devotion, commitment and love of his country and his family had given him so much strength during this time. Yes, even at the end he was a “soldier’s soldier”.




Footnote: I wrote this while a student at the University of Missouri – Columbia.