Curryville Conclusion

The next place on our Curryville road memory tour is the Farm Bureau. I think I got to know all the employees, as I kept tabs on all activities there. My aunt worked there. My mother helped grade potatoes and eggs. Freddie helped build chicken cages there. Their gas storage area was behind Clapper’s garden and I could see the trucks fill up from my house. My favorite trucker was Ed Henry who whistled so beautifully. I could hear him from my bedroom window early in the mornings.

One of my talents was to give Ghost Walks around the Farm Bureau and Brumbaugh’s house and barn at night. I could make eerie sounds and would sometimes even scare myself in addition to my little brother and anyone else brave enough to go with us.

Our next door neighbors were Charles and Rose Clapper. Their son, Junior, was the one neighbor I spent more time with than anyone. Clappers had a radio and T.V. repair shop. They had the first T.V. in the area and some of us were invited to go in the evenings to watch shows like Name That Tune, Wrestling and Carol Burnett. Sometimes we put a blue and green shaded plastic sheet on the screen to help our imagination pretend it was in color.

The Clappers had a swing on each end of their back porch. The swings faced each other. We made a game out of kicking a rug while we were swinging. You got points if you could kick the rug past their feet and off the porch. One of the most interesting things about that house was the enclosure on one side of the basement that held water. I never saw anything like that before or since. Junior Clapper and Freddie and I spent a lot of time on their living room floor with all kinds of games, puzzles, cards, and books. Sometimes we even played dress up. One time Junior and I got in his dad’s car with cigarettes we made from dried corn silk and paper. We used the cigarette lighter in the car and it worked. I didn’t think we were doing anything bad, just being creative. Both of our fathers smoked at that time. We were told never to do that again. So we never did it again. Because we were raised on praise, a scolding like that was unusual and extremely effective.

This brings us back to the house in which I grew up (shown). My cousin, Terry Smith and his wife, Linda, live there now (shown). This completes our memory tour of beautiful Curryville.

Note: The Herald would like to thank Marie Hamilton for her Curryville Memories column. This was her last installment. The Herald and our readers enjoyed seeing the Curryville Hamilton knew and loved.