© Boulton B. Miller Ph.D. Col. USA (Ret.) 01/29/01

A HAND ON MY SHOULDER

Chapter 1

Growing Up In Illinois

As I look back over the eighty-five years of my life, it is obvious that my mother was correct when she told me, at age four, that the Lord had a hand on my shoulder. She made this statement after I had recovered from a severe Illness, called autointoxication, or self-poisoning. Neither the local family physician nor my grandfather who was also a physician could figure out what was wrong with me. My uncle, a physician, brought in a child specialist friend from Bloomington, Illinois who made the diagnosis. When they did not think I would recover, it was decided to give me some very powerful drugs to cure me. They had no other recommendations, so my folks agreed to have the medicine administered. Apparently, it was a slow struggle to keep me alive. The main thing that I do remember was that I had forgotten how to walk during this long illness and had to learn all over again. On my first trip outside the house in Greenfield, Illinois, I was able to see an airplane that may have been pioneering the airmail route that Lindbergh later was known to fly from St. Louis to Chicago. It was when I was recovering from this illness that mother first told me about the hand on my shoulder. The year was 1920. I did not turn five until that fall.

Figure 1-1

The House Where I Was Born In Greenfield, IL

I came into the world as a ten-plus pound baby boy on November 2, 1915. There were no hospitals in Greenfield or in Greene County, Illinois at that time. As a result of my birth, my mother could not have any more children.

My mother, Winona Boulton, was from English ancestry on both sides of her family. She was a descendent of Matthew Griswold, who as a mere boy joined a company of pilgrims sailing to America and landing on the shores of Massachusetts, on May 30, 1630. My great-great grandparents on my mother’s side, Edgar Griswold and Lucy North, were married near White Hall, Illinois, on March 12, 1840. Their parents had migrated to Madison County (Edwardsville) Illinois, about the time Illinois became a state in 1818. From Edwardsville, they settled land in Greene County in an area known as Apple Creek Prairie.

Grandmother Boulton was born on Apple Creek prairie, near White Hall, IL. on August 17, 1847. She attended a one-room school and a church built on land her father donated. She attended high school in White Hall, and later attended Monticello Seminary in Godfrey, IL.

My grandfather, Edward Spellon Boulton, was born near Albion, Orleans County, New York, on May 14, 1837. He was born on the same farm where his father and grandfather were born. His parents were Maxwell H. and Elizabeth Spellon Boulton. He was one of three children having had one brother, Henry M. Boulton, and one sister, Elizabeth, wife of Rev. J.C. Reid. He attended college at Fredonia, NY for one year. His mother died when he was nine and his father remarried, but my grandfather did not fit in with his new stepmother. As a result, he left for the West with an ax as his only possession. As far as our family knew, he never contacted his family again. The only record I have is a note in Mother's Swallow Book (a genealogy compiled in 1910) where she wrote that three Boulton brothers came from England. One went to New York, one to Connecticut, and one to Canada. Apparently, these brothers included my great-great-great-grandfather Boulton. Grandfather Boulton, according to my mother, always thought we were related to Matthew Boulton, the famous English inventor; but, so far, there is no supporting documentation. My grandfather was very insistent that Boulton be spelled with the u, as, in his opinion, this identified us from the other Boltons.

Grandfather Boulton went to Wisconsin and found work cutting timber. In those days the logs were floated down the Mississippi River once a year for sale in Alton, IL or St. Louis, MO. After getting paid for his year's work, he would buy a horse, provisions, and with any money left, items he could sell on his way back to Wisconsin. It was customary for farm families to take in strangers who came their way, letting them spend the night. On one of these trips he met my grandmother. He and a partner operated a lumber mill in Wisconsin, but after the partner died, my grandfather decided to go farther south, into Illinois. He taught himself carpentry and built many barns and other buildings in Greene and Montgomery Counties in Illinois. After acquiring enough savings, he asked my grandmother, Mary Ellen Griswold, of White Hall, Illinois to marry him. They were married on December 13, 1870 and spent the remainder of the winter in Memphis, TN waiting for possession of a farm he had purchased in Illinois near Hettick and Scottsville, in Macoupin County.

Figure 1-2

Boulton Grandparents and my Parents

My father, Oliver J. Miller, was of German descent. His father was born in Gaylesville, Cherokee County, Alabama on December 11, 1843. His family was among a group of German trades people that found their way to that corner of Alabama and are reported to have been employed by making felt (stovepipe) hats. My Miller ancestors were involved in the relocation of the Cherokee Nation from the large area they occupied in northeast Alabama, northwestern Georgia, southwestern North Carolina and southeastern Tennessee, to Indian Territory, that is now Oklahoma. This movement is remembered as the Trail of Tears and a terrible blot on our nation. However, my great grandfather or his father must have been helpful to the Cherokees in some way as they presented him with a peace pipe when they finally parted. I still have the stem as Uncle Floyd talked my father out of the bowl, resulting in neither family having the original peace pipe.

Grandfather Miller, at age 14, in 1857, moved with his family from Alabama to Illinois in anticipation of the Civil War. He later attended Shurtleff College in Alton, IL, and graduated from Rush Medical College in Chicago in 1869. He practiced medicine in Illinois for over fifty years. Grandmother Miller was born Geneva Ludwig in Fremont, Sandusky County, Ohio. Her mother’s maiden name was also Miller.

Figure 1-3

An Unusual Picture of my Miller Grandparents

(Picture taken on a trip they made to Colorado)

The next summer, after my illness, we moved to Rockbridge, five miles away, where my father had continued to run the Rockbridge Mercantile Company, known as the hardware store. The family continued to live in Greenfield and Dad drove the five miles each way every day. Dad was a graduate of Northwestern University, but did not enjoy the Chicago area where he was employed upon graduation. As a result, he returned to Greene County and opened a general store with a lumberyard, farm implements, plumbing and general repair shop for equipment. My parents had moved to Greenfield to let mother look after the Boulton Grandparents until they died. I was born while they lived in Greenfield with the Boultons. My Miller Grandparents had lived in Rockbridge for many years. We moved into a house the family owned across the street from where my grandparents lived and next door to where my parents had lived when they were first married.

Grandfather Miller, Dr. Adam Ewing Miller, was still practicing medicine when we moved to Rockbridge. He had an office in the back of Dad's store. By that time, as a country doctor, grandfather made house calls in his Buick. During bad weather he used a horse-drawn storm buggy. When the roads were snow covered he used a horse-drawn sleigh. If the mud was really deep, he had a tongue for the storm buggy so that a team of horses could be used.

On many of my grandfather Miller's house calls, I would be invited to go along. I'm sure he hoped that I would study medicine. One of these trips I'll never forget. The family was very poor and had no money to pay for medical help. This was common, and many paid with animals, feed, or whatever grandfather would take as payment for practicing his profession. On this occasion, his payment was dinner (lunch) for him and his grandson. As we were washing before going to the table, Granddad told me to be sure to eat whatever we had. I was just a kid, but I knew that at home we did not eat blackbird pie, but that is what they served us, and that is what I ate. I'll never forget the pat on the back grandfather gave me for following his instructions as I climbed into the storm buggy to go home.

School was a two-room building. Miss Capps taught grades 1-4, and Mrs. Green had grades 5-8. The high school was very small, with a total of about forty students, a principal, and three female teachers. There was no kindergarten. I entered the first grade with three other students. By the time my class was ready for the third grade, there were only three of us left because the fourth student had moved away. The principal decided to let us skip the third grade and moved us into the fourth grade to make it easier on Miss Capps, who was getting ready to retire. This consolidation was not by any means the result of our being above-average students. Our dads owned local businesses and were all on the school board. Why they let this happen, I will never know.

After Aunt Lottie died, my Miller Grandparents moved to Jerseyville to live with my Uncle Floyd Miller. When this took place, we moved into the old Miller farmhouse, shown in the following figure. As a farm home, on the edge of town, the front door connected to the town sidewalk; but the backdoor went to the barn and feedlots. The farm was really made up of two farms, the one extending from the barn area, and the other, east of town.

Figure 1-4

The Miller Farmhouse Where I Grew Up

(1926 photo)

Dad kept busy running the hardware store, lumberyard, implement business, plumbing and heating, and about everything except groceries. This was a typical operation for a business in a small farming community. In addition to the hardware store, there were three grocery stores, two restaurants, a grain elevator, a barber shop, post office, shoe repair shop, a filling station, and a large garage building Dad had built as an investment with a blacksmith shop across the back of the building. Since the small town and the community needed a bank, my father financed establishing one, retained the position of president for himself, but delegated the operation to the cashier he had appointed. This

man was an old high school friend of his from Jerseyville.

My father was a businessman and in no way ever intended to be a farmer. I do not remember him ever milking a cow, driving a team of horses except to a buggy, or doing much physical labor such as building fence, or bucking bales of hay or straw. Grandfather Miller had hired Arthur Reno for a number of years to run the farm, do the milking, feeding, tend to the crops, and all the yard chores. Grandfather was a medical doctor and not a farmer. It was a case of the son being like the father, until it came my turn.

As a result, I grew up under the guidance of Arthur as well as my father because Arthur continued to work the farms that made up the home place. In order to keep me occupied, I was assigned to work where I was needed the most. I had routine Saturday chore to do as I grew older, such as helping Arthur repair fences, milk, feed, grind feed on Saturdays, drive cattle to other farms the family owned, and work in the store if the weather was too bad to work outside. If a railway car of lumber, cement, or brick came in, we were all drafted to help unload to avoid demurrage. This was real work for a teenager, but the older fellows looked after me, probably much more than I realized at the time. Arthur and the other men who worked for Dad were really good to me. After all, I was the boss’s son and they enjoyed the year-round employment my family provided.

The good Lord had a hand on my shoulder during all these years to keep me from getting injured or killed. Farm work is much more dangerous than most people realize because you are always subject to things going wrong that were never planned. Livestock are trusted in many instances much more than they should be. However, after a period of time, with nothing going wrong, it is common to let your guard down and fail to take the precautions that you have been told time and again to carry out. This happened to Arthur once. It made me appreciate how easy it was to have something dreadful happen. We had a truly fine Jersey bull to complete the Jersey milking herd. The bull was, or appeared to be, a very friendly fellow; however, one morning when Arthur took over my chore of taking his feed out to him, he turned on Arthur, charged him, and pushed him down with his head onto the ground in the feedlot. The fence around the lot was made of wood boards nailed to hedge posts and railroad ties. Fortunately for Arthur there was enough room between the bottom board and the ground for him to get through before the bull was able to gore him more severely. Arthur was unable to work for a few days, but other than bruises, he was not badly hurt. Of course, my thoughts were, “What if it had happened to me the day before?” Here was that hand on my shoulder again.

My pride and joy was my Shetland pony team and wagon, shown in the following figure. Dad had the blacksmith make the pony wagon by cutting down buggy wheels, building the wagon box, and installing a tongue so I could have both ponies pull the wagon. He purchased a set of double pony harness at the same time he acquired the team for me. We also had two saddles, one for each pony, so a friend could ride with me. There were a several boys my age who lived in town and did not have access to farm life except through me. As a result, I nearly always seemed to have a number of friends ready to help with many of the tasks I was assigned. I am sure that we caused Arthur more trouble than we were worth; however, he was always good to us and tolerated much more than he deserved.

Figure 1-5

My Shetland Pony Team and Wagon

During the threshing (wheat) season, and during baling jobs, my pony wagon was a major asset. (This was before the use of combines and balers to pick up the hay or straw in the field.) I became the water boy; not only when we had threshers and balers for our own crops, but for the neighboring farmers as well. I furnished the pony outfit and a large number of gallon jugs. Arthur had helped me wrap burlap bags around the jugs. By pumping water on the burlap when I filled the jugs, the wet burlap helped keep the water cool. The farmers paid me one dollar a day and fed my ponies and me at noon. Eating with the threshers was a great experience.

As the steam engine and grain separator moved from one farm to another, all the neighbors, including the wives, pitched in to help. The wives helped in the kitchens to prepare and serve the noon meals. The wheat was cut with a binder, which gathered the wheat in small bundles or sheaves, and tied each bundle with binder twine. The bundles were gathered by hand and stacked in shocks, small piles of bundles with the butt ends down and covered with two bundles crossways on top. At threshing time, farmers would bring their own teams and wagons and go from one shock to another, while other men on the ground would fork the bundles onto the wagons for hauling to the threshing machine. The farmer driving the team and wagon would pitch the bundles, one at a time, heads first, into the separator. The separator was the machine that separated the wheat from the straw, blowing the straw into a straw stack. The wheat was collected in large bags holding a bushel or more. The separator was powered by the large, in fact huge, steam engine that had a large flywheel that operated the long leather belt used to drive the separator. These machines were used for threshing oats and rye in a similar way.

Figure 1-6

Threshing Outfit (Steam Engine and Separator)

When threshing time came at our house, about a half-dozen wives came to help Mother cook, serve, and wash dishes for the threshers’ noon meal. A number of them brought food as well. When the front porch was made larger, to about a thousand square feet, Dad’s idea was that it would make an ideal place for all the threshers to eat. Tables would be set up on sawhorses and we could all eat together. It also made it much easier on the women to serve the food since there was plenty of room to serve on all sides of the tables. At some farm homes, we ate in the living room, parlor, and dining room; at others we ate in the yard. At a few farms, they carried food to the barn where bales of straw or hay were used as tables. Nearly everyone looked forward to threshing-time each year. The women always tried to outdo what they had prepared the previous year. Of course, there was some effort spent outdoing what their neighbors had done or were doing. As a result, we had wonderful meals. As a growing boy, I could eat with the best of them. Mother always cautioned me not to make a pig of myself.

My farm experiences included feeding hogs, milking cows morning and night, and having a milk route morning and night. I delivered the milk in glass bottles with cardboard caps on the bottles, to about a dozen customers. Dad never milked, but I had to help Arthur. We ran quite a large hog operation, much to the disgust of some neighbors who also lived on the edge of town. However, Dad was also president of the only town bank, and had a number of employees in addition to my friend Arthur. Arthur had worked for my family for over twenty-six years before he accidentally shot himself while hunting. He was climbing over a woven wire fence with a shotgun that had the hammers exposed, and the gun was loaded! The only time Dad ever showed anger with Arthur was after we had moved a herd of feeder cattle up to the Macoupin County farm, the old Boulton Stock Farm. Arthur had let me ride along on Babe, one of my ponies. It was an 18-mile trip, one way. The riders to meet us took the wrong road, so we were delayed on the return. Due to the lateness, Arthur and the other riders on horses took off for home. Realizing that the pony could not be expected to keep up with the horses, I had assured him that I knew the way home. I learned later that Dad really chewed him out for what he called deserting his son to come home alone. It was about the only time I ever realized that my dad did care; however, I should have realized it when he bought me the team of ponies and had the wagon made for me. He was just not one to show affection.

Dad went to the Kansas City Stockyards every fall to buy a load or two of feeder cattle. These were cattle carloads on the railroad. As I got older, he took me with him. Staying at the Muehlebach Hotel was a great experience. From the railhead, we drove the cattle to one farm or another.

Like most kids, I wanted my own team of horses. Instead, Dad bought a team of old work mules from a friend who told him how gentle they were, "just right for Boulton." Dad never worked them, or any other team for that matter. I don't think he ever believed my stories of how mean they were. Arthur knew, as we both experienced their meanness. They looked old, tired, and docile, but they could kick, crowd us in a stall, and bite with the best of them. Really, I never hated anything like I did those ornery mules.

When Dad bought our first Farmall tractor, an iron wheeled 1926 model, I was 11 years old. I would be 12 in the fall, and I was well-developed for my age. With the arrival of the tractor I saw a way of graduating from my team of mules by learning to drive the tractor. Dad was away on a big plumbing job and didn't get home for dinner (lunch), so I saw my chance. Each day, I put up my team, fed them, got Mother to fix me a sandwich, then spent the balance of the noon hour with the men hired to run the tractor, and getting one to teach me how. (They took turns so the tractor could operate around the clock.) I made a confidant out of Mother in getting her to support me in my noon-hour plan by pointing out that if I learned to drive the tractor, I would be able to drive the family car and take her places. Dad had never taught her to drive. I had a real incentive to learn fast, before Dad caught on to my plan. Arthur promised not to tell. By the end of the second week, I was making a full round-trip all by myself when Dad caught up with me.

The following week, the tractor with one operator was to go to the Macoupin County farm to put in the corn crop and do other tractor work. Dad decided that since I was so determined to drive the tractor, I should go with the tractor and run the day shift. I was all for it. Mother was not very supportive because she knew the young married couple living on the place had little time for a growing boy. Needless to say, she was correct. They lived on love, and I nearly starved for the good food and tender loving care I enjoyed at home. They had no ice, so they kept things a bit cool by hanging them in the well. Saturday night was bath night in a washtub on the kitchen floor. Dad left me there for over three weeks before he and Mother came to visit. They brought fried chicken and all the trimmings. I'll never forget that meal, as it was the only decent one I'd eaten since I'd left home. After another week, I was back home. The young couple did well, later they owned their own farm and raised a fine family. I can’t remember their names.

Figure 1-7

Boulton on a 1926 Farmall

A driver's license was not required in Illinois at that time. I kept my word about driving Mother. Dad never objected because it saved him from driving her himself. We never went very far, generally to Greenfield, five miles away. I was probably the most thoughtful and courteous driver in the state at that time with my mother sitting on my right, watching my every move. The car was a REO, named after R.E. Olds, its manufacturer, who later developed the Oldsmobile. One thing I do remember about the car was that the horn button was mounted on the door by the driver’s left knee. It was a touring car with side curtains used when it rained. Later my father had what was called a California Top installed, which made a sedan with glass windows out of the touring car.

High school sports in a small school in those days were quite an undertaking. We had basketball and track. The basketball team played in neighboring towns during the winter months when the roads were often muddy or frozen. The town trucker, Celia Faith, kept a truck on the state highway in White Hall. The train ran from Rockbridge, northwest about twenty miles to White Hall. The basketball team would ride the train to where Faith could have a truck meet us and carry us to one of several towns located on the highway. After the game, we were fed another meal, nearly always chili, and the truck would haul us to the end of the highway about three miles from Rockbridge. At that point, we left the truck and walked home on muddy roads or in the snow. By this time it was in the middle of the night, and we had to use flashlights to light our way while we carried all our gear. The truck was an open grain truck with straw to sit on. These were cold rides after a hot basketball game and much chili.

Dad always furnished a car for me to drive to haul the team to our games in neighboring towns when the roads were passable. The school principal took his car. This meant that the squad went in two cars. Dad paid for the gas in our car that I drove. One time we were to play Greenfield, five miles away. The roads were too muddy for cars, so Dad had Arthur hook up our best team to a hay frame wagon, put bales of straw on it for seats, and haul the team to play our rivals. I well remember we lost, and the trip home on that wagon in the mud was a sad affair.

Mother felt that I should learn to play the piano. But practice, on top of everything I was involved in, was a real problem. She was a strict disciplinarian when the time came, and practice I did. I tried everything I could dream up to get out of piano lessons. After I made it rough on the few teachers in Rockbridge, Mother found a lady in Greenfield. The only thing I liked about this new arrangement was that I could ride my saddle horse the five miles each way to take the lessons. The lady kept bragging on anything she could dream up to encourage Mother to keep me as a student. This lasted about two years, until I came up with the idea that a clarinet would be of more interest to me than the piano. My saddle horse was also a horse I could drive with a buggy or buckboard, as shown in the following picture.

Figure 1-8

Boulton Driving a Buckboard

(The passenger was Betty Ellen Boulton)

MY AUTO TRIP TO COLORADO AND SOUTH DAKOTA

The summer after I had completed my junior year in high school, a cousin of Mother's who lived in Greenfield wanted to visit relatives in Colorado and South Dakota. She was a widow lady, 76 years old, but a spirited little person. I called her "Janie." Her name was Lydia B. Jayne. She talked Mother into letting me drive her in her big old Buick on this proposed trip. I was 15 at the time in 1931, and would not turn 16 until the following November. Dad said I could go, but not until after the crop was in on the Boulton Stock Farm in Macoupin County. I was one of the tractor operators, but by now lived at home and drove up to the farm every morning and home at night. This meant that we could not leave until mid-June that year.

This turned out to be the trip of my life, getting away from the hard work I did each summer. We would be gone six weeks! I couldn't believe it. We crossed the Mississippi River at Alton, IL on one of the Lewis & Clark bridges. Then we angled across the bottom on the far side of the Mississippi to where the Missouri runs north and the rivers join near Alton, IL. This is the area hit so hard by the flood of 1993. We crossed the Missouri at St. Charles, MO and continued on to Kansas City. It is also the area where Lewis & Clark began their trip to the West Coast in 1804. We spent the night in Kansas City with a friend of mine who had relocated to Missouri. His folks were most gracious to put us up.

We parted company with the concrete road just west of Kansas City, KS the second day out, on our way to visit relatives in Rossville, KS. I met Griswolds I had never seen. They were farm folks and had a long way to go to recover from the Great Depression. Putting us up for a night was a major drain on everything they had. Fortunately for me, they had two daughters, one a year older, and one a year younger, as I remember. That night Janie let me use the car to take them to a movie. It seemed to be a real treat for them as they saw few movies. However, I never saw them again.

When we arrived in Denver I finally met a relative by the name of Swallow. Our host was also a distant cousin, Colonel George R. Swallow. (Since I carry three family names, my wife was glad Mother did not name me Swallow Miller!) He had enlisted in Captain Harris’ 7^th Indiana battery of light artillery on August 21, 1861. He worked his way up and became Chief of Artillery in General Braid’s Division. In 1864 he was commissioned a Major in the 10^th Cavalry. Later, he was promoted to Lieut. Colonel, and prior to the end of the war commanded the regiment as a Colonel. He was in his 90s, and in good health, but had no children. His old home was a large, brick, three-story affair located at 1316 Columbine St. in Denver. The relatives who lived with him were overly protective. Janie was about the same relation to him as they were. This resulted in their fear of Janie getting in on his estate. She wasn't rich, but she didn't have to worry about some distant relative's worldly goods. I think she got a big kick out of their concern.

Figure 1-9

Boulton and Colonel Swallow (1931)

The old Colonel had not been able to get out very much. He took quite a shine to me because Janie let me use her Buick to drive him around Denver. He had put most of his savings into real estate and owned houses and apartments like I'd never seen. He had me drive him everywhere on the pretext of looking after one piece of property or another. We visited many of his old haunts he had not seen in years. The old Brown Palace Hotel, where he most often took me for lunch, was his favorite eating-place.

One of his old buddies claimed that he still earned enough to live on by panning gold along Cherry Creek that ran through downtown Denver. (I think he had plenty of money, but tried to make people think he earned his living panning gold. At least I observed that they knew him at the Brown Palace whenever he went with us to lunch.) The old fellow let me try my hand at panning gold. I obtained a few specks of gold that I kept in a very small bottle for a long time. By the time the old Colonel began talking to me about coming to Denver to finish high school, the relatives hustled Janie and me off to visit Colorado Springs, Cripple Creek, Pikes Peak, and Canon City. The suspension bridge over the Royal Gorge was very new and the incline railway was a thrill. I know Janie knew I had really talked her into something by going down the incline.

We went up Pikes Peak in one of those old Pierce Arrow touring cars and rented sheepskin coats about halfway up. I did not have a photograph of our trip up Pikes Peak; however, my wife Marian made the same trip a year later with her parents, Mr. and Mrs. E. Wright Fowler. They too rode in a Pierce Arrow touring car and rented sheepskin coats as shown with the three of them in the back seat. Dad Fowler is wearing a straw hat, smoking a cigar, and wearing his rented coat!

Figure 1-10

Pikes Peak in 1932

(Fifty years later when my wife and I retraced my trip, we went up Pikes Peak on the Manitou & Pike’s Peak Railway, advertised as the world's highest cog railway.)

When we returned to Denver it was time for us to move on toward South Dakota. The trip north out of Denver through Fort Collins and into Cheyenne was rough, what they called corduroy gravel. I thought that Buick would shake itself to pieces. North of Cheyenne we ran out of the corduroy, but hit lots of loose gravel and dust like I'd never seen. Very late in the day we finally hit Lusk, WY. I had known for many miles that my judgment as to how far we could go in one day was similar to the estimate I'd made on the junk to haul with my pony team. We finally found a place to stay. Janie thought I had failed her miserably, but the next day turned out better as we ended up with the relatives in Rapid City, SD. At Rapid City the folks owned a tourist park with a group of cabins to rent. They gave Janie and me one of their best, a two-bedroom affair, with bath and small kitchenette. They lost the rent on it for our entire visit, which lasted about two weeks. I imagine they were glad for us to leave.

The Rapid City visit introduced me to the Badlands through another cousin who was home from attending the old Missouri School of Mines at Rolla, MO. He was a geology scholar, and had me wading around in rattlesnakes I never knew existed. Janie and I visited Mount Rushmore where Gutzon Borglum's sculptures were far from being completed. At the time of our visit in 1931, only George Washington was recognizable. In those days Mr. Borglum would let tourists see his work tent where he modeled the sculpture to be completed. On my return to the Black Hills, some 50 years later, it was great to finally see the completed monument.

On the return trip, in 1981, we found another sculptor, Korczak Ziolkowski and his family, working on the Crazy Horse Mountain Memorial, five miles north of Custer, SD. His family is carrying on the late Sculptor Zilowski’s work.

Our trip in 1931 was made before the days of credit cards. I knew Janie carried money to pay our expenses. Dad gave me some money before I left, but my concern was to protect what money she had. I knew that I did not have enough to get us back to Illinois if someone ripped off her handbag. She must have sensed this, because she told me that she carried her "bank" (a small pocketbook) as she called it in small pockets she had sewn into her petticoats. She was very careful not to let me spend any of my money. Whenever I paid anything for the car, she was quick to reimburse me. She wanted me to use my money to buy something that would make me remember the trip in years to come. This I did in Rapid City where I purchased a ring made of Black Hills gold. The gold they mine there comes in various colors, and when pieces are combined they make up into very pretty jewelry. My wife wore this ring quite often, and a daughter has it today.

The trip east from Rapid City to Pierre, the state capitol, to visit more relatives, was another experience. About 40 miles east of Rapid City, we found a sign advertising Free Ice Water at the Wall Drug Store in Wall, SD. Janie and I took advantage of their offer, rested a bit, and bought a few items. Little did we realize that the wife's ice water idea would save the drug store in those depressed times. Upon stopping there in 1981, fifty years later, we found the Wall Drug Store to be one of the largest drug stores in the world. I've been told that it is even advertised in Japan. When traveling Interstate 90, east of Rapid City, a visit to the Wall Drug Store is recommended. The advertising will remind you of what lies ahead.

It had been hot and dry, so the gravel dust continued as we traveled on to Pierre, SD. However, Janie and I had not anticipated driving through a plague of grasshoppers. I had heard of how numerous the grasshoppers could be, but it always seemed like a bit of an exaggeration when they said that you could scoop them up in a scoop shovel. It was no exaggeration. They were so thick that I had to roll down the windshield to keep them from raining in on our feet. In those days there was no air conditioning. We rode with the windows down and the windshield raised a few inches with a crank which let the air rush in, hit the cowling of the dash board, and come down on our feet. I had to stop and clean out the grasshoppers, and keep the windshield closed. Janie really got perturbed over the incident. I felt for the farmers because the grasshoppers had eaten the corn down to the ground, leaving not a stalk standing. The corn must have been a foot high when they invaded. The weather was too hot to allow much sightseeing in Pierre, except for the state capitol. We were both ready to head back to Illinois without much more delay. The remainder of the trip through Nebraska and Iowa was uneventful, for which I was most thankful. I was not required to change a single tire on the entire trip, quite an accomplishment back then.

THE BANK MORATORIUM

Many people have heard of the time President Roosevelt closed all the banks to sort out the bad ones and only let those that met the new standards reopen. It was a necessary step. The people in charge of the Savings and Loan organizations in America could have learned from this experience in the 1930s, but they didn't, as we are well aware.

When the telegram came in February, 1933 to the Rockbridge State Bank, Dad was up at one of the farms. I was sent by the bank cashier to give him the sad news. By this time we had a Model A Ford pickup truck. The pickup was my favorite to drive. When I found Dad and gave him the message, I never saw such a change in him. Although I did not realize it at the time, it later became clear that he suddenly realized what a bind he was in. He financed the opening of the bank out of his own funds, because the little town needed a bank. The nearest bank was five miles away and they were not very helpful to people from Rockbridge. Dad realized that although he was president, he knew very little about the details of the bank and the banking business. He had trusted an old high school chum to run things with the position of cashier. Dad did help evaluate a few questionable loans, but little else. This moratorium turned out to be a rude awakening, resulting in changes from which the Miller family never recovered. About the only record my Dad retained was a copy of a letter the late Speaker of the House of Representatives, Henry T. Rainey, wrote on Dad's behalf. Mother saved a newspaper clipping. Apparently, the cashier had invested most of the bank funds in Canadian stock that had turned out to be worthless. I've often wondered what might have happened if Dad had kept the stock certificates, or what really did happen to them? Dad would never discuss it. He was with the banking business like my Grandfather Miller was with the Alabama relatives, and like my Grandfather Boulton was with his ties back in New York State. The letter follows:

Carrollton, Illinois

August 26, 1933.

In Re: Rockbridge State Bank

Rockbridge, Illinois.

Hon. Edward J. Barrett,

Illinois State Auditor,

Springfield, Illinois.

My dear Mr. Barrett:

I sincerely hope it will not be necessary to throw this

little bank into receivership. It is only a $25,000 bank and it has rendered great service in Rockbridge. Rockbridge is a small community, of course. Throwing the bank into receivership now will wreck the stockholders in this bank. It does not seem to me that it will be at all in accord with the recovery program in which we are all engaged.

Their deposits only amount to $49,000 and they have, I am advised, in cash $12,000. Therefore it would only take about $36,000 or $37,000 to pay off every depositor. Of course, they can not get that much money now, and so the situation looks entirely hopeless if they are compelled to settle with their depositors now.

The bank holds as part of its assets $68,000 in notes

given by farmers in that vicinity. Ordinarily everyone of these notes would be worth 100% on the dollar. Of course, now they are frozen assets. They owe the Reconstruction Finance Corporation probably about $13,000. It was larger than this but it has been reduced.

I do not know whether you can do it or not, but if it is possible I would very much appreciate it if you could permit this bank to open up on a restricted basis, simply for the purpose of collecting outstanding notes as fast as possible. A year from now times ought to be much better and most of these outstanding notes of theirs ought to be good. Its opening on a restricted basis, such as I have suggested, if it can be done, would amount to the same as a receivership. A Receivership would probably cost $12,000 or $14,000 and a receiver could do nothing more than just one official of the bank acting as an agent to collect, and a receiver could not close up matters any sooner and it could be done in this way.

Forcing this bank into receivership at the present time would ruin Mr. Miller, the President. He is one of my best personal friends. He is ordinarily rated as a rich man. His investments are in farms and just at present farms are not salable, and under the present deflation program of the Federal Land Bank in St. Louis, which I am fighting to the best of my ability, it is not possible to borrow much on farms.

A receivership, of course, would give a job to

somebody, but it would wreck several people and that little community will feel the effects of it for many years.

I am so busy that it seems impossible for me to get to

Springfield to see you personally, but I may be able to get away one day next week and will see you in this matter.

Very truly yours,

HENRY T. RAINEY"

Note: At that time Congressman Henry T. Rainey was Speaker of the House of Representatives in Washington, DC.

The newspaper clipping my Mother saved follows. Dad didn't even keep a copy of the original letter. We have no record of who the reporter was. It was probably from the Illinois State Register, published in Springfield, IL.

The small headline read:

Plan Reopening of Rockbridge Bank; First to Pay Loan

ROCKBRIDGE, Ill., Nov. 8--O. J. Miller, president of the Rockbridge State Bank, which closed last February, is a busy man these days making plans for the reopening of the bank and the residents of the community are joyous over the prospects of the bank reopening within the next several weeks.

Mr. Miller Monday received the following letter from Samuel M. Carter, of the Alton loan agency of the Reconstruction Finance Corporation:

Mr. O. J. Miller

Rockbridge, Ill.:

Your bank wins. It is the first bank to pay its

loan in full without any help from a receiver. The first to pay out with pledged collateral. Glad you made the record and hearty congratulations.

The bank borrowed approximately $40,000 from the RFC and the letter states that the institution was the first in the nation to pay back the loan without help from a receiver, a signal honor to this community and to Mr. Miller.

The bank president has been in St. Louis conferring on plans for reopening the institution and it is expected that details will have been worked out within a short time with depositors of the closed bank to be paid in full.

What the article failed to point out was the sacrifice my dad and mother made to pay the depositors in full. Neither was there any comment made when he not only paid them in full, but he also paid them interest on their savings during the time the funds were frozen due to the bank closure.

Rather than let a receiver be appointed at the annual salary of $12,000 to $14,000 a year, which the bank could not afford, Dad decided to pay out the bank with his own funds. With the land he owned, he felt sure that he could obtain a sufficient loan to pay off the bank. However, the Federal Land Bank people only laughed at him when he requested a loan. As a result, he initially thought that by selling our home and the acreage south of town, he could pull it off. However, these were Great Depression times and good Illinois land was only bringing $5 to $10 an acre, if you could find a buyer. (The same land, years later, brought between $2,500 and $3,000 an acre.) However, our home place was choice property in that vicinity and the home place with the land south of town was the first to go. This did not bring enough money to meet his needs.

Dad then sold Walter Fillager the farm east of town. These sales still wouldn't do it. With each sale, Dad went back to the Federal Land Bank, trying to get a loan to save another piece of property. Each time they turned him down. But finally, Dad was able to sell the Freer Farm. The last to go was the farm at Fayette. We moved back to Mother's old home place in Greenfield where I was born. After Dad paid out the depositors, paying interest on time deposits, he closed the bank for good, and started commuting again between Greenfield and Rockbridge.

As it turned out, Dad probably should have reopened the bank and continued its operation. He did continue to operate the Rockbridge Merchantile Company going down each day from our home in Greenfield. After what my father had done for the community, he believed that his business would come back as the economy recovered. What he did not realize was that his credit system would continue to haunt him. Nearly everyone in and around the community owed him money. Because they owed money at the store, they shopped elsewhere whenever they were able to get any cash to spend. Neither did they really appreciate what he did to pay out the bank because he refused to reopen it on an operating basis. In their opinion, it was Jerry's fault that they had to go to Greenfield to bank, when a bank there finally did reopen.

We installed a hot-air furnace in the old house in Greenfield. I hauled coal from a mine north of town and carried it into the basement that first winter, for we didn't have a coal bin near the furnace. The first year was truly hard for my mother who had to return to the community of her old friends. I had graduated from Rockbridge High School in 1932, but because of skipping a grade, my parents thought me too young to go off to college. Neither did we have the financial resources to help me go to school. It made sense for me to go back to high school in Greenfield and take other subjects, such as typing, shorthand, physics, etc. that I had not taken in Rockbridge. I also became a year older, making up for the year of school I had lost in the third grade. Unfortunately, I was not eligible for athletic events, but I did try to help out with the athletic teams where I could. Most of my spare time was spent at the old Boulton Stock Farm in Macoupin County. As a result, I graduated from two high schools and received two high school diplomas!

It was touch and go, financially, for me going to college. However, since both my parents had gone to college, they were determined that I would as well, “One way or another,” as my father said. A number of Greenfield High School graduates attended Eureka College, in Eureka, IL. Their enrollment in Eureka was because the athletic coach was a graduate. The same individual coached all sports. One old friend, older than me, was Franklin Burghardt, whose sister was also a senior at the high school. The Burghardt family was black, and when old Mr. Burghardt and his wife came to town they were the only black family in town and for miles around.

Mr. Burghardt was a barber, the only barber in town, and the first to cut my hair. I remember Mother had me give him an apple. They had two sons; both became barbers and continued to operate the barbershop. Mother had been instrumental in helping the Burghardts join the Greenfield Methodist Church, which at that time, in a WASP community, was quite a feat. (WASP is an acronym for White Anglo-Saxon Protestant.) Mother was known to do things like this. For example, when Uncle Floyd married a Jewish girl, mother made the relatives accept her. Then Aunt Lottie died and my uncle married a Catholic woman. Mother had the same problem to solve again, making the relatives accept her into the family. My mother was quite a lady! My family training for my association with the Burghardt children was my mother reminding me “that but for the grace of God you would be black, too.”

When Mother attended Monticello Seminary, her good friend was the daughter of Colonel Johnston who ran Kemper Military School. She had heard so much about the school that she hoped that if she ever had a son he would attend Kemper. Through the Monticello Alumni, she knew that the former Johnston girl was by then the wife of Colonel Hitch, the Kemper Superintendent who had replaced Colonel Johnston. Money was so hard to come by that I didn't see how I could make college; but Mother came through in an unusual way. She did not have much jewelry, but what little she had she sold to contribute to the fund that would let me enter Kemper. I'll never forget her parting with a gold Elgin watch she was given by her parents for being valedictorian of her high school class. It was closed face. The watch was worn around the neck, held by a gold chain.

KEMPER MILITARY SCHOOL

When Major MacAaron, the Kemper Commandant, came to sign me up to attend the school, he assured Mother that they had a fine band. With my ability to play the clarinet, he felt sure I would be able to join the band. I wanted to play football because we did not have the sport at Rockbridge and at Greenfield I was not eligible to try out. Dad had played football at Northwestern and I had a picture of him with the team that I kept in my room.

That fall in 1933, I was invited to attend football practice at Kemper, which meant that the football squad gathered about two weeks before school opened. I had other plans than becoming a member of the band. When they picked up our luggage for storage, I left my clarinet in my suitcase, letting it be stored in a very safe place. The other cadets called members of the band "sliver suckers," and I didn't want that connotation. For my Mother's sake I simply didn't make the band. Not until after I was an Army Officer and on my own did I ever admit to Mother what had happened.

Because Dad always wanted me to be a doctor, he convinced me that I should follow in my grandfather's footsteps. He was long gone, but his memory to me was precious. Playing football and being on the squad helped me through a rough first year as a RAT. Major MacAaron had assured my mother that hazing was no longer tolerated at Kemper. One thing for sure was that the old Major did not live in D Barracks! The old boys treated us like slaves. We did everything they did not like to do. In addition, for the slightest infraction or improper reaction to their whims, we would receive brutal punishment. One time I was whipped on my behind with a pistol belt, held in the middle, allowing the metal keepers to dig into my flesh with every blow. I was bloody when it was over and added the cadet to my list along with that team of mules. He was one Kemper cadet whose name I will never forget. My fellow football players had me do things for them, but were never abusive. I tried to remember my feelings the following year when I became an old boy.

My upbringing was a major asset during my rat year at Kemper. We never had a live-in maid at home, although Mother had help that came in during the day, until the bank closed. I was taught to pick up after myself, shine my own shoes, and do all the things a growing boy must learn. Kemper asked about the same as Mother and Dad had asked of me. Unfortunately, we had a number of cadets who had apparently just grown up without much discipline or training. For example, we had some who would not take baths until they were corralled by the old boys and given a shower by the old boys. Others only ate a few items. This I learned early--not to let it be known if there was something I did not like to eat. The punishment was for the cadet to eat nothing else the next meal when that item was served. I learned to eat anything and everything put in front of me. After all, not many fellow cadets had eaten blackbird pie!

My second year at Kemper was much more enjoyable as I made Corporal and later Sergeant. My pre-med studies were, by reputation, the hardest at Kemper, but because of them I was selected to work part-time in the school hospital. These earnings helped defray my school expenses during the second and third years. I learned a lot in the hospital environment. Miss Monroe, the school nurse, was a great lady and took a special interest in those of us who were in pre-med courses.

I only wish Miss Monroe could have lived to know how much her training paid off for me when my wife became ill with lung cancer. My Kemper hospital training certainly came in handy. I was able to keep Marian in our apartment for several weeks longer than she could have stayed had I not been able to look after her. I thought of Miss Monroe nearly every time I gave her morphine. This was because Miss Monroe had been such a disciplinarian about her drug cabinet and impressing upon those of us who worked in the hospital how much responsibility there was in proper handling of all medicine. As a result, I kept a detailed record of every dose of medicine I ever gave my wife. When it became necessary for her to move over into the Health Care Facility here at the retirement home where we lived (and where I still live), The Management made an exception and let me move over with her and stay in her room with her to look after her until she died.

The Kemper school doctor was a former Kemper graduate who came from the leading family of medical people in the town of Boonville, MO where Kemper is located. Being a school doctor was a sideline, as he had a busy practice in town. In addition, he was a surgeon, along with his father. The school doctor also took an interest in pre-med cadets. As a result, he would have us come to the town hospital whenever we could get away and watch operations. We learned early that if one of us fainted during something like a cesarean section, no one would bother with us. The rule was--do not faint!

The most interesting thing to happen during my second year at Kemper was a trip a small number of cadets took to New York City. The trip cost extra, but the folks came up with some of the expense, and I worked extra hours at the hospital to pay off the remainder. Back home we were able to go into St. Louis, MO quite often as we only lived about 60 miles away. It was where we shipped cattle and hogs to market (really East St. Louis), but St. Louis was the city. Dad bought nearly all wholesale items for the store in St. Louis. Lumber came mostly from the state of Washington, followed at Christmas time with a large salmon shipped through in ice. Going to Missouri, Kansas City to buy cattle, the Ozarks where we had a cabin until the bank crash, trips to St. Louis, and my trip with Janie, were the extent of all my travels at that time. The trip to New York also included West Point, NY, Washington, DC, and Williamsburg, VA. This trip opened a whole new horizon for me, probably doing me as much good as the balance of the school year. Coincidentally, Colonel Hitch had a son who was an Oxford student and due to arrive in New York during the time we would be there! This trip permitted the old man to travel to New York to meet his son.

The train trip to the east coast was quite an event, as I had never slept on a train in a Pullman car before. Our first stop was in Washington, DC where we toured the U.S. Capitol, Washington's Monument, and the White House. During our tour of the White House, Don Walker and I were interested in something, became separated from the Kemper cadet group, and found ourselves too close to President Roosevelt's private quarters and were evicted. We did not hear the last of that during the entire trip. Don had been my roommate during our first year at Kemper. He became my roommate during the trip because he had a severe case of impetigo, and since I worked in the hospital I was able to tend to the dressings.

We went to Williamsburg via bus, in the rain, leaving very early in the morning and not returning until late at night. On the way we went through Fredericksburg and Yorktown, of much interest to our history lessons. Williamsburg was being restored to what is now Colonial Williamsburg. In 1926, the Reverend W.A.R. Goodwin, then rector of the Bruton Parish Church, interested Mr. John D. Rockefeller, Jr. in the preservation and restoration of eighteenth-century Williamsburg. At the time of our visit, the new road had been opened between the east end of the bridge over the York River at Yorktown, and Williamsburg, now called the Colonial Parkway. (Little did I realize that I would, one day live in Williamsburg.) The Raleigh Tavern was restored, as was the old Capitol and the Governor's Palace. Due to the rain we did not fully appreciate what we saw; but years later, it was nice to remember that I had made the trip when we did.

The trip on to New York was very exciting because we were able to go to the top of the Empire State Building. This was a highlight to all of us. Another was watching the Rockettes dance at Radio City Music Hall. Little did I realize that years later I would marry a girl who had danced in the Rockette line. One night we went to the Hollywood Restaurant where Alice Fay was working as a chorus girl. She seemed to enjoy our cadet group as she came over and sat with us after her number. It was a major event for us to brag about when we returned to Kemper.

We were on top of the family finances for my attending Kemper by the time I graduated in 1935 through my working in the hospital. My folks liked the environment for me and Colonel Hitch thought it would be well if I returned for a third year. If I did, they would make me a Cadet Lieutenant, increase my hours in the hospital, and line up courses in business that I had never studied. In addition, there were some courses in chemistry, physics and zoology that the instructors would make interesting for me. It appealed to me because I realized that my ROTC credits for three years would all transfer to the University of Illinois the following year. It was valuable for me to attend U of I at least one year before becoming eligible for medical school in Chicago. I returned to Kemper for a third year.

Figure 1-11

Boulton as a Kemper Lieutenant

PRE-MED AT THE UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS

Learning to live in a student boarding house was another new experience for me. In no way could I have ever afforded to belong to a fraternity. To suddenly be relocated from a rigid military environment to one with very few rules, if any, as long as you paid the monthly board and room bill, required some adjustment. In one respect, I was most fortunate in acquiring a good roommate, a fellow studying to become an architect. I was the only pre-med student of about twenty who lived in the rooming house. No one else was taking any of the same subjects I signed up to take.

At Kemper, I had acquired a girlfriend who attended Stephens College, a girls' school in Columbia, MO. We were often invited to attend their dances, and in turn, the girls were invited to attend ours. My Kemper girlfriend and I began attending the University of Illinois the same fall. Unfortunately, my finances and laboratory requirements convinced me at the beginning of the term that a social life would need to wait until later, much later. As a result of this decision, I asked the girl if I could come to her sorority house to see her for a few minutes. She agreed on a time and I appeared with my story well rehearsed, that for lack of funds and my course schedule I could not continue our relationship. Apparently, she had her eye on some fraternity member by this time. I left quickly after my speech, and never saw or heard from her again.

My decision was to give up on all social life except a student athletic ticket/pass I purchased for football, basketball, and baseball. This did not cost anything further as long as I went alone and did not order anything to eat. My schedule would not permit attendance very often, but the few times I could go were most enjoyable. Lou Boudreau was a classmate and made baseball most interesting. He was later elected to the National Baseball Hall of Fame.

In no way could I afford to take the time to find or work at a part-time job. Pre-med courses were designed to weed out all students possible, as the quota for medical school was low and firm. Most all my classmates had been at the university for their previous college work. As far as I knew, I was the only student in our group of pre-med students who had transferred in from another school. I knew nothing about their system. I never imagined that one student could become involved with so many laboratory requirements. I nearly lived in the three laboratories most of the time. There were many occasions when it was hard to arrange my schedule to accommodate ROTC drill requirements, and then I had senior level ROTC classes in addition.

My background of three years at Kemper was recognized by the PMS&T (Professor of Military Science and Tactics) who made me a company commander immediately. I did enjoy the drill sessions. They were outside most of the time or in the large field house. My military school background gave me an advantage over other company commanders in close-order drill competition.

My year at the University of Illinois is best described as drudgery. The term even applied to my Christmas vacation that year. Dad had a bunch of feeder cattle at the Boulton Stock Farm; he was still operating the store in Rockbridge. The spring that provided water for the cattle gave out Christmas Eve. It was my job to round up the Green brothers to do the tile work. Since we lived in Greenfield where they lived, it made it easier for me to get them each morning and head for the farm in Macoupin County, a good 20 miles using the highway. If you can imagine the three of us in a Ford Model A pickup, with all our winter gear, lunch buckets, etc., with the back end full of tools, we were a sight to behold. I kept busy hauling water for the cattle, tile for the Greens, and putting on and taking off chains because the farm was over two miles from the hard road. In the mornings the road to the farm would be frozen, but by late afternoon it was generally mud, due to the thaw. This freezing and thawing made the work go slowly. The days were short, and the weather wicked. I was not as tough as I had been due to my lack of exercise except for military drill. We finally completed retiling the spring just in time for me to go back to the University. I was ready to go before Dad found another job for me. Those smelly laboratories looked so good, mainly because they were warm.

I knew that I was doing well in school. In spite of the competition, other students did not put in the long hours that kept me so busy. In fact, I became quite an expert on running a microtone, used to cut sagital sections of tissues for microscopic examination and study. However, there was plenty of competition for the spaces allotted for medical school. In no way could I tell how well my work was when compared to the other students. We pre-med students were just names and numbers in a sea of thousands of other students. We never did find out who kept the records for the pre-med students, or how the final selections were made. Was it grades alone, probably not, but what else counted, and how much?

In June I could not graduate because I had attended a two-year college for three years. Even though I had enough college credit hours, they were not in the right sequence for a degree in anything, even if the two-year limitation had not been in effect. Pre-med students, at that time, never thought much about a degree before entering medical school because at the completion of the first year the University would award a Bachelors of Science degree.

I was commissioned a 2nd Lieutenant in the Infantry as a result of my ROTC training. In addition, I was offered duty with the U.S. 6th Infantry, a Regular Army regiment stationed at Jefferson Barracks, MO. Accepting this duty for a year would make me a Thomson Act Officer. This Act was an early attempt to build up the Army Officer Corps by ordering 1,000 Reserve Officers to active duty with Regular Army units to train for a year. At the end of the period a competitive examination would be given to identify the top 50 who would receive Regular Army commissions as 2nd Lieutenants. That year, 1937, the highest salary in the private sector I knew of was $125 a month as accepted by one of the top graduates out of the business school. Most salaries were in the $100 bracket, with many under $100. The pay for a second lieutenant at that time was $143 a month, a salary that looked good to me. However, Dad knew of my concern, but had not given up on my becoming a doctor. So we waited for the letter from the University, which is reproduced in the following figure. However, by the time the letter arrived, my mind was made up to decline the opportunity and report for duty with the Army. I also decided to never look back on my decisions, just full-steam ahead with trust in that hand on my shoulder.

Figure 1-12

Letter From Univeristy of Illinois Medical School, 1937

REFERENCES

Ehle, John. 1988. Trail of Tears The Rise and Fall of the Cherokee Nation. Anchor Books, DOUBLEDAY, New York: a division of Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, Inc.

e-mail bmiller@boultonmiller.com