Who wrote Precious Lord

Who wrote the song "Precious Lord"? I was very surprised to find out who it was.

 

THE BIRTH OF THE HYMN

"PRECIOUS LORD"

 

Back in 1932, I was a fairly new husband. My wife, Nettie and I were living in a little apartment on Chicago 's south side. One hot August afternoon I had to go to St. Louis where I was to be the featured soloist at a large revival meeting. I didn't want to go; Nettie was in the last month of pregnancy with our first

child, but a lot of people were expecting me in St. Louis. I kissed Nettie goodbye, clattered downstairs to our Model A and, in a fresh Lake Michigan breeze, chugged out of Chicago on Route 66.

 

However, outside the city, I discovered that in my anxiety at leaving, I had forgotten my music case. I wheeled around and headed back.

I found Nettie sleeping peacefully. I hesitated by her bed; something was strongly telling me to stay But eager to get on my way, and not wanting to disturb Nettie, I shrugged off the feeling and quietly slipped out of the room with my music.

 

The next night, in the steaming St. Louis heat, the crowd called on me to sing again and again. When I finally sat down, a messenger boy ran up with a Western Uniontelegram. I ripped open the envelope.... Pasted on the yellow sheet were the words: YOUR WIFE JUST DIED.

 

People were happily singing and clapping around me, but I could hardly keep from crying out. I rushed to a phone and called home. All I could hear on the other end was "Nettie is dead, Nettie is dead.'"

 

When I got back, I learned that Nettie had given birth to a boy. I swung between grief and joy. Yet that same night, the baby died. I buried Nettie and our little boy together, in the same casket. Then I fell apart.

For days I closeted myself. I felt that God had done me an injustice. I didn't want to serve Him anymore or write gospel songs I just wanted to go back to that jazz world I once knew so well. But then, as I hunched alone in that dark apartment those first sad days, I thought back to the afternoon I went to St. Louis . Something kept telling me to stay with Nettie. Was that something God? Oh, if I had paid more attention to Him that day, I would have stayed and been with Nettie when she died.

 

From that moment on I vowed to listen more closely to Him. But still I was lost in grief. Everyone was kind to me, especially one friend. The following Saturday evening he took me up to Maloney's Poro College , a neighborhood music school. It was quiet; the late evening sun crept through the curtained windows.

 

I sat down at the piano, and my hands began to browse over the keys. Something happened to me then. I felt at peace. I felt as though I could reach out and touch God. I found myself playing a melody. Once in my head they just seemed to fall into place: 'Precious Lord, take my hand, lead me on, let me stand, I am tired, I am weak, I am worn, through the storm,  through the night, lead me on to the light, take my hand, precious Lord, lead me home.'

 

The Lord gave me these words and melody, He also healed my spirit. I learned that when we are in our deepest grief, when we feel farthest from God, this is when He is closest, and when we are most open to His restoring power.

 

And so I go on living for God willingly and joyfully, until that day comes when He will take me and gently lead me home.

 

- - - -Tommy Dorsey

 

For those too young to know who he is, Tommy Dorsey was a well-known band leader in the 1930's and 40's.

 

Did you know that Tommy Dorsey wrote this song? I surely didn't. What a wonderful story of how God CAN heal the brokenhearted! Beautiful, isn't it?

 

Worth the reading, wasn't it? Think on the message for a while. Thought you might like to share this, I just did.

 

 

OKOBOJI SWING BRIDGE

TRAVEL

 MEMORY LANE

TRAVEL

BY R. AUBREY LA FOY

The other day I had to testify at a property dispute case at the Dickinson County Court House. The trial began at 9:00 a.m. so I left my home in Arnolds Park at 8:45 a.m. and had plenty of time before court opened. I didn’t give the drive a thought as I drove over the bridge at Okoboji; BUT if I turned the clock back to 1857 it would have been a different story.

The first pioneers arrived in Dickinson County in 1856 to establish homes and start a new life. The Spirit Lake Massacre was in 1857 and one of the results of that event was that it attracted the attention of many settlers. As the numbers increased, their needs also increased and one of the most pressing problems was quick and easy access across two narrow straights, one east of the town of Spirit Lake and the other at Okoboji.

The Straight at Okoboji had a point of land, three or four rods across overgrown with bushes and trees that jutted out into the water forming a natural separation between East and West Okoboji. The early settlers forded the narrow channel to avoid traveling the extra miles around the lakes and floated wagon boxes pulled by oxen to get across.  By the same token farmers coming from the east side of East Okoboji had to go around north in what is now Orleans and proceed south to the town of Spirit Lake.

On December 1859 the Dickinson County Board of Supervisors authorized the building of the first bridges-one at Spirit Lake, east of town which was to be 300 feet long and another one at Okoboji that was to be 210 feet long. They were built on bents or trestles set 16 feet apart with a main span over the channel, 30 feet in the clear. The span was strongly trussed with heavy braces, king posts and needle beams. Good railings were built and the floor planks were two inch oak.  Harvey Abbott furnished the plans and acted as foreman. In 1874 the trestle was taken out on each side of the main channel and log cribs were filled with rocks to hold the bridge in place. The bridge was four feet above the water.

In 1880 a demand was made for navigation between the lakes with regular passenger service to Orleans and back. A “drawbridge” to be light and strong was to be built that could be raised by block and tackle to an upright position thus permitting passage of boats from West to East Okoboji Lakes. The bridge was built on the old piers. A derrick was erected with the necessary ropes and pulleys and everything was rigged to the builder’s satisfaction. The eventful day arrived and everything was in place but it didn’t work. The “drawbridge” was raised once or twice but it took so much time and required so much power that the scheme was abandoned. The bridge was used without rising until 1883.

My grandparents and their counterparts always referred to that area as the “drawbridge”. It wasn’t until I did some research of the Okoboji bridges and talking to some “old geezers” that I realized their referring to the area and calling it the “drawbridge” was an inside joke. They also referred to it as the “grade.”

In 1883 the smooth operating swing bridge was installed at Spirit Lake and the Okoboji swing bridge was built soon after that. The steamers could now navigate the entire length of the Okoboji lakes. With the advent of steamboat traffic the City of Spirit Lake became the hub between the Arnolds Park/Okoboji area and the Orleans and Big Spirit Lake area. The bridges continued to be built of wood. At the top of the center post at Okoboji a warning was painted on a board. It read: “$5 fine for riding or driving across the bridge faster than a walk.”

In 1909 the Board of Supervisors ordered new steel bridges for both Spirit Lake and Okoboji. The cost for each bridge was $1,550.00. In 1909 the bridges were reinforced by stone piers laid in concrete. Because of the low water in 1929 it became impossible for steamboats to navigate through the mud in East Okoboji to Orleans so the swing bridges could no longer be used for the passage of boats. It was time as the automobile was taking over the mode of transportation at the Iowa Great Lakes. The county paid individuals to “swing” the bridges something like $300.00 a season. I missed a great opportunity as Norm Oleson could describe the turning of the swing bridges and I didn’t get around getting the information. Maybe somebody can remember?

Concrete bridges were built across the channels in 1929 with additional rock fills in 1931. Approaches have been filled many times. It was during the construction of the concrete bridges that one of our family folklores took place. My Grandfather, Sam Holcomb, had an appointment in Spirit Lake. He lived in Milford at that time and when he arrived at the Okoboji Bridge was told he would have to go back to Milford and go clear around the lake. Sam had a different idea, he drove across the railroad tracks and trestle in his Model A Ford. It must have been a bumpy ride and I thought of him later in World War II. I was stationed in India in 1944. I had the same experience of having to drive a 2 ½ ton GMC across a railroad track and trestle. In China in 1945 we were ferried across rivers several times.

Today we have wonderful paved roads and great bridges, both over the span at Okoboji and also at Spirit Lake. The boat traffic through and under the bridge at Okoboji is terrific on weekends and it is too bad they didn’t listen to Paul Hedberg when he tried to get they to make two boat passages between East and West Okoboji. In the winter the water under the Okoboji Bridge doesn’t really freeze, so it Bridge3, Snowmobiles-0.

The old Okoboji Swing Bridge is in existence where it is lying along the Little Sioux River near the Little Sioux Lutheran Church south of Milford. Several people have been trying to get it back to the lakes and maybe become part of the Trails. It would be a tragedy to let some of our history is cut up for scrap metal. I have researched and looked but have never located the Swing bridge at Spirit Lake, my theory is that is the Board of Supervisors moved the Okoboji Bridge to the Little Sioux they must have move the Spirit Lake Swing Bridge as well, BUT where?  I wonder what happened to it. If you have a clue let me know.

Sources: Hattie P Elston, R. A. Smith, Steve Kennedy and Fern Flatt Peterson.

MEMORY LANE PASSPORTS BY R. AUBREY LA FOY A favorite pastime of mine when I was a kid was to visit my uncle and aunt home only ½ block from my house. My aunt was my Mother’s elder sister and my uncle was a printer. Uncle Ray always subscribed to the National Geographic Magazine and I spent hours poring through those magazines looking at weird people, their dress, customs, buildings, maps and styles. The magazine opened up a world far removed from our small tight nit community in Iowa. We could dream and wondered if we would ever get to travel and see some of those exotic places and people. Little did I know at that time (age10 or 11) that by the time I was 21 years old my journeys would take me clear around the world. In July 1943 I left Milford, Iowa and traveled west and west and west until I returned to Milford from the east in January 1946. When I was a kid the highest hill I had ever seen was Hi Point on the west side of Lake West Okoboji but before I returned home in 1946 I had seen and driven mountains in Burma and China flew over the Himalayans of Tibet. The largest boat that I had ridden on prior to 1944 was the Queen on Okoboji but before I returned home in January 1946 had voyaged on an ocean going vessel that held over 8,000 people and another that held 3,500 military personal. Wow! The largest body of water I had observed prior to 1943 was Big Spirit Lake and then I sailed across the Pacific Ocean, Indian Ocean, Bay of Bengal, Red Sea, Mediterranean Sea and the Atlantic Ocean. The Little Sioux River was huge when I was a kid but it didn’t compare with the Missouri River, Hooghly or Irrawadity in India, the Yangzee in China, Hudson River or the Mississippi River in the USA. I thought people from Minnesota talked different until I associated with fellows from Brooklyn and Texas but that was nothing compared with the languages in India and China. Years ago we would beg my Father to drive up past the Inn so we might see some of the employees but we found out in World War II the color of our skin was in the minority in India and China. I won’t even get into religions but when we found out that cows were sacred in India that was the ultimate. My Grandfather, two uncles and my father were butchers and that wouldn’t go very well in India. I also never had a good steak in India or China. We ate chicken and pork but no beef unless you call water buffalo beef, but chewing it was another venture. All of those adventures fulfilled the pages of the old National Geographic. In 1998 Connie and I celebrated our 50th wedding anniversary. We were married in 1948 while still in college at Iowa State Teachers College at Cedar Falls. To help us celebrate that occasion our three sons, Randy, Ray and Carl presented us with a trip to Mexico. The original plan was to go to Cancun, Mexico but because they had just had a hurricane there switched our destination to Mazatlan, Mexico. Prior to leaving on that trip we applied for a passport. Although I had traveled clear around the Earth, entered and exited six countries not counting the USA it was my first passport. Since that time I have had to secure another as the first one expired because of time. I will state also, that getting the second passport was a bit more complicated that getting the second especially since 9/11. My first encounter leaving the USA occurred in February 1944. The military outfit I was assigned were slated to go overseas. I was with the XX Bomber Command-B-29s Air Corps in Great Bend, Kansas. We trained there and in February told to gather our gear, assemble in front of the barracks and marched five blocks to a waiting railroad train. Each man was assigned a certain coach and in we went not knowing our destination. There were four of us in seats facing each other along with our gear. Our barracks bags were stored elsewhere. The only way we could tell where we were was to see the station names but finally we stopped in a military camp near Riverside, California. We embarked and assigned barracks. The following days we received physicals, shots and trained on how to scramble up and down some netting much like ones we saw in movies and newsreels. We never did know where we were going and rumors were ramped as we kept our winter clothing so guessing was Alaska or maybe Australia. After a week at that base we were again assembled with our gear and barracks bags and boarded a train. Upon entering the train all the shades were pulled and we were instructed not to peek or let them up on our journey wherever that was. The train trip lasted about five or six hours. When it finally stopped we got off the train we were on a wharf and berthed next to a huge ship. It was sure larger than the Queen on Lake West Okoboji. We were formed in single file carrying our gear and barracks bags and as we approached the gangplank our names were read and we answered with our Army Serial Number. My ASN was 37675696 and told to proceed where a sailor escorted us into the ship. The officer in charge never asked for my passport-Ha! Ha! I won’t go into great detail of life aboard a troopship for 33 days but it wasn’t pleasant but endurable. I recall that when Connie and I took a cruise to Alaska I felt like a King with my Queen after my first ocean cruise; a stateroom, real bed, shower, toilet and sink with fresh water and a view with a balcony. Our troopship’s stateroom had 400 men, four tier bunks, and salt water showers. The portholes covered over and welded shut and we were issued two canteens of water each day. The food on the cruise ship was great with all you wanted to eat and more, shows, entertainment, bars and lounges. What a contrast! The Alaskan Cruise was great but we still had to present identification upon leaving and entering the ship. Since that first venture to Mexico we have traveled to the Panama Canal, Hawaiian Islands, Belgium and Holland, Ireland and Mexico. The American passport is a valued piece of paper and one is always warned to keep it secure at all times. Several incidents come to mind relating to our passports having to be presented upon entering and exiting countries. I recall going to Puerto Vallarta, Mexico several years ago. We flew Alaskan Airline and upon disembarking the plane with our carryon bags proceeded into the terminal. Lines were formed and as one approached the Mexican officials there was a Stop and Go sign that flashed for each person entering. If the light was green you just proceeded ahead but if you got a red light you were stopped, presented your passport and the officials opened and went through your carryons. In all our travels to foreign countries that operation was unique. Passport pictures are much like your state driver’s license photos in that they are never glorious. Today it takes a longer period of time to get an American passport. Times change and I’m sure our president doesn’t have to show his passport upon entering foreign countries but I wonder if American troops have to have a passport to enter and exit Iran or Afghanistan?MEMORY LANE PASSPORTS BY R. AUBREY LA FOY A favorite pastime of mine when I was a kid was to visit my uncle and aunt home only ½ block from my house. My aunt was my Mother’s elder sister and my uncle was a printer. Uncle Ray always subscribed to the National Geographic Magazine and I spent hours poring through those magazines looking at weird people, their dress, customs, buildings, maps and styles. The magazine opened up a world far removed from our small tight nit community in Iowa. We could dream and wondered if we would ever get to travel and see some of those exotic places and people. Little did I know at that time (age10 or 11) that by the time I was 21 years old my journeys would take me clear around the world. In July 1943 I left Milford, Iowa and traveled west and west and west until I returned to Milford from the east in January 1946. When I was a kid the highest hill I had ever seen was Hi Point on the west side of Lake West Okoboji but before I returned home in 1946 I had seen and driven mountains in Burma and China flew over the Himalayans of Tibet. The largest boat that I had ridden on prior to 1944 was the Queen on Okoboji but before I returned home in January 1946 had voyaged on an ocean going vessel that held over 8,000 people and another that held 3,500 military personal. Wow! The largest body of water I had observed prior to 1943 was Big Spirit Lake and then I sailed across the Pacific Ocean, Indian Ocean, Bay of Bengal, Red Sea, Mediterranean Sea and the Atlantic Ocean. The Little Sioux River was huge when I was a kid but it didn’t compare with the Missouri River, Hooghly or Irrawadity in India, the Yangzee in China, Hudson River or the Mississippi River in the USA. I thought people from Minnesota talked different until I associated with fellows from Brooklyn and Texas but that was nothing compared with the languages in India and China. Years ago we would beg my Father to drive up past the Inn so we might see some of the employees but we found out in World War II the color of our skin was in the minority in India and China. I won’t even get into religions but when we found out that cows were sacred in India that was the ultimate. My Grandfather, two uncles and my father were butchers and that wouldn’t go very well in India. I also never had a good steak in India or China. We ate chicken and pork but no beef unless you call water buffalo beef, but chewing it was another venture. All of those adventures fulfilled the pages of the old National Geographic. In 1998 Connie and I celebrated our 50th wedding anniversary. We were married in 1948 while still in college at Iowa State Teachers College at Cedar Falls. To help us celebrate that occasion our three sons, Randy, Ray and Carl presented us with a trip to Mexico. The original plan was to go to Cancun, Mexico but because they had just had a hurricane there switched our destination to Mazatlan, Mexico. Prior to leaving on that trip we applied for a passport. Although I had traveled clear around the Earth, entered and exited six countries not counting the USA it was my first passport. Since that time I have had to secure another as the first one expired because of time. I will state also, that getting the second passport was a bit more complicated that getting the second especially since 9/11. My first encounter leaving the USA occurred in February 1944. The military outfit I was assigned were slated to go overseas. I was with the XX Bomber Command-B-29s Air Corps in Great Bend, Kansas. We trained there and in February told to gather our gear, assemble in front of the barracks and marched five blocks to a waiting railroad train. Each man was assigned a certain coach and in we went not knowing our destination. There were four of us in seats facing each other along with our gear. Our barracks bags were stored elsewhere. The only way we could tell where we were was to see the station names but finally we stopped in a military camp near Riverside, California. We embarked and assigned barracks. The following days we received physicals, shots and trained on how to scramble up and down some netting much like ones we saw in movies and newsreels. We never did know where we were going and rumors were ramped as we kept our winter clothing so guessing was Alaska or maybe Australia. After a week at that base we were again assembled with our gear and barracks bags and boarded a train. Upon entering the train all the shades were pulled and we were instructed not to peek or let them up on our journey wherever that was. The train trip lasted about five or six hours. When it finally stopped we got off the train we were on a wharf and berthed next to a huge ship. It was sure larger than the Queen on Lake West Okoboji. We were formed in single file carrying our gear and barracks bags and as we approached the gangplank our names were read and we answered with our Army Serial Number. My ASN was 37675696 and told to proceed where a sailor escorted us into the ship. The officer in charge never asked for my passport-Ha! Ha! I won’t go into great detail of life aboard a troopship for 33 days but it wasn’t pleasant but endurable. I recall that when Connie and I took a cruise to Alaska I felt like a King with my Queen after my first ocean cruise; a stateroom, real bed, shower, toilet and sink with fresh water and a view with a balcony. Our troopship’s stateroom had 400 men, four tier bunks, and salt water showers. The portholes covered over and welded shut and we were issued two canteens of water each day. The food on the cruise ship was great with all you wanted to eat and more, shows, entertainment, bars and lounges. What a contrast! The Alaskan Cruise was great but we still had to present identification upon leaving and entering the ship. Since that first venture to Mexico we have traveled to the Panama Canal, Hawaiian Islands, Belgium and Holland, Ireland and Mexico. The American passport is a valued piece of paper and one is always warned to keep it secure at all times. Several incidents come to mind relating to our passports having to be presented upon entering and exiting countries. I recall going to Puerto Vallarta, Mexico several years ago. We flew Alaskan Airline and upon disembarking the plane with our carryon bags proceeded into the terminal. Lines were formed and as one approached the Mexican officials there was a Stop and Go sign that flashed for each person entering. If the light was green you just proceeded ahead but if you got a red light you were stopped, presented your passport and the officials opened and went through your carryons. In all our travels to foreign countries that operation was unique. Passport pictures are much like your state driver’s license photos in that they are never glorious. Today it takes a longer period of time to get an American passport. Times change and I’m sure our president doesn’t have to show his passport upon entering foreign countries but I wonder if American troops have to have a passport to enter and exit Iran or Afghanistan?

MEMORY LANE

PASSPORTS

BY R. AUBREY LA FOY

A favorite pastime of mine when I was a kid was to visit my uncle and aunt home only ½ block from my house. My aunt was my Mother’s elder sister and my uncle was a printer. Uncle Ray always subscribed to the National Geographic Magazine and I spent hours poring through those magazines looking at weird people, their dress, customs, buildings, maps and styles. The magazine opened up a world far removed from our small tight nit community in Iowa. We could dream and wondered if we would ever get to travel and see some of those exotic places and people. Little did I know at that time (age10 or 11) that by the time I was 21 years old my journeys would take me clear around the world.

In July 1943 I left Milford, Iowa and traveled west and west and west until I returned to Milford from the east in January 1946. When I was a kid the highest hill I had ever seen was Hi Point on the west side of Lake West Okoboji but before I returned home in 1946 I had seen and driven mountains in Burma and China flew over the Himalayans of Tibet. The largest boat that I had ridden on prior to 1944 was the Queen on Okoboji but before I returned home in January 1946 had voyaged on an ocean going vessel that held over 8,000 people and another that held 3,500 military personal. Wow! The largest body of water I had observed prior to 1943 was Big Spirit Lake and then I sailed across the Pacific Ocean, Indian Ocean, Bay of Bengal, Red Sea, Mediterranean Sea and the Atlantic Ocean. The Little Sioux River was huge when I was a kid but it didn’t compare with the Missouri River, Hooghly or Irrawadity in India, the Yangzee in China, Hudson River or the Mississippi River in the USA. I thought people from Minnesota talked different until I associated with fellows from Brooklyn and Texas but that was nothing compared with the languages in India and China.

Years ago we would beg my Father to drive up past the Inn so we might see some of the employees but we found out in World War II the color of our skin was in the minority in India and China.  I won’t even get into religions but when we found out that cows were sacred in India that was the ultimate. My Grandfather, two uncles and my father were butchers and that wouldn’t go very well in India. I also never had a good steak in India or China. We ate chicken and pork but no beef unless you call water buffalo beef, but chewing it was another venture. All of those adventures fulfilled the pages of the old National Geographic.

In 1998 Connie and I celebrated our 50^th wedding anniversary. We were married in 1948 while still in college at Iowa State Teachers College at Cedar Falls. To help us celebrate that occasion our three sons, Randy, Ray and Carl presented us with a trip to Mexico. The original plan was to go to Cancun, Mexico but because they had just had a hurricane there switched our destination to Mazatlan, Mexico. Prior to leaving on that trip we applied for a passport. Although I had traveled clear around the Earth, entered and exited six countries not counting the USA it was my first passport. Since that time I have had to secure another as the first one expired because of time. I will state also, that getting the second passport was a bit more complicated that getting the second especially since 9/11.

My first encounter leaving the USA occurred in February 1944. The military outfit I was assigned were slated to go overseas. I was with the XX Bomber Command-B-29s Air Corps in Great Bend, Kansas. We trained there and in February told to gather our gear, assemble in front of the barracks and marched five blocks to a waiting railroad train. Each man was assigned a certain coach and in we went not knowing our destination. There were four of us in seats facing each other along with our gear. Our barracks bags were stored elsewhere. The only way we could tell where we were was to see the station names but finally we stopped in a military camp near Riverside, California.

We embarked and assigned barracks. The following days we received physicals, shots and trained on how to scramble up and down some netting much like ones we saw in movies and newsreels. We never did know where we were going and rumors were ramped as we kept our winter clothing so guessing was Alaska or maybe Australia. After a week at that base we were again assembled with our gear and barracks bags and boarded a train. Upon entering the train all the shades were pulled and we were instructed not to peek or let them up on our journey wherever that was. The train trip lasted about five or six hours. When it finally stopped we got off the train we were on a wharf and berthed next to a huge ship. It was sure larger than the Queen on Lake West Okoboji. We were formed in single file carrying our gear and barracks bags and as we approached the gangplank our names were read and we answered with our Army Serial Number. My ASN was 37675696 and told to proceed where a sailor escorted us into the ship. The officer in charge never asked for my passport-Ha! Ha! I won’t go into great detail of life aboard a troopship for 33 days but it wasn’t pleasant but endurable.

I recall that when Connie and I took a cruise to Alaska I felt like a King with my Queen after my first ocean cruise; a stateroom, real bed, shower, toilet and sink with fresh water and a view with a balcony. Our troopship’s stateroom had 400 men, four tier bunks, and salt water showers. The portholes covered over and welded shut and we were issued two canteens of water each day. The food on the cruise ship was great with all you wanted to eat and more, shows, entertainment, bars and lounges. What a contrast!  The Alaskan Cruise was great but we still had to present identification upon leaving and entering the ship.

Since that first venture to Mexico we have traveled to the Panama Canal, Hawaiian Islands, Belgium and Holland, Ireland and Mexico. The American passport is a valued piece of paper and one is always warned to keep it secure at all times. Several incidents come to mind relating to our passports having to be presented upon entering and exiting countries.

I recall going to Puerto Vallarta, Mexico several years ago. We flew Alaskan Airline and upon disembarking the plane with our carryon bags proceeded into the terminal. Lines were formed and as one approached the Mexican officials there was a Stop and Go sign that flashed for each person entering. If the light was green you just proceeded ahead but if you got a red light you were stopped, presented your passport and the officials opened and went through your carryons. In all our travels to foreign countries that operation was unique.

Passport pictures are much like your state driver’s license photos in that they are never glorious. Today it takes a longer period of time to get an American passport. Times change and I’m sure our president doesn’t have to show his passport upon entering foreign countries but I wonder if American troops have to have a passport to enter and exit Iran or Afghanistan?

SWIMMING

MEMORY LANE

SWIMMING

BY R. AUBREY LA FOY

The other day I chanced upon the baby books for my sister’s and myself.  My Mother, Jean Holcomb LaFoy, was very diligent in keeping records of our first words, first walks and even locks of our hair. Wow! How mine has changed over the years from blond to brown to white. My baby book did not include when I first began to swim.

Do you remember when you first walk or talk? Probably not, but for many of you your first attempt to swim may not have occurred until you were grown or a teenager. In my case I cannot remember NOT swimming. My wife, Connie, didn’t learn to swim until we started to date and were married.

In my case my parents built and owned a cottage on Jones Beach in 1925 the year I was born. At that time is was named Milford Beach and was populated primarily by Milford citizens. My Uncle Ollie Holcomb was one of the founders and developers of Milford Beach. He worked out of a bank in Milford. He built a cottage on Milford Beach which was east or my parent’s cottage. Walter & Elizabeth Jones also built a cottage. Walter was a brother-in-law of Ollie Holcomb. Ollie’s’ wife was Blanch Jones Holcomb.

Milford or Jones Beach has a wonderful sand beach and it was no trouble for kids to play on the sand and venture out into the lake. I don’t recall learning to swim but remember diving from the dock and swimming under water to gather clams from the bottom of the lake. After bringing the clams to sore put them in a minnow bucket probably to die. I recall swimming under water long before I ever learned to swim on the surface of the water. I was not very old to remember swimming at Jones Beach as my parents sold their cottage in 1930 and built a cobblestone cottage in Maywood. The cobble stone cottage is still there just inside the middle stone pillars to the right.

My parents rented out their cottage in Maywood and many times when they went up to clean and mow the yard I would take the trail down to the lake and go swimming. It wasn’t as much fun as Jones Beach but it was fun to dive off the docks and swim around.

I don’t think people who live in or near the lakes really appreciate the advantage of ready access to swimming. Talking with many people who grew up on farms or small towns where they had no lakes it was a thrill to come to the Iowa Great Lakes and go swimming.

Owning a bathing suit was another obstacle for many but that was solved by being able to rent suits. The rental bathing suits were wool and not very attractive and as I recall one color-dark blue. People could rent bathing suits at Terrace Park in conjunction with the Casino. (One of the buildings that one could rent a bathing suit is still in existence on the beach at Boy’s Town.) Other places that rented bathing suits were Benit’s’ Park and there was also one rental facility on the north-west corner of the lake at Triboji Beach. Whether there was one on Big Spirit Lake I don’t know.

One could rent the bathing suit, get a wire basket, place your shoes and clothing, check it in and retrieve it when you returned from swimming. You were issued a metal tag with a number that matched your wire basket. Scuba divers and collectors have discovered many over the years on beaches and from the lake bottoms. Many of the rental facilities provided docks, diving boards, rafts and water wheels. I know there were water wheels, rafts and diving board at Terrace Park, Benit’s Park and also a Crescent Beach. Arnolds Park was the place to go as Benit’s constructed a diving tower and many times we went there to dive and “show off”. In the 1930’s young men were employed to be life guards at the beaches through the WPA. The “life guards” not only watched the swimmers but gave “life saving” lessons.

It was my privilege to take “life saving” lessons one summer at Benit’s’ Beach at Arnolds Park. Recalling how we were instructed to give and help a drowning victim is a far cry from today’s methods. I don’t think what we learned in the 1930s was far from rolling drowning victim  back and forth over a barrel but we laid the victim on their stomach, make sure there  tongue was okay and push just below the rib cage to extract the water at a steady count. In 1947 while going to Iowa State Teachers College in a course of First Aid they still continued the method I learned in the 1930s.

The skills (?) I learned in that “life saving” course I took in the 1930s came very useful over the years while living at Terrace Park. Somebody was always over extending themselves swimming. Shortly after taking the course (1930s) it was helpful in assisting a friend of mine who was going down the third time. I don’t know if what I did was correct but he is still alive after 70 years.

During World War II it was privilege to go swimming in the states and overseas. Swimming in a pool was s treat but give me open water anytime. I recall my first military camp was at Camp Dodge at Des Moines. The camp had a wonderful swimming pool and many of us from Dickinson County availed ourselves of that facility. My first permanent camp at March Field, California had a great swimming pool facility. We spent many a happy hours swimming in that pool especially as our part of the camp was in the desert and very dusty. Another facility that I availed myself was at Bombay, India. We had spent 33 days on a troopship from California via Australia and finally to Bombay. We were quartered at a camp in Bombay near the harbor. About three blocks from our camp was huge swimming facility that incorporated the ocean into swimming pool. Fortunately I always kept my bathing trunks so going to that pool in Bombay was real treat. The next time I could avail myself to a swimming pool was in early 1945. I was assigned to the 2459^th Quartermaster Truck Company that hauled military supplies over the Ledo-Burma Road from India to China. The Army Engineers tried to make our rest stops nice and provided showers or swimming holes. I recall the engineers had constructed a swimming hole near our rest stop. We had been driving all day and were tired and dusty and when we spotted that beautiful wonderful swimming hole nothing doing but jump in. I put on my swimming trunks, ran over to the side of the water and dived in. That was a mistake as the engineers had only dammed up a mountain stream that was just above freezing. It was a shock to the system but refreshing. Didn’t stay in long but it was great to get rid of all the dust and dirt.

We drove up to Kunming, China and from there took roads (?) to several western Chinese cities. I recall one evening we stopped along a shallow river and floated down about ½ mile, walked back up and did it over and over again. Another time we parked along a swift flowing stream and swam in that for a long time. We also washed our clothes.

When you grow up at the Iowa Great Lakes wherever you are you seek out swimming facilities. When we were attending college at Cedar Falls we availed ourselves to swimming facilities at Cedar Fall and also at Waverly, Iowa. We have also swum in Clear Lake, White Bear Lake, Gull Lake, Spirit Lake, Pacific Ocean, Atlantic Ocean, Gulf Of Mexico, Texas, Mexico and Hawaii.

We have two Olympic style swimming pools where we live in the winter. The “heated” pools are really used. Believe it or not I get into West Okoboji at least once each summer, when it is hot. When I was a kid living in Milford we tried to be the “first” to go swimming in Lake West Okoboji in the spring but no more. Our two granddaughters, Becca and Sonja LaFoy have carried on the tradition and try to be the first to go swimming at White Bear Lake, Minnesota after the ice goes out. I like “heated’ pools.