Savoring the Memories:
Van’s Café Served Up Comfort Food for Six Decades

Auburn—There’s basic, small-town café food, and then there’s home-cooked café food that’s so good people come back for generations. That’s how it was at Van’s Café in Auburn.

Richard Vanderheiden gives a
thumbs-up outside Van's Café.

While everyone seemed to have their favorite breakfast and lunch items at Van’s Café, the Smothered Hash Browns were always a best seller. Topped with sausage, onions, green peppers, mushrooms and cheese (along with two fried eggs on top, if desired), this perennially popular dish sold out during the last weekend in March before Van’s Café closed permanently after 61 years.

Some guests came for the first time to try classics like the Smothered Hash Browns, while long-time customers took the opportunity to joke with Richard Vanderheiden, owner. “Hey, Richard,” said one of the old timers when Vanderheiden stepped out of the kitchen. “I thought sure after all these years you’d learn how to cook before you quit!”

Vanderheiden takes it all in stride, just as he has for decades. The story of Van’s Café began in January 1954, when his parents, George and Rose Vanderheiden, moved their eight children (including Dorothy, Donald, Larry, Karen, Richard, Michael, Patrick and Mary) from Carroll to Auburn. They opened the Maidrite Café, which was located one lot over from where Van’s Café sits today on the west side of Highway 71.



Richard prepares an omelet.

The whole family pitched in waiting tables, washing dishes, taking out the trash and handling all the other duties required to run a restaurant. Those were the days when menu items like potato soup cost 30 cents, tuna salad was 35 cents and roast beef cost $1.15.



Vanderheiden was especially interested in the family business. “I started working there at age 10,” said Vanderheiden, 70, who enjoyed growing up in Auburn and remembers when the town boasted three grocery stores, a creamery, a hatchery, a drug store, two filling stations, a bank and a hardware store. “My mother was a very good cook, and I learned a lot from her.”

People could count on Van’s

In the spring of 1967, Vanderheiden came back from school to help his mother run the restaurant after his father became ill. After his father passed away, Vanderheiden took over the family business in 1972 and bought the building (which dates to 1893) where Van’s Café would be located for the next 43 years.

Good enough to eat!

He operated Van’s Café each Monday through Saturday from 6 a.m. to 1:30 or 2 p.m. and Sundays from 8 a.m. to 1 p.m. “People knew they could count on Van’s being open,” said Vanderheiden, who served breakfast whenever the café was open.

Lorene Knobbe, who grew up in the area and now lives in Davenport, recalled eating at Van’s many times. She was sad to hear the café was closing for good. “My mom and dad loved that place and liked to go there on Sundays after church,” she said.

Other customers began reminiscing about the unforgettable meals they enjoyed at this iconic, small-town café. Kurt McCaulley, a Lake City native who now lives in DeWitt, recalled how he and Larry McCaulley, Lynn Dial, Mike Carisch, Gregg Gass, Ronnie McCaulley and other guys who baled hay for Marj Richardson looked forward to lunch at Van’s Café. “We used to eat the hot-beef sandwiches for lunch, and lots of times we’d have two helpings.”

The café was also special to Luanne Redenius of Lake City, a former waitress who still recalls her first $5 tip. “My first job with a real paycheck was waitressing at Van’s during the early morning shift,” said Redenius, who was 17 at the time and had just graduated from Lake City High School in 1974. “Richard was a hard worker and kind man who always took time to answer my questions, no matter how busy things got—and it seemed like we were always busy.”

It’s not Auburn without Van’s Café

Through the years, Van’s Café has became known for a variety of comfort foods, including the signature Van’s Potato Soup (created by Rose Vanderheiden), meatloaf, goulash and famous 3-bean salad, which is often the most popular salad bar item.

Serving up a hot breakfast at Van's Cafe

While Vanderheiden kept a low profile most of the time, he always said “yes” when people walked in the door of his restaurant and asked, “Is this the famous Van’s Café?” He knew they probably heard the 1040 WHO Radio morning show when broadcaster Van Harden came to Auburn a few years ago to help Vanderheiden celebrate 40 years in business.

            “That was a super day,” said Vanderheiden, who noted that nearly 600 customers showed up to be part of the unique event and enjoy a free breakfast.

             Customers became more like friends at Van’s Café, which also became a part of many local family’s mealtime traditions. Jim Daisy of Lake City began bringing his son to Van’s Café for breakfast on Saturday mornings starting in the early 1980s. “I started doing this when my son was about four years old, and it was a good way for us to bond through the years,” Daisy said.

   

Van's famous Smothered Hash Browns

         Along with locals like the Daisy family, Vanderheiden served customers from each of the 50 states and many foreign countries who wanted to experience an authentic, small-town Iowa café.  “In this business, you succeed by knowing what your customers want and providing it consistently,” Vanderheiden said.

            While some people offered to buy Van’s Café after hearing that Vanderheiden planned to retire at the end of March, Vanderheiden is more focused on relaxing and spending time with family. For Beth Buelt, a waitress from Auburn, working the final weekend at Van’s Café was a bittersweet experience. “I don’t know Auburn without Van’s Café,” she said.

Vanderheiden himself acknowledged it was hard at times to say goodbye after serving a final Sunday dinner of turkey, dressing, baked ham, dessert and coffee on March 29. “For decades we’ve been very blessed with wonderful employees and loyal customers,” said Vanderheiden, who offered a special thank you to the people of Lake City for their huge support through the years. “It has been a pleasure to serve everyone. I’ll miss the people, because it’s the people who make the café.”

 

 

Soup and Small-Town Iowa Spirit

 

As the days grow colder, there’s just something comforting about a big old kettle of soup. Comfort food took on a whole new meaning this fall in Lake City when our community came together in October to raise money for the Alcox family.

Lake City’s fire chief, Mel Alcox, was partially paralyzed by a severe spinal cord injury sustained during an accident at his home in September. Volunteer fire fighters and friends hosted a fundraiser to help the Alcox family with medical expenses for Mel, who has been receiving treatment at a hospital in Des Moines—more than 100 miles away from Lake City.

On a cold, rainy Monday night, farmers took time out from harvest, business owners stopped by after work, and families gathered at the Lake City fire station to put money in the donation box and enjoy hot bowls of homemade soup, ham and cheese sandwiches, and an array of homemade bars—all prepared and donated by community members. Tables throughout the truck bays were filled as p
eople of all ages gathered to show their support for Mel and Phyllis. The kids also enjoyed signing the big, bright get-well cards to Mel, which were displayed in front of one of the fire trucks.


Remember the G-Words
I was happy to share a kettle of my homemade Beef and Barley Soup, which I modified slightly to fit the menu of three soups, including Beef Vegetable Soup, Chili and Chicken Noodle Soup. I’ve included my Beef and Barley Soup recipe below.

While this event raised thousands of dollars for the Alcox family (pretty impressive for a town of 1,800 people and other little towns nearby), it showed how small towns turn kindness and generosity into an art form. It’s also a reminder about how every day is a good day to think about the “G words” of generosity and gratitude.
I think Phyllis Alcox said it best in this Facebook post:

“There are times when we think that small towns don’t have all that we need, but when there is a tragic event in a family’s life, the support and concern for their well-being are overwhelming. And for this we are so very thankful.”

Hearty Beef and Barley Soup

1 pound beef roast, cut into 1-inch cubes


1 tablespoon canola oil

3 cans (14-1/2 ounces each) beef broth

2 cups water

1 cup medium pearl barley 

1 tablespoon seasoning salt

1/2 to 1 teaspoon freshly-ground black pepper

1 teaspoon thyme

1 teaspoon Italian seasoning, or 1 teaspoon bouquet garni seasoning

4 bay leaves

3 tablespoons dried parsley

Garlic (either 1 teaspoon dried, minced garlic, 4 cloves fresh garlic to taste or 1 teaspoon garlic salt)

1 can mushrooms (or use 1 to 2 cups fresh mushrooms)

1 can diced tomatoes, undrained

1 cup sliced carrots

1/2 cup chopped celery

1 cup chopped onion

1 cup frozen or canned corn

1 cup frozen green beans

1 cup potatoes, cubed

1/2 cup dry red wine

1 tablespoon BBQ sauce

1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce

1 tablespoon steak sauce

1 teaspoon horseradish (don’t leave this out—it’s the secret ingredient that makes this soup memorable in a good way!)

In a pan, brown beef in oil; drain. Transfer meat to slow cooker. Add all remaining ingredients. Cook on low for 8 to 10 hours. Remove bay leaves before serving. Enjoy!

Darcy's Top 10 Tips for Better Photos

Working with my camera in the field, literally

You know a great photograph offers a priceless way to capture a moment in time. Did you consider that skilled photographers don't take photos--they make them?

To improve my ability to create unforgettable photos, I've been taking various classes this summer from a professional photographer in central Iowa. Here are some top tips I've learned that may help you, too:

 

1.      Stay focused. When photographing a person, always make sure his or her eyes are in focus. When photographing a group of people, especially groups of two to three rows of people, focus on the eyes of the person in the middle of the group towards the front. 

2.      Use a telephoto. Ideally, do not shoot at 50 mm. It “swells” your subject’s head and makes people look a litter wider than they really are. A better choice is 70 mm. Best yet? 120 to 200 mm. Also, I have found that the further back you are from the subject (it’s easy when using  a telephoto lens), the more relaxed and comfortable the subject will be.

3.      If it bends, bend it. (Have a person tilt their head slightly, or bend their arm by putting their hand on their hip, for example.)

4.      Follow my hand. Rather than try to verbally direct the subject on how to turn (do you mean your left or my left?), hold up your hand vertically and move it the direction you want the subject to turn.

5.      Hold that pose. Always position women at a 45-degree angle for the most flattering look. Men can be posed within the 45-degree range, left or right, with good results. Also, if your subjects are standing, have them shift their weight to their back foot for a more natural, relaxed look.

6.      Avoid weird cuts. When composing the photo, don’t cut the image at the person’s joints, including their knees, wrists, elbows, or fingers, or the person will look like an amputee.
 

7.      Mix it up. When shooting a group, don’t have the heads lined up in a row. Mix up the height for visual interest. Also, try to move heavier people towards the inside of the group, rather than having them on the end. This will create a more flattering picture.

8.      Loosen up. To capture a more natural smile on your subjects, talk to them, and watch for facial expressions. Start with simple, basic questions about their hobby, etc. to get them to loosen up.

9.      Adjust the flash. If you have a light-colored wall behind you, try tilting the flash at a 45-degree angle and pointing it towards that back wall. This will bounce a softer light towards your subject. It also helps minimize glare if he or she is wearing eye glasses.

10.  Try some new gear. Consider an inexpensive, mini softbox to attach over your flash. (I bought my mini softbox off of Amazon.com.) The mini softbox works well if you’re shooting a subject outside around noon or mid-day, for example, when harsh shadows and harsh lighting can create challenges.

** Bonus tip: If you’re indoors, look for ways to position your subjects by a window that provides natural side lighting. This can help you create more flattering, better-lit shots without harsh, distracting shadows.  

 

 

Iowa Barn Honors Pioneer Stock Farm



An remarkable Iowa barn, built to last

Seems like people just love stories about Iowa barns. While this article I wrote first appeared in Farm News in 2011, friends have asked me to reprint it on my blog. Here's a glimpse of some remarkable Iowa farm history. Enjoy!

 

            The Z.T. Dunham Pioneer Stock Farm barn near Dunlap has stood for well over a century as a monument to Crawford County’s early history and the golden era of agriculture. Built in 1870 by Z.T. (Zachary Taylor) Dunham, the son of the first white settler in Crawford County, the barn housed the working horses of the Dunham farm and for decades served as a landmark that guided travelers in western Iowa.

George Carhball & horses on the barn's south side.


Bricks for the barn, which stands on a slope up from the Boyer River, came from a kiln on the Dunham farmstead northwest of the barn. The barn’s walls are three bricks thick on the upper level and four bricks thick on the lower level. Other native materials incorporated into the historic barn include a hand-hewn, 40-foot walnut beam in the lower level, a testimony to the existence of large trees that grew along the Boyer River.  



A glimpse inside the barn

At the time the barn was built, Z.T. Dunham farmed in partnership with his brother Sam to grow crops and raise cattle and hogs. The men’s father, Cornelius, who first came to the Crawford County area in 1852, was a well-known pork producer who had been known as “Hog Dunham” in Jackson County, Iowa, where Z.T. was born. Cornelius was credited with introducing hogs to western Iowa, according to the book, “The Z.T. Dunham Pioneer Stock Farm and Late 19^th Century Agriculture,” published by the Dunlap Historical Society. Z.T., who raised Poland China hogs, was also interested in shorthorn cattle and started a cattle ranch about five miles west of his home.


The Dunham barn, whose joists are secured by pegs in a mortise-and-tenon construction, included a number of unique, labor-saving features. A trap door was built in the floor above each of the 10 horse stalls so that the farmer could drop hay or grain from the upper level to the mangers below. On the lower level, a cable-and-pulley system allowed a large manure bucket to be pulled along the rear of the stalls so the manure could be transported to a wagon outside the barn.

Z.T. Dunham, builder of the barn, shown at age 85

Generations of Dunham children enjoyed playing in the barn. Carrie Dunham, who was born in 1880, recalled walking the beams of the big barn with the boys. While this placed the children 20 to 30 feet from the floor, they swung from one platform to another on the hay rope. “I was careful not to look down and was always glad when my feet settled firmly on the other side,” said Carrie, whose memories are preserved in the book from the Dunlap Historical Society.

Wildflowers bloom near the barn

             In 1992, Virginia Dunham, along with her children, donated the Z.T. Dunham Pioneer Stock Farm barn and an acre of land to the Dunlap Historical Society. It was Virginia’s wish that the barn would be restored and used as a museum and interpretive center. Because of Virginia’s efforts, the barn was placed on the National Register of Historic Places in 1993. The Dunlap Historical Society has showcased the barn in many fundraising efforts, including the sale of t-shirts, sweatshirts and commemorative Christmas ornaments.

            “The barn is a very important part of our history, and it’s worth saving,” said Jane Davie with the Dunlap Historical Society.

Dedham’s Famous Bologna Turns 100: Kitt Family Offers a Taste of Iowa History

 There’s hardly anything in Dedham that hasn’t changed dramatically since 1914, yet one tradition stays the same in this small Carroll County town—its famous bologna.

Shawn (left) and Dave Kitt display their
famous Dedham bologna.

“This recipe has been handed down for 100 years,” said Dave Kitt, who owns Kitt’s Meat Processing in Dedham with his wife, Shawn. “Every meat locker has a specialty, and ours is Dedham bologna.”

It’s such an important part of the business, in fact, that the company’s slogan is the “Home of Dedham Bologna.” While no one quite remembers who created the original recipe a century ago, the smoky, beefy rings reflect the area’s German heritage.

Dedham bologna is predominantly beef, with some pork included in the natural casings, which are all tied by hand. The mild rings are hickory smoked for three and a half hours, resulting in a meaty celebration for the senses that’s fully cooked and ready to serve. 

Local history books note that people saved their ration stamps during World War II to buy Dedham bologna, which was enjoyed at home and mailed to servicemen from the area. In years past, the downtown Dedham Meat Market would open up after Sunday Mass so families from the St. Joseph parish could purchase Dedham bologna for Sunday brunch or dinner.  

As the locals have known for generations, there are countless ways to enjoy Dedham bologna, which can be eaten hot or cold. At Kitt’s Meat Processing, an electric skillet makes it simple to serve the crew a fast, hearty lunch of Dedham bologna fried with butter, potatoes and onions. 

Dedham bologna has been made since 1914 in
Dedham, Iowa.

Some people like to include Dedham bologna on meat and cheese trays, while other people grill it, serve it with scrambled eggs, pair it with sauerkraut, use it as a pizza topping or chop it up like ham salad, Shawn Kitt said. “Customers come up with all kinds of creative ways to use Dedham bologna.”

Dedham native Helen Wiskus, 94, has been enjoying this unique culinary tradition all her life. “Dedham bologna has always been big here,” said Wiskus, who keeps about four rings of this “really tasty” bologna in her freezer at any one time. “When the family gets together, the Dedham bologna comes out.”

Family-owned since 1964

Dave Kitt uses natural casings
and still hand-ties each ring of
Dedham bologna.

The Kitt family has been the keeper of the Dedham bologna tradition for 50 years. When Dave Kitt’s father, Leonard, was in his early 20s, he worked at the local meat locker for the previous owner, John Werner, Jr., for five years. In April of 1964, Leonard and his wife, Theresa, purchased the business, which offered a good way to support their seven sons.

This was an era when Iowa boasted more than 550 small meat processing plants, compared to less than 200 today. “Those were also the days when there were about three to five farm families in every section, and everyone raised livestock,” said Leonard Kitt, who will turn 77 soon and still helps out with meat cutting and hand-tying Dedham bologna.  

While times have changed, Kitt’s Meat Processing continues to stay busy. From the fall deer hunting season through the Christmas holidays, the 11-member crew expands to 16 or 17 employees to handle all the work. Last December alone, customers purchased 1,300 rings of Dedham bologna, along with countless orders for homemade hot dogs, jerky, beef sticks, bratwurst and more.



Dedham bologna fried with potatoes--yum!

Throughout the year, customers from Des Moines to Omaha and beyond stop by Kitt’s Meat Processing to select their favorite items. The Kitts also make home deliveries around town, sometimes placing the meat right in their customers’ freezers and running simple errands for older customers.

 “It’s fun to meet all the people we serve,” said Shawn Kitt, who added that some of the locals also hang out at the locker on Saturday mornings. “These connections are what small towns are all about.”



Growing for the future

            While the hours can be long, with days starting at 6:30 a.m. and lasting until 10 p.m. during the busiest times, the Kitts look forward to expanding their business. They are adding a 16-foot by 20-foot area to produce more specialty meats, including Dedham bologna.

The team at Kitt's Meat Processing in Dedham
has been providing high-quality meat for decades.

            “I like to cook and experiment with various spices to see what works,” said Dave Kitt, who took over the family business with his wife in January of 2002. “That’s what specialty meats are all about.”

            While the business is currently considered a custom retail and custom slaughter facility, the Kitts are working towards getting an official retail status. This will allow the company to sell its products in grocery stores, farmers markets and other places.

            The couple is especially interested in offering their meat products at the Downtown Farmers’ Market in Des Moines. “We appreciate people’s support for our local business,” said Shawn Kitt, who is glad the couple’s three children have had the chance to work at the locker as they’ve grown up. “We’re proud to keep the Dedham bologna tradition going.”

If you go

Kitt’s Meat Processing is open Monday through Friday from 8 a.m. to 5 p.m., and Saturday from 8 a. m. to noon. For more information, log onto www.kittsmeat.com.

Iowa's Orphan Train Heritage

Orphan trains almost became lost to history just a few decades ago, but their legacy lives on, thanks to books, historians and the National Orphan Train Complex in Kansas. Orphan trains continue to make news, in light of today's current debatesregarding illegal immigration and amnesty. 

Since orphan trains to Iowa and the Midwest were featured on 1040 WHO Radio this morning, I thought I'd share this article I wrote in 2002 for Farm News in Ft. Dodge, Iowa. I didn't know at the time how I'd be preserving an important piece of history, since the last orphan trains ran in 1929, and many of the orphan train riders are now deceased.

For 75 years, thousands of Iowa families in small towns and farms played a crucial role in the forerunner of the modern foster care system, yet this noteworthy fact has become a lost chapter of Iowa history.

            From 1854 to 1929, a network of "orphan trains" relocated as many as 300,000 children from East Coast orphanages in cities like Boston and New York City to at least 39 of the states.  Approximately 8,000 to 10,000 of these needy children were brought to Iowa to live with both farmers and town residents.

The children were taken in by families in at least 316 Iowa towns, including Adel, Algona, Ames, Barnum, Boone, Coon Rapids, Dakota City, Dougherty, Eagle Grove, Ft. Dodge, Emmetsburg, Garner, Harlan, Iowa Falls, Manson, Nevada, Ogden, Perry, Spencer, Stanhope and Webster City, according to Madonna Harms of Rolfe, archivist of the Iowa Orphan Train Research Center and Archives.

"People were curious and went in droves to see an orphan train when it arrived in town. Some of these folks never intended to take a child home, but they sometimes took one or two. It has been estimated that today there are at least two million descendants of the orphan train riders," Harms said.
 

A Personal Interest

            Since the early 1990s, Harms has dedicated her days to managing the Iowa Orphan Train Research Center and Archives. Why the interest?

            "My father was an orphan train rider. When I started researching his history, I found out he was taken by a young woman, presumed to be his mother, to the New York Foundling Hospital when he was two and a half months old. He was born on June 29, 1885, and the name he lived by was Perry Joseph Hoffey. He was raised by William and Margaret Hoffey in Iowa County, in Marengo and Parnell. They were barn builders. I don't know exactly when my father came to Iowa, but I found him listed in the home of the Hoffeys in the 1895 census."

            Until her research in 1990 started uncovering these facts, Harms said she hadn't known that her father's real name was Pierre Casson. Harms also learned that her father's story was shared by thousands of people who grew up in the Midwest and across the United States.

Trying Times

The need for orphan trains developed in an environment vastly different from the Iowa countryside. When the orphan train movement began in the 1850s, it was estimated that nearly 30,000 abandoned children roamed the streets of New York City alone. The rapid influx of immigrants into eastern cities overwhelmed the nation's ports, and the overpopulated cities were not prepared with enough homes, food and medical care for the new arrivals, Harms said.

In these difficult circumstances, children of all ages were left to fend for themselves on the streets. They survived the best they could by shining shoes, selling newspapers or flowers, singing on street corners, or by stealing, Harms said. They were also prime targets for crime, disease, street violence, gangs, and a host of other problems.

While some of these children had lost both of their parents, some were "half orphans," when one parent had died and the remaining parent could not care for them. In other cases, the parents were still living but could not raise their children due to alcoholism, insufficient resources, injuries, or other obstacles.

Consider the story of Dorothy Urch, an orphan train rider to Algona. She arrived in Iowa as Dorothy Brooks and was raised as Dorothy Johnson. "I was born in 1911 and arrived in Algona in February 1917 from the Children's Aid Society in New York City. I had come from a family of 10 kids, and I was the ninth. My father died when I was four, and Mother couldn't take care of all the younger kids. She didn't want us in an orphanage, though, so she gave us up to the Children's Aid Society."
 

A Home in the Country

The Children's Aid Society had been founded in the 1850s by a young Protestant minister named Charles Loring Brace. He was horrified by the condition of the street children he observed in New York City and took action to rescue them. Brace felt these children had a better chance at life by being placed in a new home "out west" than they did if they remained in the cities. He envisioned families in the west who would provide the orphans with the same food, clothing, education and spiritual training they would give their biological children.

"The best of all asylums for the outcast child is the farmer's home. The great duty is to get these children of unhappy fortune utterly out of their surroundings and to send them away to kind Christian homes in the country," Brace wrote.

In 1853, Brace founded the Children's Aid Society to arrange the trips, raise the money and obtain the legal permission needed for relocation. The first train left New York City in 1854. Harms noted that the Catholic Church developed a similar system, known as "mercy cars," to relocate orphan children to the Midwest.

The orphan train trips were planned for groups of 10 to 50 children that were accompanied by an agent, Harms said. The trains from New York typically departed on Tuesday and arrived in Iowa on Friday. Newspaper advertisements gave advanced notice of which communities the children would be arriving in.

In the early years when an orphan train arrived at the depot, the children were escorted by livery wagons, or they walked to the local hotel, church or opera house to get washed up and change their clothes, Harms said. "Then they were ready to be seen by the folks who had gathered to view them and perhaps take one home with them. Sometimes the children sang songs, recited poems or simply visited with the crowd," Harms said.

The Palo Alto Reporter of Oct. 2, 1880 reported, "Mr. E. Trott of the New York Children's Aid Society arrived in Emmetsburg a week ago with a second installment of boys and one girl. There were 19 of the boys, and they were of all sizes, and there was surely not less than 38 different temperaments divided among them."

 

Dorothy's Story

When a family selected a child, the agent and the head of the household signed an agreement that the family would take full responsibility to care for the child until he or she reached adulthood, Harms said. There was no cost to the family, and the family was not paid for the care of the child. The agreement could be reversed at any time, should a grievance occur between the child and the family.

When children were placed in homes, siblings were often separated, since many couples only wanted one child, Harms said. This was the case with Dorothy Urch when she went to live with John and Carrie Johnson on their farm seven miles southeast of Algona.

"I don't remember riding the train to Iowa. My baby brother was sent to Kansas, and his family later moved to Canada. I wasn't able to track him down until about three years ago. Until about four years ago, I didn't even know about the orphan trains or that I was an orphan train rider. I later found a newspaper clipping at the Kossuth County Historical Society that confirmed my arrival on an orphan train," Urch said.

When asked about her years on the farm near Algona, Urch speaks highly of the Johnsons, who adopted her in 1923. "They had a daughter who died when she was 13 months old and they couldn't have more children. To be adopted is wonderful. My parents were fine Christian people. I enjoyed living on the farm. My father farmed raised corn, oats and hay, and he farmed with horses until after I was married. When I was young, I helped with household chores and took care of the chickens."

Urch, who now lives in Greenville, S.C., said her birth mother came to Iowa to visit her when Dorothy was 12 years old. "We stayed in touch, and I went to New York to visit her. I felt secure where I was in Iowa, though."

To share her story and make more people aware of the history of the orphan trains, Urch has written a book called "Charles Found at Last," named in honor of her younger brother who was sent to Kansas. Urch returned to Iowa last April for a book signing at the Algona library. Today, Urch speaks to school groups, civic clubs and churches about her orphan train experiences and life on her family's Iowa farm.

A High Success Rate

While the orphan trains ended in 1929 when new child welfare laws were established, interest in Iowa's orphan train heritage continues to grow, said Harms, who handles five to seven requests a week from people seeking more information. There is no charge for her services.

"Much can be said for and against this method of obtaining homes and the upbringing of the child. But in Iowa, the rate of runaways was only 2 percent, and 85 percent of the matches were successful, meaning the children did not have to be removed from one home to another. The orphan trains are a lost part of our history, and I do this work to bring families together."

Editor's note: Madonna Harms passed away in 2005.
Learn more
http://iagenweb.org/history/orphans/
http://www.iptv.org/iowapathways/artifact_detail.cfm?aid=a_000902
 

 

Honoring the Legacy of Rural Iowa's Greatest Generation

Gerald Dial, Iowa farmer

As the world remembered Dec. 7, 1941, people in my neighborhood around Lake City were mourning the loss of a local farmer and honored veteran whose life changed forever after the attack on Pearl Harbor.

As I heard of Gerald Dial's passing on Dec. 6, I recalled how this salt-of-the-Earth Iowa farmer worked hard all his life, raising crops, livestock and a remarkable family. As I got to know Gerald through my career as an ag journalist, I'll never forget the day in May of 2006 when Gerald was preparing to plant his 60th crop.

As I prepared to write an article of Farm News in time for Memorial Day, I interviewed Gerald, who enlisted in the U.S. Army Air Force at age 17. Here's the story of Gerald, a B-17 tail gunner and member of the Greatest Generation whose inspiring legacy lives on:

Aiming for Victory:

Lake City Veteran Recalls World War II B-17 Bombing Missions

By Darcy Dougherty Maulsby

 

            When the graduation speaker admonished Lohrville High School’s class of 1942 that their lives had changed after Dec. 7, 1941, Gerald Dial was up for the challenge.

Gerald Dial, Army Air Corps

            “I wanted to go into the military because all my school mates had gone,” said Dial, 80, a farm kid who enlisted in the Army Air Force at 17. The train ride from Des Moines to Wichita Falls, Texas, for basic training at Sheppard Field marked the first of many journeys that would ultimately land Dial, who volunteered for gunnery school, in the Mediterranean Theater of Operations. As a tail gunner and ball turret gunner, his 35 combat missions in a B-17 “Flying Fortress” over Germany, Austria, Romania and other eastern European nations to destroy railroads, bridges and oil refineries would earn him recognition for valor from the Lieutenant General of the U.S. Army.

            “In air battles of great intensity, Gerald Dial has gallantly and repeatedly carried the offensive against heavy opposition to the heart of the enemy and has, by his unfaltering courage, earned the gratitude and praise of his fellow countrymen, as well as his commander.”

Gerald's WW II scrapbook

Preparing for war

            Dial, who had two brothers who also served in World War II, recalled how the training his crew received in Sioux City before shipping out prepared them for combat in Europe. After completing his training at Sheppard Field and Nellis Air Force Base in Las Vegas, Dial was sent to Lincoln, Neb., where the military put together flight crews. When the 10 members of Dial’s crew were assembled, they were sent to Sioux City for additional training in the spring and early summer of 1943.

“We flew almost every day over the Dakotas, Nebraska and Kansas,” recalled Dial, who farms near Lake City and planted his 60^th crop this spring. “Because the pilots were green and had to learn how to fly in tight formations, we lost more planes at Sioux City than overseas.”

Being stationed in Sioux City came with one big perk—Dial could catch a train to Manson and hitchhike home to see his high school girlfriend, Alice Ann, and his family. “Those were the days when it cost 15 cents to take your date to the show in Lohrville,” Dial recalled.

Movie dates quickly became a thing of the past when Dial and the crew were sent to Italy in the latter part of 1943. The crew’s operational assignment put them with the 99^th Bomb Group at Tortorella, a few miles south of Foggia on Italy’s eastern side. The crew lived in six-man tents heated by an improvised stove (made from a 50-gallon oil barrel) that ran on 100-octane gas. “We lived in those tents all through the winter, but we were far luckier than the infantrymen who slept in the mud,” Dial recalled.

When Dial’s pilot, Pat O’Neil, and the crew flew their first mission 10 days after joining the 99^th, they targeted a troop concentration near Bologna which was bombed from 20,000 feet. “We thought there was quite a bit of flak, although this was really a fairly mild run in comparison to what we found the next day over Blechammer on the German-Polish border,” said Dial, who always took Alice Ann’s ring with him on each mission he flew. “A terrific barrage put several holes in our plane.”



Gerald enjoyed lunch in the field with his wife,
Alice Ann, and son, Dwight
 

            Before that first flight over Europe, Dial was promoted from a corporal to a staff sergeant. Air Force rules at the time specified that servicemen had to be at least a staff sergeant to fly in combat. “It had something to do with the fact that if we were shot down and captured, this higher rank would help us receive better treatment,” said Dial, a 59-year member of the Lake City American Legion.

It also reminded the men’s loved ones all too clearly about the danger the crew faced. At 18, Dial was the youngest member of his crew, which included three men whose wives had babies on the way. For Dial’s girlfriend Alice Ann (who married Dial in 1945), it wasn’t always easy to keep her mind on her home economics studies at Iowa State. “In my Delta Zeta sorority, four of us had boyfriends, husbands or brothers who were tail gunners. It was hard to see young guys on campus who’d come back from the war with legs gone and other injuries.”

Remembering a cold Christmas

For Dial, bombing missions (which typically started at 4 a.m. and wrapped up by 4 p.m.) were determined by the weather. The downtime created a little free time to write letters to loved ones and jot a few quick notes in the “My Service Diary” that Alice Ann’s father had given him before he left for Europe. In an entry dated Oct. 1, 1944, Dial wrote, “Sat around in tent and read. Played blackjack all day. Rained to beat heck the whole day. Tonight went into the Red Cross, wrote letters and had ice cream and cake.”

Dial would have plenty to write about after a bombing mission on Christmas Day 1944. The crew, who had to wear oxygen masks in the unpressurized bomber starting at 10,000 feet, also wore electrically-heated flight suits to protect against temperatures that dropped to 50 degrees below zero. As the mercury plunged, Dial’s suit failed to heat up. “Going to the target wasn’t so bad because the sun was shining into my position, but coming home I was in the shade as the plane’s radio picked up Bing Crosby’s ‘White Christmas,’” recalled Dial, “I vowed I’d never be that cold again.”

Coming home



Gerald farmed near Lake City and Yetter for
more than 60 years.

            After returning to the United States on a troop transport ship in May 1945, Dial became a gunnery instructor at Laredo Army Air Base in Texas. Because Japan wasn’t out of the war yet, Dial and his new bride knew there was a chance he could be sent overseas again. Both were relieved when the war ended in August.

            “I got off the train in Jefferson, my folks picked me up, and within a week I was running the two-row corn picker,” said Dial, who picked corn through December and helped with hay baling, threshing and other jobs until he and Alice Ann had the chance to rent a farm west of Lake City in December 1946.



A long time member of Lake City's American Legion,
Gerald served oyster stew each winter.

A few years ago this farm where the Dials raised their seven children and still live today provided a unique setting for a reunion of the five surviving members of Dial’s World War II crew. As old scrapbooks, photos and letters were pulled out once again, the words that Officer James Sutton wrote to Dial on Oct. 30, 1945, from the Laredo Army Air Field rang as true as they did decades ago. “Your contributions toward the victory for which we fought, and which, after almost four long and trying years, we so recently won, have earned the undying gratitude of our country.”