Franklin County, Nebraska

For Another Day

I found this article on the front page of the Bloomington Echo. When this was written (1898) Chapter P. of the P. E. O. Sisterhood was just two years old. In November 1996, our Chapter P celebrated a century of togetherness. The people spoken of here are the founder of Chapter P.

P. E. O. Reception from the Bloomington Echo…Bloomington, NE. Friday, January 14, 1898.

Never in its history has the Village of Bloomington enjoyed such a scene of luxury, elegance and beauty as was witnessed at the hall of the courthouse last evening at the reception given to the husbands and fathers, would be husbands and prospective fathers, by the Noble Order of the P. E. O. Sisterhood, of Chapter P. of the Grand Chapter of Nebraska, near the Grand Sisterhood of the World.

Early yesterday morning, the editor of this great family newspaper wended his way to the courthouse to attend the meeting of the county board. Instead of finding them doing business in the spacious courthouse hall provided for that purpose, he found them huddled in the sheriff’s office. Some were seated on the counter, others were standing, and the county clerk was keeping his minutes in a small vest pocket memorandum. On inquiring the cause of these unusual proceedings, he was informed, “this was the evening of the P. E. O. reception and everything goes.” We hastened upstairs to the courthouse hall where we found Sheriff Dunn and three deputies down on their hands and knees scrubbing the floor as it was never scrubbed before, (many people in Bloomington are descendents of Sheriff Dunn, including Verna Donovan) and on meekly inquiring if Bro. Burleigh’s millennium had really arrived, we were informed, and “this was the evening of the P. E. O. reception and everything goes.” Early in the day, vans of furniture were unloaded and carefully carried upstairs. We inquired if a new furniture store was moving into town, to which the drayman echoed. “This is the evening of the P.E. O. reception and everything goes.” Then the carpets, rugs, laces, curtains, tapestries, pictures and mirrors began to pour in from every nook and corner of the village. The public schools were dismissed and every urchin in town except “Posey” Williams was pressed to service. Lamps, dishes, tablecloths, forks, spoons, and every conceivable utensil were stored away among other secrets of the old jury room. There was hurrying and scurrying to and fro, and as we stood in amazement at the outer courtyard gate and inquired if the location of the Tran Mississippi Exposition had been changed to Bloomington the answer came again, “this is the evening of the P. E. O. reception and everything goes.”

Later, the viands made their appearance: roast beef, roast pork, roast chicken, roast turkey, roast fish, roast lobster, frog legs, oysters on the half shell, boiled turtle, boiled potatoes, boiled beans, boiled cabbage, boiled alligator, cole slaw, cold meat, cold feet, cold coffee, cold ice cream, salted almonds, salted mackerel, salted bread; there was a barrel of sugar and a barrel of salt and a barrel of pepper, in fact such an array of edibles had never been seen spread before us, even in our wildest dreams.

“Whence came all of these?” do you ask? Well, it is hard to say. One urchin in passing inadvertently remarked, “You ought to see Black’s House. It looks like as if a tornado had struck it.” (Black worked in the Bloomington Bank.) Another said, “Good Lord, it isn’t a patching to McGrew’s “Hardly a thing left in it.” (McGrew owned the bank, the same one Isaac Black worked in, and the McGrews lived in the east part of Bloomington, which was later known as the Donovan home.) A third remarked, “Looks like Sumner’s had moved away.” (Sumners were the doctors of Bloomington.)

Our curiosity was by this time up to fever heat. About tea time, true to the unceasing determination which characterizes this great dispenser of knowledge, to know the truth, the whole truth, and speak nothing but the truth, we made the rounds of the village, that we might know for ourselves if “such things must be,” “with every famous victory.”

At the corner of Patterson’s Drug Store, we met Vin Smith with his little dinner basket on his arm, nibbling the remains of his noonday meal. “Supper time?” we asked; “Yes,” he said, “but there is no supper for me tonight. This is the evening of the P. E. O. reception, and everything goes.”

We entered the store and found Sumner busy concocting decorations. We inquired if he was not going home to his evening meal, to which he replied that after a year’s bitter experience, he had found that from a hygienic standpoint, it was better for both man and beast, to abstain from eating on the evening of the P.E. O. Reception, where “everything goes.”

Feigly’s, we found down to the free lunch counter, and when we inquired why this unusual procedure, he said Helffrich owed him a little and he thought he’d eat it out, as this was the evening of the P. E. O. reception, where “everything goes.” (Feigly’s store was just across the west of the now day Lamplighter Inn and the Helffrich house was to the west on the corner of Jonquil Volk.

McGrew was standing on Moffett’s corner. (Moffett was the harness maker.) He swore he had just had the best meal of his life. We doubted his veracity, but as we never can tell from his appearance whether his has eaten anything for a week or a month, we let the fond deception pass as, “This is the evening of the P. E. O. reception and everything goes.”

At the corner of the new Catholic church, sitting on a pile of something sat someone eating an onion. He asked us for a drink of water; he said his house was dark and he feared his wife was away from home, as this was the evening of the P. E. O. reception, and “everything goes.” We hurried on, hoping to find at least one man of the town at home. We found him, Black is always at home at mealtime; he and the dog were both at home. Black was in the dining room as usual, sitting on a three-legged stool at the refrigerator, eating bread and milk out of a tin pan, gazing sadly at the beautiful motto suspended on the wall, “what is a home without a mother.” He explained that such was not his ordinary evening repast, but with a sickly smile remarked, “This is the evening of the P. E. O. reception and everything goes.” Sadly we wended our way homeward but on our arrival quickly returned to our office for one of these place cards, “For Sale or Rent” which our wife had neglected to place in the window before vacating. Almost famished, we bethought our selves of the old editorial custom of visiting our neighbors about mealtime. “Just for luck, you know,” so we went to the Patterson’s. (Patterson bakery stood in the same spot as the now day Lamplighter Inn.) We found Oliver dressed in his dignified smile. We stated the dilemma in which we found ourselves placed, and asked if he had any cold lamb or other edibles about the larder, to appease the craving of our appetite. But he said “No, Mary has been lamming me around all day, so that I have had no time to cook, even for my self, for this is the evening of the P.E. O. reception and everything goes.”

We wanted to make the entire rounds, but famine overcame us, and following the example of Feigly, Helfferich’s restaurant now has credit on our books for one year’s subscription, eaten in advance. But the experiences of the day only better fitted us for the royal good time awaiting us on our arrival at the hall.

Early in the evening, the invited guests arrived and were welcomed at the portals of the courtroom, which the fingers of the ladies had transformed as if by magic into a spacious beautiful parlor. In one-corner large tables, beautifully decorated with flowers and P. E. O. emblems gave promise to things unspeakable. The early portion of the evening was spent in social chat and parlor games, and later both old and young tripped the light fantastic to the excellent music of Lyon’s string band, while for three of the happiest hours of our life, a regal repast was served “Washington Style,” and when in the “wee small” hours of the morning we were compelled to depart, all present declared the evening to be the most perfectly arranged and most enjoyable entertainment of the season. Long life to the P. E. O. Sisterhood, and may it be our good fortune to witness many happy returns of this auspicious occasion.

There is the shaded doorway still, but a stranger’s foot has crossed the sill. Thomas Reed.

Rena Donovan, For Another Day.

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