I can vividly recall walking down the hall at MJH in the early 70’s and seeing Mr. Backer leaning against the wall by his office. He would be there between every period, making sure that the students kept moving quickly and in an orderly manner. His deep voice and perfected scowl were enough to make me keep my eyes on the floor and my body moving forward. He would occasionally yell out, “All right, keep it moving. Hurry it up!” when he thought there were too many students milling around and talking. His gruff manner and no-nonsense posture kept us in line and our hijinks to a minimum.

His methods of disciplining unruly young teenagers were firm and effective. Keep in mind that this was “way back”, when corporal punishment could still be used. Bob and Barb Pantenburg, both teachers during Mr. Backer’s tenure, shared some of his unique discipline methods. One time Mr. Backer (or Junior as his staff called him) brought two boys into his office that had decided to go to Mac’s instead of outside for P.E. and got caught. Mr. Backer grabbed his paddle, made for him by the shop teacher, and asked, “Who wants to go first?” Unfortunately, one of them “volunteered”, so he was told to face the doorway and grab his knees. He did, and Mr. Backer DID, and the young man was raised off the floor and ended up against the secretary’s desk. The next kid turned white. Mr. Backer then called him into the office and said, “You won’t do that again, will you?” and told the errant teenager to get to class immediately.

Other lessons were less physical, but just as effective. One young man decided it would be funny to put thumbtacks on a desk seat, but the young girl who sat on them didn’t think it was funny at all. Neither did Bob, so he brought the boy in and got three or four boxes of thumbtacks and made the youngster push every thumbtack into the bulletin board while laughing out loud with each push. The young man’s humor quickly disappeared! Another boy was brought in who thought it was fun to “drum” on a desk with his drumsticks during study hall. Mr. Backer’s punishment was to bring him into his office and require him to “drum” on a desk for an entire hour without stopping! Any alumni out there recognize yourself as the youthful offenders in these stories?

But his students loved and respected him. On his condolences page, several left messages for his family telling how much he meant to them. Darla Burke Brennemann ’72 wrote, “What a difference he made in my life. He showed caring, concern, and respect, no matter what.” Chuck Beard ’73 was brave enough to relate that, “I still remember those few times that I spent in his office during my junior high days. It seems like it was just last week I got the honor of having to bend over and grab my ankles to prepare myself for a swat. Still think that board had way too many holes in it.” Summing up the feelings of most of Bob’s students was this message from Pat Howell ‘82: “Never an unkind word from Mr. Backer and I can’t recall anything negative about him from others.”

Those who really knew Bob Backer and saw his humor and dedication were his staff members. When asked for thoughts on their teaching under Bob’s guidance, many were quick to give us stories and examples of the man, they knew so well.

Marianne Colling ‘59 related that Bob was a person who believed in equality for girls and boys alike in sports way back before Title 9 was in existence. He would come to the first (volleyball) game and stay for all of them. He supported both boys’ and girls’ athletics in this manner. Bob was a true believer that athletics helped form character in kids and kept them out of trouble.

Ernie Perez recalled that Mr. Backer was an innovative educator, not afraid to try new things. One year he asked Ernie if he would like to use tables of various shapes instead of individual desks in the classroom. The arrangement worked out well and encouraged more group discussions. Pam Wolford taught under Bob near the end of his tenure and reports that my first teaching position was with the Special Needs classroom and this was the transition where my students were not self-contained at the center on Hwy 83, but instead part of the student body. Bob was wonderful with the whole transition process and often would stop in our classroom to chat with the kids. He was supportive of my efforts to get the students involved in the school building and community.

Superintendent Harold Bennett had these accolades for Bob: “I will always remember Bob as one of the best principals that McCook Junior High could ever have had. He was so reliable, steady, and caring. Serving as the McCook Schools Superintendent with Bob was an honor.” Counselor Dennis Irwin summed up Bob with these words: “When I entered the junior high office to interview for my job, I met an individual leaning back in his chair with his feet on the desk. I was immediately put at ease in meeting Bob Backer. What you saw is what you got – a great boss, supporter, friend. Someone you could talk with, an individual you worked with – not for.”

Shirley Hunt, his secretary for 18 years, recalls Bob this way: “He placed the students first and with the support of the faculty and staff each student was given an equal opportunity to continue their education and acquire the knowledge they would need for their future. Mr. Backer was not only the principal at MJH, he was respected by his faculty and staff and was courteous and a friend to everyone.”

Bob didn’t slow down much when he retired. A group of his fellow teachers still go out for breakfast once a week, and he was always there to join them on Thursday mornings as long as his health allowed. He and Al Cuellar ’56 became good friends during retirement and would have dinner together once a week. Al reports that Bob enjoyed golf, playing about every day after he retired and watching it whenever it was on television. Dennis Irwin tells us that even though golf was Bob’s favorite sport, he also liked to play basketball, tennis, racquetball, and table tennis. Dennis gave an example of how much Bob loved to compete. When he and Bob would play racquetball, Bob would tell Dennis that his heart pills were located in his pocket so Dennis could put one in Bob’s mouth if he collapsed while playing. A dedicated athlete!

Bob’s beloved wife Elva, swimming coach extraordinaire, preceded Bob in death in 2000, after nearly 54 years of marriage. Bob is survived by his five children: David ‘67, Rex ‘69, Peter ‘71, Fred ‘78, and Jody’73 Backer Crocker, grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

McCook schools were fortunate to have this man as one of the leaders of our schools for so many years. He ran the junior high effectively, yet compassionately. Bob was a true educational leader and a strong supporter of equal opportunities and quality education for all his students. He will be fondly remembered and truly missed by his former students and staff.

By Diane Wilson Lyons ‘76

Efforts are already under way. In January, work began on spacious new dressing rooms for performers. The dressing rooms, located on the lower level of the theatre, should be completed by early spring. Also, a retractable screen has been installed at the Fox, opening the stage area for larger shows.

“Our goal is to host many events at the Fox,” said Gene O. Morris, who joined the theatre in January as executive director. Gene, who is the retired publisher of the McCook Gazette, may be reached by telephone at 308-340-5972 or e-mail at geneomorris@yahoo.com.

“The Fox renovation will be an ongoing project,” said Lloyd Benjamin ‘56, the president of the Fox Theatre board of directors. “The Fox is a beautiful theatre and has great acoustics, but it needs to be upgraded,” Lloyd said. “Among the needs are new restrooms and plumbing, heating, electrical and roof upgrades. We also need to reupholster the seats and refurbish the marquee,” he said. An orchestra pit and a new sound system are also planned.

“We’re fortunate to live in such a great community and to have a fine facility like the Fox,” Lloyd added. “We have already received a number of generous donations and will be seeking additional support in the months to come.”

Those who would like updates on the Fox Project may write to The Fox, Box 211, McCook, NE 69001 or e-mail geneomorris@yahoo.com.

A number of MHS alumni are taking leading roles in the project. John Hubert ‘45 has been the operator of the Fox for many years and continues to serve as a member of the board of directors. Other Fox directors are June Benjamin Davis ’60, Charles Coleman ’66, Christina Hubert Coleman ‘67, Kent Craw, Terry Ellinger and Elizabeth Benjamin.  “We will have much more to report about the Fox campaign in the Bison Newsletter this fall,” Lloyd said. “Be watching. Many exciting happenings are coming.”

You learned to skate with actual skates (not roller blades) that had metal wheels.

You thought Gopher from Love Boat was cute (admit it!)

You had rubber boots for rainy days and Moon boots for snowy days.

You owned "Klick-Klacks" and smacked yourself in the face more than once.

You had either a "bowl cut" or "pixie", not to mention the "Dorothy Hamill". People sometimes thought you were a boy.

Your Holly Hobbie sleeping bag was your most prized possession.

You had the Donnie and Marie dolls with those pink and purple satiny shredded outfits, or the Sunshine Family.

You spent hours in your backyard on your metal swing set with the trapeze. The swing set tipped over at least once.

You had homemade ribbon barrettes in every imaginable color. (Oh yeah!)

You wanted to be Laura Ingalls Wilder really bad; you wore that Little House on the Prairie-inspired plaid, ruffle shirt with the high neck in at least one school picture; and you despised Nellie Olson!

You know who Strawberry Shortcake is, as well as her friends, Blueberry Muffin and Huckleberry Pie.

You carried a Muppets lunch box to school and it was metal, not plastic. With

the thermos inside some were glass inside and broke the first time you dropped them.

You and your girlfriends would fight over which of the Dukes of Hazzard was your boyfriend.

It was a big event in your household each year when the "Wizard of Oz" would come on TV. Your mom would break out the popcorn and sleeping bags!

You often asked your Magic-8 ball the question: "Who will I marry. Shaun Cassidy, Leif Garrett, or David Cassidy?"

You completely wore out your Grease, Saturday Night Fever, and Fame soundtrack record albums.

You tried to do lots of arts and crafts, like yarn and Popsicle-stick God’s eyes, decoupage, or those weird potholders made on a plastic loom.

You used to tape record songs off the radio by holding your portable tape player up to the speaker.

You learned everything you needed to know about girl issues from Judy Blume books. (Are you there God? It’s me, Margaret.)

You thought Olivia Newton John’s song "Physical" was about aerobics. (?? its not??)

You wore friendship pins on your tennis shoes, or shoelaces with heart or rainbow designs.

You drowned yourself in Love’s Baby Soft – which was the first "real" perfume you ever owned.

Roger Dowling ‘67 romo@olypen.com recounts that, “English was the class I disliked the most. One year, I decided that understanding adverbs, adjectives and those pesky dangling participles was unnecessary in the grand scheme of life; besides, the only words I truly needed were those that would get me a date. So I found ingenious ways to entertain myself, one of which was injecting ink beneath the skin of my left forearm with one of Mom’s sewing needles. The result: an abstract-style tattoo that was clearly ahead of its time. Now here I am, a middle-aged, retired, and recently published author (www.theyardbull.com) who, whenever I look at the faded blue form on my arm, am reminded of all the re-writes and editing I could have been spared had I only paid attention in English! And those pick-up lines I thought were so important: utterly meaningless now that I’m married.” (Editors Note: Rogers’ memoir as a railroad detective in Lincoln and Seattle is entitled, Yard Bull and written under the pen name Dean O’Shea.)

Paul Toms pdtoms@windstream.net remembers being a young boy in McCook and playing around what was called the “gas ditch”. To the best of his recollection it was located south of McCook and not a very safe place for young children to be playing! The Toms family moved to McCook around 1944 and their father was a fireman with the CB&Q Railroad. They moved away in 1956. Paul would love to hear from anyone from that era.

Richard Seaman has many special memories of living in McCook and attending MHS from 1944-45, when he was a junior and his father was stationed as flight training officer at McCook Air Base. "It was a community of caring, generous and hard-working people, and a place where I learned much about important basic life values. The youth of the community were welcoming to me as a "new kid" in town and I have continued to remember with fondness the community. Currently, I am a retired psychologist living in Port Angeles, WA. Over the years I think back to some of the special people from McCook and would love the opportunity to re-contact them." His e-mail address is cree8YourFuture@wavecable.com 

• You can name everyone you graduated with.
• You know what 4-H means.
• You went to parties at a pasture, barn, gravel pit, or in the middle of a dirt road. OnMonday you could always tell who was at the party because of the scratches on their legs from running through the woods when the party was busted.
• You used to drag Main.
• You said the F word and your parents knew within the hour.
• You could never buy cigarettes because all the store clerks knew how old you were (and if you were old enough, theyd tell your parents anyhow.)
• When you did find somebody old enough and brave enough to buy cigarettes, you still had to go out into the country and drive on back roads to smoke them.
• You knew which section of the ditch you would find the beer your buyer dropped off.
• It was cool to date somebody from the neighboring town.
• You didnt give directions by street names but rather by references. Turn by Nelson’s house, go 2 blocks to Anderson’s, and its four houses left of the track field.
• The golf course had only 9 holes.
• The town next to you was considered trashy or snooty, but was actually just like your town.
• You referred to anyone with a house newer then 1965 as the rich people.
• The people in the big city dressed funny, and then you picked up the trend 2 years later.
• Anyone you wanted could be found at the local gas station, the town bar, the A&W, Dairy Crème, or Macs.
• The Wrestling Coach suggested you haul hay for the summer to get stronger.
• Directions were given using THE stop light as a reference.
• When you decided to walk somewhere for exercise, 5 people would pull over and ask if you wanted a ride.
• Your teachers called you by your older siblings names.
• Your teachers remembered when they taught your parents.
• You could charge at any local store or write checks without any ID.
• The closest mall was over an hour away.
• You’ve peed in a cornfield.
• Most people went by a nickname.

I would not have wanted to been raised any other way!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

What made it scarier was that the house was pitch black. We – me, my brother, Gene, and my mom and dad – sat in total darkness, listening to the radio while, above us, waves of bombers swept low over my house, their big radial engines shaking our house (1210 West 2nd) like a minor earthquake.

It was World War II, we were in the midst of a blackout, a wartime measure aimed at making whole towns invisible from the air at night.

As always, when it was blackout time, I grabbed an old pillow from the sofa, threw a cover over me, and huddled next to the radio on the floor in the dark trying to hear over the sound of the bombers that were making practice runs over my town, over my house, and more to the point, over me.

I’m not sure, exactly, how it got to be blackout night in my town. All I know is that a couple of times a month, mom would announce that tonight was blackout night. In retrospect, I know now that it was directly related to training schedules at the US Army Air Corp Training Base a few miles north of my home town.

Young men from all over the United States spent time at McCook Air Base, putting the finishing touches on their flight, navigation, shooting and bombing skills before riding off to war on the shiny new wings they learned to fly while stationed there. My guess, these long years later, is that my little town was a mock target for the young airmen who, in a matter of weeks, would find themselves flying at night over towns in Europe that appeared to be in total eclipse. They would have to be able to find and hit their targets in total darkness.

In addition, the air base in McCook doubled as a prisoner of war camp, making my town, and my life, a microcosm of the wars being waged in every corner of the world . . . including mine.

Daily and nightly giant bombers roared overhead, going from or returning to the base north of town, while during the day trucks, loaded with war prisoners headed for contract labor in town, rolled up and down the streets of McCook. And in quiet, private moments, I watched my parents slumped in remorse too deep for words after talking to a neighbor, a friend, or a relative. If it were a relative, old photo albums were brought out, and pages turned slowly.

Lost in her reverie, my mother would thumb the album pages and say, “I thought we had a picture of . . . ,” and then she would stop, the page frozen in position. Always, her hand covered her mouth, as tears welled in her eyes. Dad, sitting across from her, tried not looking at anything in particular, finally settling on his big, bony hands, hands that could usually fix anything.

The blackouts were highly organized. Each block had an air raid warden whose job it was to snoop around the neighborhood and look for light seeping out of cracks in curtains, sheets, blankets, tarps or whatever was being used to hold the light in. Early on, we used to cheat and leave on a small light or use a candle so we could see to get around the house.

However, one night during a blackout, an ominous rap thudded against our door. My heart stopped. I couldn’t move. My joints locked. My eyeballs would not swivel in their sockets. Who was at our door . . . escaped war prisoners looking for food and weapons, our car so they could drive home to Germany . . . ?

“Air raid warden,” said a voice on the other side of the door as he thumped away with his fist. I always thought the front door of my house was solid enough to stop anything or anyone. But that night, as we sat entombed in a house that was part of a larger game called seek and destroy, with bombers overhead and a deep male voice demanding our attention on the other side of my sanctuary, I was no longer sure.

There was a terrible scurrying as my parents dashed about turning off the little light before answering the warden’s knock. Wouldn’t do to let a room full of light spill into the dark night where circling bombers could lock onto it, or where, perhaps, escaped prisoners could see in, could see how totally unprotected we were.

The warden’s knock also meant that our name would go on a list. I wondered what kind of list it was. Perhaps it was “The Light Leaker’s List.” Was it like teacher’s list at school? Would there be a later punishment for our escaped light, light that could easily be used by Hitler, our arch enemy, to find not only our town, but MY HOUSE.

There was a muffled conversation with the warden. It was carried on between the tiniest of cracks in the door, as though Hitler, himself, were listening. The door no sooner closed than mom went scurrying to a front room window and tucked furiously at the many layers of material covering the windows.

“How could he see that. . . ?” she whispered, as though Hitler really were listening. I, too, wondered how you could see light from windows so carefully covered as ours.

Things settled again, and thereafter, we kept our house as black inside as it was outside. No more visits from wardens who put our names on a list.

And after the lights went down that night in the house at 1210 West Second Street in McCook, NE, I slipped out the back door for a look. It was, as best as I can remember, during the winter of ‘43 or ‘44. I was about 8 years old.

It was a cold winter night without a breath of wind. A light skiff of snow lay across the rooftops of all the darkened houses that I could see. Each roof was illuminated by a winter moon that strode defiantly across a sky so full of stars that I felt I could see back to the beginning of time.

We must have been between waves of bombers because it was so quiet that I thought the whole world was holding its breath. So, I held mine and listened.

Nowhere did I hear the sound of war. Nowhere did I see a sliver of escaped light that might betray my town, my house, or me. Here, alone, beneath these stars, and this heaven, at this particular moment in time, I felt safe. But deep inside, I knew that somewhere, bad people were doing bad things to other people.

After all, evil lurks in the hearts of men. And, turning, I saw my own shadow in the moonlight.

I studied it. It moved with me, but always at an angle, and it hugged the ground like a snake.

I shivered and went inside, feeling, at last, that I knew what THE SHADOW knew.

Nebraska Life Magazine
by Richard Budig 56

This story will be on our website www.mccookalumni.com or www.bisonalumni.com with a link to a copy of an original “Proclamation” flyer sent or given to every resident of McCook with the instructions for Blackouts. This flyer was provided by Shirley Muffley Wallen ‘46.

I doubt that Frannie ever met a stranger. He knew everyone in McCook and spoke cheerily to everyone he met. He took it upon himself to be McCook’s unofficial greeter to out-of-town shoppers and certainly made everyone feel welcome.

Frannie was the older son of Frank and Marian Weiland. Frank was a long time coach and science teacher at McCook High School. He was a tireless worker in various capacities at the school and was very involved in activities in the city and at St. Patrick’s Church.

Frank was always available with sound advice for students who needed to talk. He was respected to the extent that when the new football field and stadium was built in Bolle’s Canyon, it was a near unanimous decision to name the facility “Weiland Field.”

Frannie’s sister, Marian, and his brother, Joe, were leaders in their respective classes. Joe was a fleet wingback on McCook’s Championship 1946 football team. He later joined the Marines and rose rapidly through the ranks, attaining the rank of colonel during the Vietnam war.

Frannie had a nervous disorder, which made it difficult for him to learn in school. Today, with many more programs available to handle special needs, his schooling probably would have been handled differently, but in his day he stayed in school, learning what he could and was a popular member of the high school student body.

When it came time for Frannie to leave school, Mrs. Weiland was in a dilemma. Frank Weiland had passed away and she worried about Frannie’s future.

She wanted him to be self-sufficient, but realized that his choice of jobs was limited. That is when Coach Russ Sauter stepped onto the scene. Russ had been a young coach and teacher when he came into the McCook system, and Frank Weiland had helped him in a multitude of ways, and Russ saw helping Frannie as a way he could partially repay his old mentor.

It was Russ that outfitted Frannie with brush and squeegee, then worked with him until he mastered the art of washing a store’s plate glass windows without leaving the windows streaked. Then he spoke with enough store-owners who agreed to give Frannie the chance to wash their windows so that Frannie was able to establish a customer base. After that, Frannie’s reputation for giving good service at reasonable rates spread by word of mouth, to the extent that Frannie was rarely without work.

When we came to McCook in 1957 to buy the Harvest Bakery, Ben Schuering, the previous owner took me on a little tour of the facility. We came across a window washing brush and squeegee in the basement, and I recalled how I’d washed the windows at the bakery in Plainview.

“Well, you won’t have to worry about washing windows here,” said Ben. “Frannie comes every week, like clockwork, and does a good job”.

I found that all my business neighbors used Frannie as well, as did almost all of the businesses in downtown McCook. But Frannie was available to do other jobs as well. For years he scrubbed the floors at the bakery and I don’t know how many others. He was ever accommodating. He worked after our business hours, at his convenience. He was often still working at the bakery when the bakers arrived at 2 a.m. He had his own bakery key, and enough from other businesses that he clanged when he walked. We never worried that things might be missing. Frannie was as honest as the day is long.

Another of Frannie’s jobs was putting up the flags on the light poles on Norris Avenue for holidays. At those times he unloaded his cleaning supplies from his little red wagon and filled it with flags and ladder, which he used to climb up to the flag brackets.

Frannie loved people and he loved organizations. He was always happy to come to the bakery Christmas party. He brought his mother, later his sister, as his guest.

He was a popular member of the Kiwanis Club. I’m not sure that he got too much out of the programs. He dozed a bit when a speaker was long winded, but he loved the camaraderie and high jinks of Ray Search and the other members and enjoyed working on the various Kiwanis projects. When he retired and moved to North Platte, the Kiwanis Club placed a bench in Norris Park in his honor.

He was a proud member of the Knights of Columbus. One day he invited me up to his house to see his lodge uniform, the plumed hat and cape.

It was beautiful and I admired it, but when he took down his sword, I began to think I’d made a mistake coming. The room was small and when he attempted to take the sword from its scabbard, he couldn’t quite handle it, and I feared for a moment that I might lose my head.

The Chamber of Commerce used to give out their “Smiler Award.” Of course, Frannie was one of the recipients of this award and was honored at the Annual Chamber Banquet. When Frannie’s name was announced, he received a thunderous, standing ovation. He was immensely pleased and couldn’t stop smiling throughout the evening.

Frannie had an unusual method of accounting. One day he approached me and asked me to help him with his deposit. We went to the bank and I found that his deposit box was crammed full with undeposited checks from customers. “Frannie, you can’t do this,” I gasped. “You’ve got several months of uncashed checks here, and you’re going to mess up your customers” books, and besides, you could be getting interest on this money.”

Then he explained. Each time he’d receive a check he put it in his safety deposit box, and at the end of the month his mother would make out the deposit slip and Frannie would take the deposit to the bank. But at that time his mother was ill and his sister, Marian, had not yet taken over that job, so he just let the checks pile up.

But whatever his method of accounting, he managed to save money. He was self-sufficient, and even had money to lend to relatives. His own needs were minimal, and he did not spend money frivolously. He lived at home with his mother. He was clean and dressed quite nattily, choosing to always wear a tie, even with a flannel shirt.

I believe we can all learn from Frannie’s example. For years he pulled his little red wagon filled with his cleaning supplies from his home near Central School, back and forth to work, but as time went on, he got a driver’s license and managed to buy a car for his transportation. At first these were used cars, but later he bought a new car, of which he was extremely proud.

The salesman was shocked when the deal was made and he started to make out the finance papers “That won’t be necessary,” said Frannie. He whipped out his billfold and paid for his car in cash.

Frannie’s friends were pleased for him, when he bought his new car, and as friends are wont to do, expressed their pleasure by kidding Frannie about his new acquisition. Bill Lyons, an attorney and owner of “Clapp’s Store for Women” and “Modern Appliance,” met Frannie on the street at this time. “Wow, Frannie, that’s a great car you’ve got,” said Bill. “I wish I could afford to buy a new car like that.”

Frannie did not hesitate. “Well, Bill, you get yourself a bucket and brush and I think I can line up a few window washing jobs for you. Then you’ll be able to buy yourself a new car too.”

Ed Note: This article was originally published in the McCook Daily Gazette on February 28, 2005 in a column written by Walt Sehnert.? Frannie died earlier this year and we thought that running this column in our newsletter would be a fitting tribute to him.? Anybody who ever met Frannie could never forget him.? He will be missed.

During those years of extensive travel, he would often receive newspaper clippings from his parents of places and events in McCook. Don would carefully examine each photo in the clippings, looking for things he could relate to and remember from his growing-up years in the old hometown, McCook.

After retiring from the advertising business and returning to McCook, Don decided to “remember” in depth, various places, buildings, and things he remembered from earlier years here. In 2002, he created an exhibition of photographs about McCook. This photographic collection was displayed at the McCook Art Guild Gallery. During the exhibition, people viewing the exhibit would remark to Don that a book of these photographs should be created.

This seemed like a good idea to Don, and so the book, “I Remember That!” was born.

The book, published by Feathermoon Press, McCook, has received a very positive response, Schaaf said. “I Remember That!” is an informal portrait of McCook composed of 54 pages, 22 black and white photos of places and things that everyone has seen hundreds of times, but you might just want to look at one more time and remember. Each photograph in the book is accompanied by Don’s retrospective comments.

At a recent book singing for “I Remember That!, a number of people told Don that they were buying copies of the book for their friends and family who no longer live in McCook. “I think those people enjoyed ‘remembering’ as I did, and want to share those memories with someone else,” Don remarked.

If you went to school in McCook, or even if you just lived here for a time, and would like to obtain “I Remember That! for your own or to share with others, it may be purchased at Country Whimesy in McCook for $17.95 or purchased by mail for $19.95 (includes cost of mailing) from: Feathermoon Press, 1603 East I Street, McCook, NE, 69001.

Don can be reached at donalds@lycos.com.

As long as I can remember I had taken this noble landmark for granted. Today, I see it as an imposing solid brick symmetrically designed structure. As I stand here staring at this institution I have to admire the art deco style that is now obvious to my mature eyes. I had never noticed. This is a work of art.

As I took the first steps up the stairway I recalled the expression, if only buildings could talk. I do know this stately building was built in the l930s, therefore, it has to have several decades of anecdotes. In the early years of the 1930s President Franklin Roosevelt was very concerned over the plight of the people caused by the depression. Farming, trade and business had fallen to dangerously low levels. He knew he had to do something to put the people to work. In l935 he established The Works Progress Administration, known as WPA. The assignment was to put to work as many of the unemployed as possible. And go to work they did. They built roads, streets, highways, parks, landing fields, recreation areas etc. . The results of this work are seen in every state. Supposedly, there were 125,110 public buildings built. This humble, homespun building, built for the masses, that we know as McCook Auditorium was one of those.

I continued climbing the steps hoping the building would be unlocked. As I entered I realized it looked just like I remembered. It did not show wear and tear. Obviously, it had aged better than I had. Maybe the old girl had had a face lift. Maybe, just maybe, she had a few tucks here and there. If so Id say she deserved it. Even if she had had some work done on her knees and elbows there is no doubt she has good bones.

Slowly I crossed the familiar lobby and continued to the wide open doors of the auditorium. It immediately dawned on me this building did not need to talk for my mind was rapidly recalling how much of my youth had been spent in this building.

As if on demand, my minds eye sees right in front of me the entire Shrine Circus. There are the three old wrinkly grey elephants with their red and green blankets thrown across their back parading around and around. The clowns in their bright colored clothes and even more brightly painted faces are entertaining everyone all over the room and all at the same time. OHHH………goes the crowd and I look up to see the trapeze artist on the swing high above my head. Back and forth she swings and then she joins a gentleman and together they swing back and forth, flip and free fall. But before they land they meet in mid-air and grab each other by the hands. Breathlessly we watch. These trapeze artists are such dare-devils. Beep, Beep, Beep here comes another clown in a crazy car distracting me from the trapeze artist. The clowns always find and distract us small children.


I was quite young when I enjoyed these trips to see the Shrine Circus in this big building. We were still living in the Stratton area and the local merchants in McCook would mail tickets to our schools. The elementary ones would close for a day so that we all could go to the circus. The back of each ticket was stamped with the name of the merchant. Mother had told us that was so we would patronize that merchant. I was tickled one year when mine was Ravenswood Dairy. I was all for patronizing anyplace that sold ice cream.

The circus is getting better. The floor is getting crowded with performers. As they pull the lion cage by me I can smell the hay in his cage. They are so close to me I hope he does not roar. I wonder where the monkeys are and the man who plays the music for the monkeys? The vendors are moving through the crowds selling trinkets, cotton candy, peanuts etc. But what we like to buy are the slimy chameleons. Even though they are slimy we are putting them on our clothes and watching them change colors. I do not think we can get them home alive. What about PETA? PETA would not approve. Is there a PETA in this day and age?

Those circuses were so exciting I thought to myself as a tear rolled down my cheek. I turned and walked back into the lobby. I slowly strolled the length of it and the music in my head started playing a swing tune.

Oh yes, I know what it is for how could I not recognize String of Pearls? The tune changes and it is Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy. It is obviously World War II and the Auditorium is holding a dance for the soldiers from the McCook Air Base. We are in McCook and our parents have stopped for a short period of time so that my older sisters could go in and dance a few dances. Dad has gone in with them and Mother is here in the car with us younger kids. Thank goodness the doors and windows are open and we can hear that wonderful music. Listen, that is Tuxedo Junction that we hear playing. My sisters have that on a record at home. I have danced with my sisters in our living room to Tuxedo Junction so many times.

As I stood there that day in l993 the music in my head changed to Pennsylvania 6-5000. I was now old enough to be at a dance in the McCook Auditorium, unlike in World War II when I was a mere child and too young to attend dances. I could hear the music and my feet were itching to dance to that familiar music but I was there all by myself. I sorta two- stepped my way back into the auditorium.

I start to walk across the floor and swoosh, a basketball passes by my head. I quickly duck toward the lobby and peek back inside. Right there in front of me is my brother, Dan, playing on the Stratton basketball team in the Frenchman Valley Tournament. Naturally, we have to be here to support him and the team. I go hurrying up the South stairway to find the assigned Stratton section. It is the blue and white section that has the bulldog on its banner. We cheer loudly and follow the Stratton cheerleaders in their yells. Two bits, four bits, six bits a dollar…..All for Stratton stand up and holler. It is getting so crowded. There are so many fans yelling as the game ends. I stand up and start to move toward the aisle.

Quickly I sat down again. I wanted to spend some time in this Stratton section. I wanted to soak in some memories of my pre-teen years. I settled into my seat and gazed down on the floor. Immediately, I see the Stratton High School girls drill team enter the court Right there in front of the drill team is my sister, Barbara, leading the team. Because she is one of the three leaders she gets to wear white majorette boots with blue tassels. There is no doubt she is the prettiest girl on the floor. I am so proud to have her as my older sister. The blue skirts of the drill team twirl as they turn that snappy corner. All of a sudden I realize that Patty is sitting here with me and we are giggling at some of the Stratton girls who have gotten out of step and that one poor girl who turned the wrong direction at the critical corner. Perhaps the view is too good from this height since we can see the mistakes.

Vaguely, I am now remembering of going with our parents to see the Spike Jones orchestra. Why can I not bring this vision to my mind? Was I too young? Did I fall asleep? I doubt if anyone would fall asleep while Spike Jones played. Maybe I wasnt there….maybe I had just heard about it so many times??? Too hard to think now. There was just too much whirling through my memory. Slowly, I got up and walked back down to the lobby.

Instead of feeling joyful I realized that I was feeling very melancholy about this building. I did not want to leave . I decided to go back up the stairs to sit on the north side.

Once I reach the top of the stairs and walk to the middle section I dutifully walk down 3 rows turn to the left and sit down in the fourth position on the bench. This seat is my assigned seat for every one of the l953-54 basketball games with the pep club known as The Red Peppers. I am checking in with my senior captain. Oh good, no demerits for me, I reply as soon as I complete my review. I just love this red sweater and red skirt that signifies that I am a part of the McCook High School. There is no way I will ever disgrace this uniform. Why do you suppose Mrs. Watkins has been so stern with me? Is it because she thinks I am a dumb little country girl from Stratton and I will disgrace her Red Peppers? Perhaps Mrs. Watkins will notice that I not only found my correct seat but went through the football season without any demerits. It makes me a little perturbed; however, I cannot worry about this now. The excitement is mounting.

Game after exciting game is flashing before my eyes and before I know it the season is over. I will never forget this first year and the thrill of sitting here with this eminent group. Mrs. Watkins does not ever let us forget that we are eminent. There is nothing ordinary about her Red Peppers.

Tears were once again running down my face. I got up and slowly walked down the stairway. Get a grip, Jeannie, it is only a building.

“Yeah, I guess” It is time to go back to the car.

Before I could head out the door, the sound from the floor of the auditorium tugged me over for one last look of admiration. I could not resist looking up at the Pep Club section. There is that wonderful block of McCook High School girls dressed in solid red cheering their hearts out for our McCook Bison. The roar of the crowd is getting louder and louder. I just saw someone dunk a basket. The entire pep club is standing on its feet but I cannot see me in that crowd. Then my eyes drop and there I am on the floor in front of the seating area on the right end of the cheerleading squad. There with me are Peggy, Jean, Janice and Charlene. We have on red circular skirts and white sweaters with a big M on them. This game is getting so exciting and the players are playing so much faster that we had better get out of the way. You know they do not allow much room for us cheerleaders here on the floor.

It is getting louder and louder and a quick pass to Pat ONeil and he loops it in. YEA, McCook.!! Another Basketball season of eight home games is coming to an end. Another year I am proud to be a Bison. YEA, McCook Bison!!

It was so exciting. It was all I could do to keep from jumping up and down as I stood there by myself. Maybe, I considered, I should try my skill of doing a few cheerleading moves. After all the building is empty. No one is here except me.

My thoughts continued, “If someone should see I could plead that I am an eccentric old woman.”

“No. Those days are in my past.”

Instead, I thought, I should walk across the floor toward the stage. Was I looking for excuses to stay and reminisce? Probably. There were so many memories for me here in this classy building. If I met someone they would not recognize me. If I was to tell them my name they would not remember me, thinking Im just someone off the highway looking for a bathroom.

About half-way across the floor once again a potpourri of musical notes was running through my head. What on earth was it? Pausing long enough to quiet my mind, I realize that it is medley of tunes from the various traveling concerts that I attended with my Mother. We are sitting on folding chairs that have been set up on this floor. The music is coming from the stage where these performers are entertaining us on a most pleasant evening. I am hearing the talented Rubinoff playing the violin and then a few weeks later slowly fading in I hear the delightful tenor voice of Christopher Lynch. Oh, listen there is now the sound of the Vienna Boys Choir. Last night they were in Omaha and tomorrow night they will be in Denver but tonight we in McCook get the thrill of their talents. We are so lucky we have this wonderful building so that they are willing to stop for one night to perform for us.

Closer I walk to the stage. Suddenly it is May 24, 1955. I see myself standing here wearing a black cap and gown. Mr. Bliss and Mr. Brooks are on the stage along with some other people. Everything was beginning to blur. There were so many tears in my eyes. Why was I crying? Was it because there are just so many pleasant memories? Was I really trying to be declared an eccentric old woman?

After I wiped my eyes and blew my nose I turn and slowly shuffle back toward the lobby while Pomp and Circumstance quietly echoed in my head. I walked blindly across the lobby and paused long enough to blow my nose again. Without looking back I went out the front door and stumbled down the outside steps.

Before getting into my car I looked back at this handsome building. The sun was setting behind it casting a proud glow to its art deco style. Little did I know when I stopped here a couple of hours earlier that I would relive so much of my life in this building? I paused to think, I am so glad I took time to renew my acquaintance with this lady.

She baited me with her allure of her handsome exterior and then lured me with the intrigue of my youthful days. What can I say? She is a wily old lady.

In her youth she wrapped her arms around not only this community but this entire area of the state. She made it possible that many people of all walks of life had some hours of fun and pleasure. She has been the basis of many memories for thousands of ordinary people. So many of us are so fortunate to have known her warmth. Casting my last look toward this renowned edifice I said aloud, You know what old Girl? You have excelled!”

Keep up the good work—–the next generations need you!

Jeanne Boyle Oldweiler, Class of l955
H-JOldweiler@worldnet.att.net

Since about 1950, the McCook city offices have been housed in Memorial Auditorium, located on West Fifth Street.

Now, in 2005, talks are in progress that could result in the city and county again sharing facilities. Mr. A. Barnett, McCook’s Builder, a longtime member of the McCook Chamber of Commerce, was a promoter of a civic auditorium almost from the beginning — along with a number of forward-looking citizens.

By the mid-1890s an “Auditorium Fund” had begun. And, just after the turn of a new century, several thousands of dollars had been raised locally for that facility: Periodically over the years, the auditorium project would surface, but for one reason or another always failed to make much headway.
Mr. Barnett, always a booster for McCook, gained stature and increasing influence in the community as the years went by, and continued to push for a civic auditorium in which all McCook could take pride.

Though his practice was to lead by example, from time to time he offered his thoughts to the public. On one such occasion he said, “From a financial standpoint many of our citizens have been prosperous. They have shown confidence in our city by their improvements and increased investments. Yet our business people are hardly up to the city’s needs in the way of commercial requirements. There is trade that should be held here that goes away, and there is business that could be brought here, that we do not get. We should keep in mind that we do have competition.”

(Even after some 100 years, some things never change.)

In the 1930s, during President Roosevelt’s second term, when Dr. J.M. Willis was president of the McCook Chamber of Commerce, a committee was appointed to study the possibilities of building an auditorium in McCook.

The committee thoroughly studied the matter, and reported that the federal government was making grants to cities for the purpose of making improvements to, and the building of government buildings. The report said that under these grants the federal government would share almost equally with municipalities the cost of these buildings or improvements.

A preliminary survey by the city showed that the cost of the proposed auditorium would be $94,156. A McCook special election on June 25, 1938 carried a bond issue for $50,000, (the city’s share of the project) by a vote of 1,197-583.

Good cooperation among various McCook groups and individuals was apparent, as the auditorium project went forward. John E. Kelley offered the land, a parcel 300 feet by 355 feet, for $ 1,000.

The American Legion came forth with a donation of $940 to buy the land — hence the name, “Memorial Auditorium” on the building.

Since part that parcel of land was outside city limits the City Council created a special “Auditorium Addition” to the city and agreed to buy the additional land for the auditorium’s construction.

One of the requirements of the government grant was that the project had to be started by Dec. 31, 1938. A contract for excavating work was let on Dec. 16 and work to satisfy the time stipulation was begun almost immediately, though a general contract for the building to R.W. Hughes of McCook, was not let until Feb. 17, 1939.

A standing Auditorium Committee, made up of Council Members, was named to oversee construction of the building.

Mr. A. Barnett was an unofficial consulting member of the Auditorium Committee. Even though he was 85 years old at the time, and sick with his fatal illness, his vast experience as McCook’s Master Builder was such that he was in constant contact with the city fathers, the architects, and the builders in the pre-construction phases of the auditorium project, even in his last days, when those in charge had to consult with him from his sickroom bed at St. Catherine’s Hospital.

The formal dedication of the new Memorial Auditorium was set for Nov. 12, 1939, but the veterans’ organizations of Mc-Cook, the American Legion, the VFW, and their auxiliary groups got things going on Armistice Day, Nov. 11, 1939, when they held a very successful dance, the first of many, in that facility.
During the first years of the auditorium’s life the building served as the hub of McCook’s cultural and entertainment center. Big-name bands were brought in to play for countless dances. Boxing and wrestling matches were held on the gym floor.

The auditorium was home to the McCook High School basketball games. High school graduation exercises were held here, as were wedding receptions, community and traveling theater productions.

In 1950, The City of Mc-Cook moved its city offices out of the Red Willow County Courthouse and into Memorial Auditorium. Space taken by the city curtailed some of the activities that were held in the building, but the “auditorium” has continued to host dances. Community concerts, cooking schools, craft shows, car shows, political rallies, and spectacular wedding receptions since that time. During the tenure of Mayor Vern Meints, the auditorium underwent a major face lifting. The gym floor was beautifully redone, but the baskets were removed, making basketball games (Even the YMCA Little League games) a thing of the past.

One bad rap of holding events at the auditorium has been the uncomfortable benches for seating, in the bleachers. A lengthy concert or lecture leaves spectators with aching backs. It has been argued that McCook has lost bringing in some medium sized conventions because of the poor seating at the auditorium.

This is unfortunate, because the auditorium is the one place in McCook where very large crowds can be accommodated.

Now, after some 65 years, the uncomfortable seating at the auditorium is being addressed by the “Share-A- Seat” (Spare Your Seat) campaign currently taking place in McCook, which aims to raise funds to install 534 high-tech polypropylene seats (which cradle your body while giving support — armrests included!”

A sample seat has been making the rounds of public places in McCook, and praise for the new seat is universally positive. Hopefully, we soon will be able to attend an event at Memorial Auditorium in total comfort — and not a moment too soon for this old, tired back.

Source — McCook Gazette Centennial Edition, 1882-1982.

By Walt Sehnert
McCook Daily Gazette / Monday, October 24, 2005

Sehnert is the author of two books on Nebraska history, “Growing Up In Plain View”, and “Ray Search Remembers McCook”. He writes a weekly column, “From Days Gone By”, in the McCook Daily Gazette. These columns usually recall an individual, or a place, or an event from McCook’s past, though they sometimes report an event or an individual’s story from Sehnert’s or the nation’s past.

Check out Sehnert’s columns at www.mccookgazette.com. (Click on “Opinions” and then “From Days Gone By”.) For information about ordering one of Sehnert’s books you may contact him directly at walts@mccooknet.com or 308-345-3356 or www.bieroccafe.com and see “Walt’s page”.