Small Town

The Augusta Theaters

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Augusta Theater

After graduating from high school I was working at Howard Motors, the Chevrolet/Buick garage. We worked from 8:00 to 6:00 on weekdays and 8:00 to 1:00 on Saturday. One Saturday afternoon, after work, I went home and cleaned up and came back downtown to have a cup of coffee at the bakery. The P & G Bakery was located in the 500 block of State Street, our main drag and was located just across the street from the Augusta Theater. Actually, there were two theaters across the street. The Augusta was the main theater, open every night and was large and beautifully decorated. Next to it on the south was the Isis Theater. It was well decorated in a modern western motif and was open Friday night, Saturday night and for Saturday matinee. Of course, the Isis only ran westerns. 

The P & G Bakery provided first class bread, doughnuts, and other baked goods but also had a fountain and half dozen booths. I was sitting in a booth, sipping my coffee, and visiting with everyone that came along. Bob Bisagno, the son of the owners of the movie houses, came in and sat down with me and ordered a cup of coffee. He was in his 30’s, was a tall, good looking guy, and was well liked by everyone in town. Bob was the manager of the theaters and every night you could see him at the Augusta taking tickets and welcoming the patrons to the movie. There was a small alcove off the lobby and every night, Bob’s parents, Dave and Aline, were sitting on the couch and greeting the patrons, also.

As an aside, I should tell you a little about the family. Mrs. Bisagno had been the piano player for the silent movies back in the old days. The old movie house was still there, in the next block, but was locked up tight and no longer used. The Bisagno family still owned it. Dave, the old man, had been raised on a farm north of town. He was short, maybe 5’ 7″ or 5’8″ tall with very broad shoulders, and big, powerful hands. One of the local legends was that Dave’s hands were so powerful that using a pinch-grip, he could hand-walk the rafters of a barn from one end of the barn to the other. One time, I saw a couple of old boys that had grown up with Dave and asked them if it was true that he was so strong. They swore that it was.

Bob graduated from Kansas State College at Manhattan and did a hitch in the Air Force before coming home to work at the movies.

Bob and I drank coffee and talked for a few minutes and then he changed gears and asked me if I’d like to work for him as a relief projectionist at the Augusta Theater. I was both flattered and flabbergasted. I had never considered such a thing. The relief projectionist or, operator, would give the regular man a break by working two nights a week and would be available to cover illnesses and vacations. Bob explained the job, the wages, and what would be expected of me. It sounded interesting. I asked a few questions and we shook hands and had a deal. I think I was eighteen at the time.

I don’t remember how long I trained before going solo. The regular operator, Lee, soon started going to the lobby and leaving me in the booth alone. It wasn’t very long before I worked a couple of nights by myself. There were a number of things to learn. Most reels of film lasted 18 to 20 minutes so the features normally had 4 to 6 reels. One of those super-duper blockbuster movies could have up to 8 reels. To get a reel ready, you placed it in the upper projector film housing and then threaded the film through several sprockets and then past the aperture plate which sized the projected image exactly to your screen. Then you went through a couple of sprockets and past the exciter lamp that picked up the sound which was imbedded alongside the 35mm image frames. The light source was a carbon arc with a parabolic reflector behind it to focus the light exactly on the aperture plate for maximum illumination. You had to set the carbons so they burned at the correct rate and you had to check them periodically when changing reels. There were 2 projectors and you switched back and forth between them. When a reel was about done, a mark on the film would show up in the upper right hand corner of the screen. That was the “get ready” cue and you got yourself in position with a hand on each of the 2 switches (one for the picture and one for sound). In a few seconds, the second cue appeared in the upper right hand corner of the screen and you hit both switches at the same time for a near seamless transition to the next reel. You had to learn to splice film, trouble- shoot the equipment, operate the curtains and lights and other chores that soon became second nature.

I learned at the Augusta Theater and then learned at the Isis Theater next door and got to work relief there and ran”B” westerns. Then I got to go to the drive-in and learned that equipment. All 3 movie houses had different projectors and sound systems so there were new things to learn at each job. The regular operator at the drive-in was an Electrical Engineer and that’s the work he did during the day. He was offered a job in another town so I was asked to be the full-time drive-in operator. I was tickled to death and accepted before Bob finished getting the words out of his mouth. I kept working at the garage, too, so I was pretty busy. At the drive-in, I kept the booth clean and repaired speakers while the movie ran.

The drive-in was about a mile and a half north of town on Ohio Street. Ohio Street was a busy road that serviced the farms north of town and served as a secondary way to get to El Dorado or Towanda or Wichita. The drive-in was on the east side of Ohio Street but on the west side was Garvin Park and our City Lake that served as our water reservoir. Across from the drive-in entrance and a little bit south there was an entrance into the park. At the time, I was driving a baby blue 1953 Ford convertible and generally had the top down during the summer months. I’d get off work on those beautiful summer nights, go into the park and head for home on the road that ran along the edge of the lake. It was rare to see another car at that time of night and I enjoyed tooling along, under the stars by myself.

One time, I had the night off and Bob Ford and I were going to go horseback riding. Since we both worked during the day this was the only chance we had. The horses that Bob had access to were only about 1 ½ miles from the drive-in. We got there and were saddling up and Bob says “I’d sure like to see that western movie that’s starting over at the drive-in tonight”. “I’ve been looking forward to going horseback riding tonight,” I says. “Well, let’s do both,” he says. I figured that since I worked there I might get away with it. We rode on over and when we got to the ticket booth, Bob bought himself a ticket. Right beside the concession stand there was a patio area with 4 benches on it. We rode on in and as we were sitting down, Bob Bisagno, the owner/manager came up and asked what we were doing. I told him we came to see the movie. After we all talked it over, Bob said it was ok but I’d have to come back in the morning and clean up after the horses. That was fair so we sat down on a bench to watch the movie and held onto our reins. We wanted to be able to control the horses so they wouldn’t get hurt in case some idiot blew his car horn. We watched the movie with no incidents and rode the horses back to the barn and put them up. The next morning, I got up early and went out and cleaned up the asphalt and then went to work at the garage. Another memorable experience and nobody hurt.

Dave Thomas
December 11, 2013

 

Quarry Story 2

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The rock quarry and surrounding area always had an “old West” feel to it. The quarry itself was hardly 100 yards from the road but it was hidden by the trees so being there caused you to be isolated from the reality of roads and cars. When you were in the pasture above the quarry and you got in the creases between the hills you could look off toward the skyline and see nothing but grass, just as it was during the days of the buffalo. The hills themselves looked like loaves of French bread scattered around the landscape. If you took a sharp knife and sliced down through one of the loaves (hills) and removed the cut-off portion, what remained would look like the sheer limestone wall of the quarry.

Another curiosity that added to the feeling of the old west was the old dynamite shack. It was only 30 or 40 yards from the quarry wall. Built of stone, it was maybe 10 foot by 10 foot, with a barred window that never had glass and a door jamb that was still intact though the door was long gone. The roof had long since disappeared, too. The barred window made you think “jail” and added to the mystique though you knew it was a dynamite shack.

Every square inch of limestone was full of fossils. Most of them were little round things shaped like wheels and were approximately the diameter of a large pea. Some were larger and were actually well-formed and intact sea shells. I spent hours digging through the fossils and looked up the shells and memorized their names and the names of the formations or clusters they were in. The only thing I can remember is “brachiopod”. I know that information and five pennies is worth about a nickel.

We camped out overnight at the quarry on several occasions but only one stands out in my memory. It was almost the first of April and though we knew spring was coming we were still anxious for a break in the weather so we could go camping. This particular weekend looked like a good chance for us. There was still a little snow on the ground but it hadn’t been too cold.

We loaded up our stuff, drove out to the quarry, and set up camp near the old dynamite shack. We scrounged up enough tinder and dry branches to keep our fire going all night. We thought we had prepared a pretty good camp site so when the time came we piled into our bed rolls and looked forward to a good night’s sleep. Unfortunately, the temperature had started dropping at sundown and it didn’t quit dropping. A cold snap caused it to be one of the coldest nights of the year. We took turns tending the fire all night and didn’t really get any sleep. What’s more, the next morning when we went to make coffee, the water in our canteens was frozen. Okay, so we can’t have coffee, we’ll get going on the bacon and eggs. Well, the eggs were frozen, too! About this time we were deciding that we were too dumb to be “cold weather campers” and started loading our stuff into the car. We each had a buck or so in our pocket so we headed for our favorite café and ordered coffee and bacon and eggs. Remember, this was back when a cup of coffee cost a nickel and I think breakfast was 65 cents. The warm café and a hot breakfast greatly improved our dispositions.

 

 

Dave Thomas
October 25, 2013

A Rookie On Ice

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I was 18 and working at Howard Motors, a Chevrolet/Buick dealership in Augusta, Kansas. It was winter and we had been having some lousy weather. It snowed and then the next day it warmed up enough to thaw a little. Then, that night, the water standing in the streets and roads re-froze and a little bit of snow fell and covered it. This resulted in roads so icy and slick you could barely walk or drive on them.

I had been told the night before that the next day, I would be delivering a brand new 1 ½ ton Chevrolet truck to Great Bend, Kansas, about 130 miles away and bringing back the trade-in. The trade-in was at a dealership in Great Bend and the dealer had already removed the livestock bed from the truck. That meant that neither truck I would be driving had a bed mounted on it so therefore there would be no weight on the rear wheels.

I got to work early and got my instructions and by 8:00 AM was heading out on an adventure. I had never been to Great Bend, had never driven so far, and had certainly never driven a truck that far. I was having an exciting time before I hit the city limit. Touch the brakes and the rear end slid out from under you because there was no weight to hold it down. Try to accelerate and the same thing happened. At that time there was no 55 MPH speed limit on the highway but it didn’t make any difference because I couldn’t get over 20 MPH and neither could anyone else who was on the road. Going west from Augusta to Wichita I never got over 20 miles an hour. When I got to Wichita and took Highway 81 North, it was the same story. I kept hoping it would warm up a little and the roads would thaw. Otherwise, I wouldn’t get home until midnight.

I finally got to Newton and stopped for some pie and coffee. I figured I could kill 15 or 20 minutes there and give the weather a little more time to warm up. I got back on the road and headed west out of Newton. After a few minutes, I was tickled to see patches of road that were free of ice. I was actually able to get up to 50 and 55 miles an hour for short periods of time but had to be careful of bridges because they were always shady and covered with ice. This was nice country with farm towns every few miles. Probably most of the farmers through there were Mennonites as they had settled the area many years before.

I finally got to Great Bend. As I recall, it was called “Great Bend” because it was located on a great bend of the Arkansas River. That’s not pronounced “Arkensaw” like the state. It’s pronounced “R Kansas River”.

I got the paper work taken care of and they showed me the old trade-in I would be driving home. It was a pretty well beat up old 1 1/2 ton with slick tires. They told me the engine had a knock in it and it was burning lots of oil. They also told me to stop and check the oil frequently and they put 4 quarts of oil up in the cab with me. I lit out for home and drove as smoothly as I could. I didn’t rev the engine or let it load up at all. I got it up to 50 miles an hour and held it steady. I watched my gauges and stopped and checked the oil often and was getting on down the road. I got to one of those little farm towns west of Newton, and the engine threw a rod! I pulled off onto the shoulder and looked under the hood. Sure enough, the party was over.

I could see a country store up ahead so I hiked on up there. The people that owned the place were real nice and let me use their phone for a long distance call. I called Kenny Markley, the Service Manager at the garage and my boss, and told him what had happened and where I was. Kenny said it was getting late so he had called the Truck Manager at the dealership in Great Bend and after hearing about the truck was surprised that I had made it that far. He told me to sit tight and he would get in the wrecker and come up and get me.

I hung out at that country store and visited with those nice people until Kenny showed up. We hooked up the old truck to the wrecker and took off for home. It was getting late so we stopped in Newton and Kenny bought me supper. It was a big day and I experienced a lot and learned a lot.

 

Dave Thomas
December 7, 2014

Colored Chicks

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Gene Scholfield and his Dad had a feed and grain store on the west side of the 400 block of State Street. I believe they called it Scholfield Hatchery. I remember that in the spring they would have brooders on the floor in the front room where you could look in from the sidewalk and see the chicks. Of course, you could go inside the store and see them too.

A brooder is a heated cage where baby chicks are raised. It keeps them warm and safe and together.

As Easter drew near, colored chicks were added to the brooder and the chicks were so cute all the little kids wanted one. Like bunny rabbits they were a big part of Easter. So, after a lot of tears and begging a lot of kids took one of those cute chicks home. The excitement lasted for a few days and then the chicks were neglected and succumbed. It’s doubtful that many lived through the holiday season.

Colored Chicks 1

I was thinking about the colored chicks this morning and got to wondering how they dyed them. It seemed like the simplest way would be to just dunk the chick in a bowl of food coloring and then let it hop around until it dried off. I went to the Internet and discovered that coloring chicks is not at all what you would think. Some might even call it creepy!

You’ve got your eggs in an incubator, so on the 13th day you remove an egg. You hold it with the pointed end up. Wipe the tip with alcohol to sterilize it. You’ve already loaded a syringe with the proper amount of vegetable dye (3% or less concentration). Measure down about one inch from the tip of the egg and make a hole. Inject the vegetable dye, Seal the hole with a small bandage and return the egg to the incubator. Now it’s just a question of waiting the allotted time and you will have cute little colored chicks all over the place.

Colored Chicks 2

Dave Thomas
January 2, 2014

 

Just Whistle

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Mobil_Pegasus[1]

I grew up in Augusta, Kansas, a small town of 5,000. Our lives were regulated by the steam whistle at our local oil refinery. The refinery was originally called the White Eagle Refinery. Then, it became Socony-Vacuum Refinery and later, Socony-Mobil. The logo was the very distinctive Flying Red Horse.

The refinery was the main employer in our town and I guess the company wanted to make sure that there were no punctuality problems. They used the steam whistle to regulate the events of the day. Here’s the schedule as I remember it.

            7:00 AM You’d better be getting out of bed.
            7:50 AM You’d better be punched in, helmet on, and ready.
            8:00 AM Start work.
            12:00 PM Stop working and eat lunch.
            12:50 PM Stop eating and get ready for work.
            1:00 PM Go back to work.
            5:00 PM Quit work and go home.

The whistle was a pretty handy item. Back in the 1940’s few people had wrist watches. There were certainly no kids with a watch. The whistles could be heard all over town and at least a mile out into the country.

Dave Thomas
January 9, 2014

Serving Chili

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These last few years I haven’t been in many small-town diners or cafes and I was wondering if they still serve chili like they used to. I’m asking because what I’ve seen lately in these plastic franchise eating places makes me wonder. Have we lost the art of serving chili or do those small-town folks still do it right? I’ll tell you how it used to be done and you can keep your eyes open and make sure it’s done right.

I’d go into the 7th Street Café, by Fowler’s Mobil Station, and sit down at the counter. The waitress would ask me “what’ll you have?” I’d say “chili” and she’d go turn the order in to the cook. Then she would come back and make sure I had everything I would need. First, she would come up with that little jug of vinegar. Next, she would make sure the catsup and mustard was at hand. Then, she’d go away and come back with one of those white bowls full of oyster crackers and set it right close. By now, the cook has got the chili up and she brings it to me with one of those big, round spoons. There it is…its perfect! Can you name a place today that will set you up with the fixin’s like that?

Dave Thomas
December 7, 2014

 

This Is No Bull!

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I’m still thinking about animals and their ability to figure things out. I learned early on that even bulls can solve problems and put 2 and 2 together when they have the motivation to do so.

I was 11 or 12 and had spent the night on the farm with my great-great uncle, Will Church, and Aunt Ella. I had breakfast and was in a pen currying Prince, the pinto pony I was going to ride later. Next to the pen I was in, was the corral. I say “corral” but it was sturdy enough to stop an Army tank. The fence poles were at least as big as railroad ties and the fencing itself was 3″ pipe. There were 2 sections of pipe strung between the posts. The lower one was maybe 2 feet above ground and the upper one was maybe 5 feet high. The land naturally fell away to the east toward a spring-fed creek that was 10 or 15 yards east of the fence. You could see that on the east side of the corral the dirt had washed out as a result of many years of run-off from the rains. The distance from the ground to the lower pipe at that point may have been more like 30 “or 36”.

So, there’s this super corral and standing right in the middle of it is Griffin, Uncle Will’s prize shorthorn bull. Griffin is just standing there and staring out into the adjoining pasture. The dairy herd had been milked and turned out and they were strung out in a line across the pasture as they headed for their favorite loafing spot.

I could hardly believe what I saw next. Old Griffin sidles up to that east fence where the wash-out is the greatest. He drops down on his front knees and lowers his body to the ground. Then he starts shoving with his hind legs and wiggling and twists and grunts and kicks until, all of a sudden, he is on the other side of the fence. He slid under it! He gets to his feet and takes off at a fast walk after that bunch of fine-looking cows that are just going over the hill. A little bit of thinking and planning will get you where you want to be.

Dave Thomas
August 19, 2014

 

Grandpa: To Bee…

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Grandpa-To Bee Or Not To Bee

I think it was 1925 when they had a flood there in Augusta, Kansas that had the south end of town running-board deep. I remember my folks had pictures of Walnut Street in front of Grandpa’s house showing the old cars plowing through the water. Grandpa’s house, itself, was safe for it had been built with tall footings and the flood water only made it part way up the front steps.

Augusta was in a sensitive location. It had the Walnut River on the east and the Whitewater River on the west. After the flood the townspeople began talking about building a levee or dike that would protect the town on the east, south, and west sides. The higher ground on the north side was no problem. Grandpa, A.A. Thomas, was highly in favor of the protection offered by a dike and attended the City Council meetings where it was discussed. Of course, a project of this size and cost would require interaction with many county, state, and federal departments and agencies. Grandpa attended many meetings and as a homeowner and business owner (an addition to his home had been constructed to house a grocery store) he always put in his two cents worth.

If you were paying attention to him, you would have noticed that during any conversation regarding the levees or dikes, Grandpa would suggest that these ramparts should be protected from erosion and that the very best ground cover for this purpose was clover. Not many people realized that Grandpa was an entrepreneur with a new idea every minute. In this case, he hoped to set himself up as a beekeeper! He planned to place the hives at strategic places along the dikes and the bees could concentrate on the dikes and not waste time flying all over the county to collect the pollen. Thus, the bees could make more honey and Grandpa could prosper.

The dikes were eventually built but were sewn with prairie grass. Well, so much for that dream.

Dave Thomas
April 27, 2013

 

Quarry Story 3

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Technically speaking, this is not a quarry story but since it took place on the road to the quarry I figured that’s close enough.

Have you ever ridden on an Army tank? Well, I did once, and that’s what this story is about. Pay close attention, learn, and then don’t ever do anything like it.

It was spring and we had been having our share of rain. The rivers were up and had overflowed their banks earlier in the week. The Walnut River, just south of town, was slowly returning to it’s normal size and we decided to check it out. I was 13 or so and my friend, Jack, was 15. You can get your driver’s license when you are 14 so Jack had gotten himself a job at a neighborhood grocery store, saved his money, and bought himself a 1935 Chevrolet. We headed for the river. It wasn’t much of a trip. From the edge of town, at what I remember was 4th Street, you crossed the Santa Fe railroad tracks and wandered down a country road for about a quarter mile to the steel bridge that crossed the Walnut River. It was one of those fine-looking steel bridges that looked like it had been made from a giant Erector Set.

The gravel road was still a little wet and muddy but we got to the bridge, crossed it, and continued along. About 100 yards south of the bridge was a place you could pull off the road and follow the tracks worn by many other cars to get closer to the river. At this point, the river bank was normally 5 or 6 feet above the river. It was a good place to fish from and we were told by older guys that it also served as a lover’s lane. We decided to check the river so Jack pulled off onto this track that paralleled the road and stopped and we got out. We looked at the river and messed around and finally got back in the car. Jack tried to drive off but the wheels started spinning. He was a good driver but couldn’t overcome the wet grass and mud and the fact that the ground sloped toward the river. I got out and tried to push but it didn’t do any good. We decided to walk back to town and call Jack’s Dad for help.

We got back to town and crossed the tracks and the first building in view at that time was the National Guard Armory. We decided to go in there and use the phone. The National Guard guy that took care of the Armory and answered the phone and did all the chores was a friend of ours named Billy Joe Davis. Billy Joe liked baseball and we had both played catch with him and hit a lot of fly balls and grounders with him. We told Billy Joe our story and asked to use the phone. Billy Joe said there wasn’t any point in making the call and upsetting Jack’s Dad because he’d be happy to pull us out. He said we should go out in the street and wait while he locked up and we could close the gate behind him when he came out. After a few minutes we heard an engine revving up and here comes Billy Joe driving a National Guard tank and yelling at us to shut the gate and climb on. We scrambled up onto the thing and Billy took off across the tracks. It just took a few minutes to get to the bridge and as we approached it, Jack and I looked at each other. Billy Joe may have crossed the bridge many times in a tank but it scared the devil out of us. That bridge looked pretty flimsy compared to this big chunk of iron we were riding on. Billy didn’t even slow down. He rolled over that bridge like it was him and Patton crossing the Rhine.

The rest of it was kind of anti-climatic. It just took a couple of minutes to get to the car. Billy Joe had brought a chain and he hooked up to Jack’s car and pulled us out. We thanked him and waved good-bye and headed back to town. I don’t even want to think of the possible consequences of “borrowing” a tank or running it off into the river. If you’ll excuse me I’ll just say “tanks for the memory”.

Dave Thomas
October 24, 2013

 

Old Mrs. Coates

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It was about 8:00 AM on one of those joyous summer mornings with the sun shining and heavy dew glistening on the leaves and grass. I had just finished my third grade year and was thankful to be free. I was on the way to visit my Great-grandma Minnie, who lived several blocks from us. It was always a special treat to be invited to breakfast with Grandma Minnie because she always fixed me her special bread pudding with raisins in it.

As I got closer to Grandma’s I could see that her across-the-street neighbor, old Mrs. Coates, was out on her front porch enjoying her morning tea. I yelled, “Good morning, Mrs. Coates!” She yelled back, “Good morning, David, how are you this morning?” (I should explain that Mrs. Coates had a voice that was loud and clear and you could hear her clear to the end of the block.) I responded “I’m OK, how are you?” She bellows back, “Well, David, I had a wonderful bowel movement this morning so I know it will be a great day!” This was more information than a little kid could handle and I felt my face turning red as I ran for Grandma’s door and a chance to get out of sight.

Dave Thomas
March 31, 2012