Something Big and Wooden Is Happening in Iowa

 

Fjord Ferryman at the Museum of Danish History in Elk Horn

Something weird showed up in Iowa, and for once it wasn’t a rumor or a blurry photo of something out in a cornfield.

It was a troll.

 

A big one.

 

If you’ve been near Elk Horn lately, you’ve probably seen it or at least heard someone mention it. It’s become a thing to take your picture next to it and post it on Facebook.

 

They named it Fjord Ferryman. Sounds like something out of a storybook, which doesn’t exactly scream “western Iowa,” but here we are.

 

It went up at the Museum of Danish America, which makes sense once you think about it. Elk Horn leans into its Danish heritage. Windmills, festivals, all of it. So if a giant wooden figure was going to land anywhere in Iowa, that’s one place it wouldn’t feel completely out of left field.

 

Still, it’s something to see.

 

It’s sitting in a wooden boat, holding what looks like a tree branch for an oar, like it’s rowing across… nothing. Just prairie. No water. No river. Just dirt, grass, and sky. And somehow it works.

 

When you get closer, the scale hits you. It’s bigger than it looks in pictures. Way bigger.

Something Is Watching in Okoboji Lake… and People Won’t Talk About It

Lake Okoboji Serpent

If you’ve ever dipped your toes in West Okoboji Lake, you’ve probably felt that little jolt when something brushes against your ankle. A strand of seaweed, maybe a fish, or… something else.

 

Something long. And scaly. And watching.

 

The locals will tell you it’s probably just the Okoboji Serpent. Then they’ll smile, like they’re kidding, but maybe not.

 

Ever since white settlers arrived in the Iowa Great Lakes region, there’ve been whispers about something big—very big—lurking beneath the blue-green waves of Okoboji. Something that leaves waves when there’s no boat, casts shadows longer than any muskie, and with a head like a horse, a neck like a garden hose, and a tail that goes on forever.

The Strangest Creatures Ever Seen in Iowa (Real Sightings, Real Places)

The Van Meter Visitor

It usually happens fast.

 

A shape crossing a road. Something moving where nothing should be. A second too long to be a mistake.

 

Then it’s gone.

 

Most people don’t report it. They tell a friend. Maybe a neighbor. Then they stop talking about it.

 

But the story doesn’t go away.

Low Moor Days July 10, 11 & 12

 

The Most Haunted Places in Iowa (Real Stories, Not Legends)

 

Villisca murder house in 1917

Iowa doesn’t try to be spooky.

 

No haunted house gift shops. No fog machines. No one sells ghost tours out of a van.

 

It’s just… normal.

 

Which is exactly why these places stick with people.

 

Nobody goes looking for something weird out here.

 

They just run into it.

A Job Offer Turned Deadly: The 1860 Iowa City Murder Case

 

Jerry Boyd and his wife were offered a good paying job in Iowa City

How does that old saying go? If it’s too good to be true, it probably is.

Jerry Boyd learned that lesson the hard way back in 1860. Boyd, a free man of color, and his wife, Mary, lived in Galena, Illinois. From all accounts, Jerry was a hardworking man. Twenty years before that, he saved his money and purchased Mary from her previous owner, a man named Vandeventer in St. Louis.

 

Two men, George Goodwin (also known as Wilder) and Peter Boulton offered them good paying jobs if they would move to Iowa City.

 

A few days later, Jerry and Mary Boyd, a fourteen-year-old mulatto girl who lived with them, a younger white girl whom Mrs. Boyd was nursing, and Goodwin and Boulton were headed west in a covered wagon.

The Wild "Party Taxi" Murder That Shocked Des Moines In 1922

 

Party Taxi Thad Mitchell's body was found in

If you wanted to take a walk on the wild side in 1920s Des Moines, Thad (T. W.) Mitchell was your guy. Mitchell ran a prosperous party-taxi business, a smaller version of today’s party buses.

 

He carried a book containing the names and phone numbers of over three hundred clients to whom he acted as a pimp, chauffeur, and guide, so whether you needed a bottle of moonshine, a woman, or a safe spot to meet—Mitchell could hook you up.

 

He ran the Consolidated Taxi Company with his partner, “Bullets” Richart. The partners had a fleet of six Cadillacs that ran from 6 p.m. into the wee hours of the morning, transporting passengers to roadhouses and other rendezvous points. Or just giving them a refuge where they could make out, drink, and take advantage of the extended backseat as they rode along.

 

Off-duty policeman William Winburn found Mitchell dead in his Cadillac sedan early on December 8, 1922. Mitchell was seated behind the wheel, with the ignition on and the gear thrown in reverse. 

Has Bigfoot Been Spotted In Iowa? The Strangest Sightings On Record

 

Most people don’t think of Iowa when they think of Bigfoot.

 

They think of the Pacific Northwest. Giant pine trees. Fog. Mountains. Hairy creature stomping through the woods of Washington or Oregon.

 

Iowa gets left out of that conversation. We’re supposed to be cornfields, small towns, and tractors rolling down two-lane roads.

 

That’s what makes the stories fun.

 

Over the years, stories have leaked out about Iowans seeing something big, dark, hairy, and not quite right. It’s not just campfire talk either. Some of these stories made the newspapers and TV. Regular people went on record, saying they saw something they couldn’t explain.

 

Bigfoot made a front-page appearance in the Des Moines Register in August 1977. Their source was Cliff LaBrecque, a self-styled Bigfoot specialist who said he’d spent twelve years tracking the creature through Iowa.

Aviator Lieutenant E. Earle Burgess

Lieutenant E. Earle Burgess

E. Earle Burgess, a First Lieutenant in the aviation service at Ellington Field in Texas, thrilled Southerners with a display of aerial gymnastics. 

he put on a show for 6,000 Houston residents in early July 1919. A few days later, he parachuted from 6,000 feet, thrilling a crowd of onlookers. Two days later, he leaped from one plane to another at 2,5000 feet over Galveston. 

Later that week, he dropped from the landing gear of a Curtis D plane to the rounded top of a Pullman sleeping car pulled by a Southern pacific special.

Burgess was born in Allerton, Iowa, and lived in Des Moines before going into the iar service. Sources said he was leaving the service to become a barnstormer.

Christmas Eve At The Iowa Training School For Boys At Eldora

 

The Elves with Santa Claus and Jack Frost

The Des Moines Register said Christmas Eve 1919 rang with shouts of glee and merry-making at the Iowa Training School for Boys in Eldora.

 

The big hall was dressed with fir trees, tinsel, and lights, while the boys presented a Christmas cantata in the chapel.

 

Every boy had a part. Some played girls’ roles as Sunburst Fairies. One was Jack Frost. Another was Santa Claus. Six were elves. Others appeared as Dream Men. The school orchestra supplied the music.

The Sunburst Fairies

Howard Johnson played Santa Claus. Francis Donahue was Jack Frost, and Emil Greiner starred as the Fairy Queen.

 

The elves were James Frame, Forest Lake, Charles Shay, Leon Lynch, Donald Munson, and Leroy Stanley.

 

The Sunburst Fairies were Edward Hansen, Tom Pasmar, William Arnett, James Shay, and Cecil Snodgrass.

Snipers Are Nothing New. Does Anyone Remember Frank Carter The Omaha Sniper?

 

Frank Carter, the Omaha sniper

The Omaha Sniper didn’t rob banks, kick in doors, hold up payroll wagons, or swagger through saloons with two pistols blazing.

 

He hid in the dark and shot strangers.

 

That was worse.

 

People understand greed, revenge, and drunken rage. A man who steals money has a purpose. A man who kills over jealousy has a reason, twisted as it may be.

 

A hidden gunman firing at people he didn’t know was something colder.

 

His name was Frank Carter.

Remember Party Lines? Iowa's Most Annoying Phone System Explained

 

Party lines meant sharing a phone line, and never knowing who might be listening

Party lines sound fun until you remember what they really were. If you grew up in Iowa before the 1970s, they usually meant sitting at the kitchen table waiting for your neighbor to quit jawing so you could make one lousy phone call.

 

Half the time it was impatience, suspicion, and somebody wondering who in the world had been talking for forty-five minutes.

 

Hollywood got hold of the idea in 1959 and turned it into Pillow Talk with Doris Day and Rock Hudson. Two strangers sharing a line, then romance and comedy break out. Nice enough on the movie screen. But in real life, sharing a line usually meant grumbling and hanging the receiver up harder than necessary.

 

Instead of every house having its own private phone connection—two, four, six, sometimes even more families were tied into the same wire. One line. Several households. Zero privacy.

The Train Robbery That Put Early Iowa On Edge

 

An early newspaper depiction of the Council Bluffs train robbery

The men who robbed the Burlington Fast Mail Train No. 8 in Council Bluffs on November 13, 1920, didn’t ride horses or wear masks. They didn’t wave revolvers from the saddle or disappear into canyon country like dime novel bandits.

 

They were local boys.

 

Boys who knew the rail yards. Boys who knew the schedules. Boys who knew that one train rolling through town that night carried more wealth than most people would see in ten lifetimes.

 

By sunrise, they had stolen millions.

 

Council Bluffs was built on rails. Freight trains rattled through at all hours. Passenger coaches came and went. Mail runs cut through the darkness. Stock cars groaned. Couplers slammed together like gunshots. Steam drifted across the yards in white clouds. Lanterns swung through the night in the hands of switchmen and brakemen. The whole place smelled of coal smoke, hot iron, grease, mud, and livestock.

 

If a man wanted to vanish into noise and confusion, there were easier places to fail and few better places to succeed.

 

Burlington Train No. 8 looked like any other fast mail run. Cars loaded with sacks. Clerks sorting letters under dim light. Men hauling packages and registered pouches. Nothing about it advertised fortune.

Inside The Drake Park Bank Robbery Des Moines 1921

 

The crowd outside the Drake Park State Bank after the robbery

The four men who walked into the Drake Park State Bank on July 13, 1921, didn’t look like bank robbers. They were dressed like ordinary customers. Men wanting to cash a check or ask about a loan.

The bank sat in a busy Des Moines neighborhood. Inside, it was a normal summer day. Clerks counted money and worked their books. Customers drifted in and out. Nobody paid much attention to the four strangers.

Then the guns came out.

One man covered the lobby with a revolver. Another jumped the counter. The others rounded up employees and shoved them toward the rear, barking orders. Police later suspected “Lucky” Tommy O’Connor was one of the men inside. Several bank employees identified him as the robber who drove them toward the safe.

Vintage Adventureland: The Rides Every Iowa Kid Remembers

 

Silly Silo was a classic Adventureland attraction for nearly thirty years

If you grew up in Iowa, Adventureland was the place to go. Summer vacation. School trips. Boy or Girl Scout outings.

 

Adventureland had something for everyone. Food. Rides. Games. People watching.

 

All of that was fun, but the rides are what you remember most.

 

The Silly Silo (1974–2013) looked like an ordinary farm silo. Until you walked inside.

 

Then things went crazy.

 

Riders were crowded against a wall while the room spun faster and faster. When it got up to speed, the floor dropped away. It was simple engineering, but first-time riders felt like the world was ending. Or at least your little part of it.

Inside A Daring Iowa Bank Robbery That Almost Worked

Poke Wells

Poke Wells (Charles Knox Polk Wells) was one of those guys you didn’t want to mess around with. A Jesse Jams wannabe. Some say he was a friend of the James boys. Maybe even rode with them. But there’s no proof of that. What’s certain is that Poke robbed a few trains. Tried his luck at banks, and that’s where things went sideways.

He rode into Riverton, Iowa, on July 11, 1881. Before the day was over, his name was splashed across front pages all over the Midwest.

 

Poke’s autobiography said his partner was a man named Wilson. That might be, but early reports pointed to Bill Norris. That’s how outlaw stories go. People toss out names and wait to see what sticks. In the end, his partner’s name doesn’t change the story, other than he blamed the entire affair on him. “Wilson,” he said, “now insisted on being initiated as a bank or train robber.”

 

Poke and his partner didn’t rush in blind. They spent a day or two looking over the country around Riverton. They inspected horses owned by Mr. Parsley and Mr. Burks, thought better of buying them, then stole a pair from Mr. Anderson instead.