Upper row: (left to right) Con Strothers; Whitaker; Routcliffe; and Henry Schuhknecht.
Middle row: (left to right) Joe Kappel; Sammy Nichols; Bob Allen, captain; Charles Gessinger; and Henry Kappel.
Bottom row: (left to right) jerry Harrington; Billy Rhines; Jack Fanning; Jack and Jacj Lauler.
Band members:
Back row (left to right) - Orville Moore, Walter Crowell, Jr., Jay Haffelfinger, Charles Dischler, William Gavin, Herman Max Maine, Edward Norelus, and Earl Hipple.
Front Row: (left to right) - Ray Floyd, Norman C. Maine, Fred Marshall, and Elmer Moore.
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| Battle flags of the 7th Iowa infantry |
The 7th Iowa Volunteer
Infantry mustered into service in July 1861 at Burlington. The men came off
farms, out of shops, off the river. Most had never been farther than the next
county. They signed on thinking they’d be home before long. That idea didn’t last.
They were
organized fast and pushed out just as fast. Colonel Jacob G. Lauman took
command. He wasn’t a trained soldier, but he knew how to keep men together.
Augustus J. H. Merritt served as lieutenant colonel. Elliott W. Rice came in as
major. That was the core. Everything else would be learned in the field.
They moved
south into Missouri almost at once. The job was simple on paper—secure the
river, hold ground, keep Confederate forces from pushing north. The reality was
marches over bad roads, long stretches without supplies, and constant
uncertainty about where the enemy was.
Their first
fight came at Belmont in November 1861. Grant’s force crossed the Mississippi
and moved against Confederate camps opposite Columbus, Kentucky. The plan was
to hit hard and pull back.
It didn’t stay that simple.
 |
| The Daily Times. February 1, 1909. |
In February 1909,
the Davenport Daily Times talked with Dr. A. L. Hageboeck,
who’d seen something few Americans could imagine—an airplane in flight.
Hageboeck
had spent three days in Le Mans, France, watching Wilbur Wright fly, and what
he saw left him shaken.
He said the
real secret of the Wright brothers’ success was simple, almost too simple. The
canvas wings of the machine could be tilted up or down at either end, allowing
the pilot to adjust to the wind—just like a bird shifting its wings in flight.
That one
idea changed everything.
He said
Wilbur Wright wasn’t polished or impressive in the usual sense. He was
thirty-five years old, tall, awkward, and quiet. There was nothing graceful
about him. He barely spoke.
 |
| George Catlin painted this picture of a Sauk & Fox war dance in the early 1830s |
The following passage has
been reprinted from “Old Fort Madison: Some Source Materials” by Jacob Van der
Zee, published in the Iowa Journal of History and Politics. October 1913. P.
520-525. It is part of a journal entry from a soldier or trader stationed at Fort Madison in 1808 and 1809.
[The Indians] kept in a body and counseled among themselves, the best manner of surprising
Fort Madison, or rather the temporary stockade before the new fort could be
occupied. They knew the new fort could not be occupied before the following summer;
the soldiers hauled all the pickets and timber in the winner, hitched to sleds,
10 or 15 men to a sled, for want of horses or oxen.
Whilst they
were occupied, the Indians were debating on the best mode of attack, several
head, men and warriors spoke in council, each submitting his favorite mode of
attack. They kept themselves posted up in regard to the progress of the new
fort, which was to be of picket work and blockhouses. The pickets were to be
about 15 feet high and sharpened at the top. The month of May was decided upon
as the time for attacking the troops and kill every man if they could.
Chief Keokuk signing the Black Hawk Purchase
It ended at the Bad Axe River in August 1832.
When Black Hawk crossed back into Illinois with his band, it lit a fuse. Panic spread fast. Settlers ran. Militias formed. War was coming whether or not anyone wanted it.
Keokuk didn’t join him, even though a lot of his
people expected it. Black Hawk was a war leader with a following, and tradition
said you stood with your own. Keokuk saw it differently. He warned his band that
this was a fight they couldn’t win. The Americans had too many soldiers and
guns.
Hs decision to keep his band out of the war split
the Sauk Nation. Some followed Black Hawk, but most stayed with Keokuk. It
wasn’t a popular call, but it held.
While the fighting moved north and west, Keokuk
stayed put. He worked with U.S. officials, kept his people from getting pulled
in, and did what he could to keep things from getting worse.
When it was over, Black Hawk’s band was shattered.
Keokuk’s people were still there.
That didn’t mean they won. The Americans still
took their land, but they weren’t wiped out in a lost war.
He’d been a warrior when he was younger, but
as things changed, Wapello leaned into diplomacy. He worked closely with U.S.
Indian agent General Joseph Street, a man he trusted more than most. That
didn’t mean Wapello trusted the system. It meant he understood what he was up
against.
He signed treaties that gave up huge chunks of
land. Nobody on his side thought those deals were good. They were damage
control. The alternative was war, and Wapello had seen enough to know how that
usually ended.
Americans called him steady and honest. His own
people followed him because he didn’t pretend things were better than they were.
When he died in 1842, he asked to be buried next
to Joseph Street near Agency City.
This sketch of the early pioneers of Fort Madison was published in Illustrated Fort Madison, 1896.
Augustus Caesar Dodge was a delegate to Congress from Iowa Territory in 1840. After Iowa became a state in 1846, he became one of its first United States senators.
In 1855, President Franklin Pierce appointed him minister to Spain. He ran for governor when he returned to the country, and later served as mayor of Burlington.
 |
| (Picture from Des Moines Register. January 17, 1909) |
In January 1909, the Des Moines Register published plans for the Hyperion Club, offering a glimpse of what was shaping up to be one of Des Moines’s more ambitious country clubs.
The Hyperion started out in 1904 as a dancing club, organized by about 19 members. Before long, the group shifted gears, reorganized as a country club, and grew to around 100 members.
By 1909, it was still growing. Membership had reached 225, and the club was clearly thinking bigger. Its grounds, near Waveland Park, covered 225 acres and included an 18-hole golf course laid out at full championship length.
The plan printed in the paper showed a sketch of a new clubhouse with plenty of extras. The building was to include family quarters, bachelor quarters, lockers, a bathhouse, and a billiard parlor. There was also to be a separate building called Bachelor’s Hall.
The club sat along the Perry Interurban Line, about a 35-minute ride from downtown Des Moines. That made it close
enough for city members to get there with little trouble, while still feeling
like a trip out of town.
 |
| New Waterloo fire truck - an American-La France model |
1919 was a year of big changes for the Waterloo
Fire Department. Longtime chief A. A. Dunham retired in early August, citing
health problems. Assistant Chief Martin Burke filled in as chief for a few months
until Captain Ray Tiller was appointed chief in early October.
Shortly after that, the city council approved the
purchase of a new American-La France fire truck at a cost of nearly $12,000.
The new truck had a complete hose and chemical system and a booster pump. It could
pump 300 gallons per minute.
 |
| Motorcycle police officers Edwin Blackhan and John Bryant |
Automobiles were multiplying, drivers were
testing the limits of speed, and the old methods—foot patrols and horse
officers—couldn’t always keep up. So the department bought a motorcycle.
The plan was simple. A motorcycle officer
would remain near the station house. When an emergency call came in, he was
dispatched, racing through city streets faster than any patrol wagon could
manage.
The first motorcycle officer was Charles
Boettcher. He set the pace for the new experiment, proving that two wheels and
a powerful engine could change the way a city was policed. When Boettcher moved
up to detective work, Olaf Dahlquist took his place.
By 1914, the motorcycle squad had become
indispensable. The Davenport Democrat and Leader said the
department would be “lost” without its motorcycle officers. Speeding
automobiles—sometimes called “auto speed maniacs”—were becoming a menace. The
department answered with a machine built to match them.
They chose a Flying Merkle, a powerful
motorcycle capable of reaching 55 to 60 miles per hour. That speed made it more
than a novelty. It made it a weapon against reckless driving. As the department
put it, a “motorcycle cop is the only effectual solution of the auto speed
maniac problem.” It took a high-powered car to escape a motorcycle man, and few
drivers owned one.
In the spring of 1914, two officers carried
the city’s motorcycle duties. Edwin Blackhan handled the daytime shift. John
Bryant took the night watch.
What began as a simple experiment quickly
proved its worth. Within a year, Davenport’s motorcycle patrol wasn’t just a
curiosity. It was essential. And plans were in the works to add another cycle.
