Robert Gates, catcher; Andrew Chalmers, pitcher and team captain; Martin Peterson, first base; Fred Gates, second base; Walter Sargent, third base; Ray Prather, shortstop; Burt Sargent, left field; Ray Hampton, center field; John Dwight, right field; and Benjamin Franklin and Charlie Holmes, substitutes.
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| Watercolor after a photograph in the Des Moines Register. February 16, 1908. |
Robert Gordon Cousins grew up on a farm near Tipton where people
argued politics as seriously as they planted corn. By the time he left Cornell
College in 1881 he knew two things: how to work and how to talk.
He started in the Iowa House in 1886, cut his
teeth in an impeachment trial, and proved he could prosecute a case without
blinking. In 1892, he landed a seat in the U.S. House of Representatives and
stayed there for eight straight terms.
Washington at the turn of the century was
loud, partisan, and spoiling for big arguments. Cousins thrived on it. He
memorized his speeches and delivered them like a man who trusted his own voice.
When he stood up, people listened.
After the Spanish-American War, the country
split over what to do with the Philippines. Cousins backed expansion and said
America couldn’t grab global power and then pretend it was shy. Strength meant
responsibility. Retreat meant weakness.
His showpiece was a speech called The
Glory of the Republic. It was red meat patriotism, wrapped in
constitutional language. He talked about sacrifice, duty, and the price of
liberty. Newspapers picked it up. Crowds asked to hear it again. He became one
of the Republican Party’s go-to voices when the subject was national pride.
He chaired the House Committee on Foreign
Affairs, stayed firm on America’s role in the world, and then stepped away in
1909. He went back to Iowa, took to the Chautauqua circuit, and kept preaching
citizenship under canvas tents.
Cousins died in 1933.
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| Union advance at Vicksburg, from an 1885 print |
Following is an extract of a letter from James B. Gregg, a
soldier in the Fourth Iowa Cavalry, written from Bear Creek, Mississippi on
July 6, 1863. It was published in the Burlington Weekly Hawk-Eye on
July 25, 1863.
Our regiment has not been idle. Since we left
Helena on 29 April, we have not lain in camp more than ten days altogether. We
have scouted and explored all the country for 40 miles around Vicksburg. We
have been engaged in a great many skirmishes, some which would’ve been called
battles a year ago.
In all these, we have lost as many men as any
one of the regiments engaged in the investment line of Vicksburg, excepting a
few; we are satisfied, we will become generally known and respected by the
rebels we have met in battle, and the smoke houses and beehives we have visited.
The Fourth boys are fond of ham, honey, and milk.
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| Watercolor drawing of a public domain image from Wikipedia |
A plot to kill President elect John F. Kennedy in December 1960
barely got a mention in the Des Moines papers.
The Des Moines Tribune reported
the story on page 7 in the December 16, 1960 issue. Headline: “Plot to Kill
Kennedy, Man Seized.” The December 19 issue of the Des Moines Register buried
the story on page 9, lumping it in with an article titled, “Kennedy Sets Talks
On Bills.”
The Iowa City Press-Citizen was
the only paper to run the story on the front page. It was one small column
wedged between an article on the plane crash in New York and Christmas for
missing airmen. The tiny headline said: “Hold Man In Death Plot On Kennedy.”
The story that claimed the front page that
week was the crash of two airliners in New York, which claimed 126 lives. The
Kennedy story faded into the background.
And yet, what happened in Palm Beach that week
could have blown the entire decade apart.
The man at the center of it didn’t look like a
villain out of central casting. Richard Paul Pavlick, 73, was a retired postal
worker from Belmont, New Hampshire. The guy you’d expect to argue about stamps,
not wire a car full of dynamite.
But he’d convinced himself Kennedy was
dangerous. Too rich. Too Catholic. Propped up by “big money.” Pavlick decided
the country needed saving.
So he bought explosives.
Not one stick. Not a little bundle tucked
under a coat. Authorities later said there was enough dynamite in his Buick to
level a building. He rigged it with blasting caps and a detonator. The plan was
simple and horrifying: park close to Kennedy, hit the switch, and die along
with him.
This wasn’t Dallas. No rifle. No long
distance.
It was going to be a suicide car bomb in broad
daylight.
Kennedy was in Palm Beach in December 1960,
staying at his father’s estate and easing into the role of president-elect. He
hadn’t taken the oath yet. The inauguration was still weeks away. Security was
present, but nothing like the wall of protection that would surround presidents
after 1963.
Pavlick followed him.
Iowa residents had a large assortment of automobiles to choose from in 1909. Like today, you could select a gas or electric model, and in some cases steam driven.
Here are two advertisements from Des Moines Automobile dealers taken from the Des Moines Register. November 28, 1909.
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| Thomas Flyer - Model H, sold by Moyer Auto Co, |
Map showing the proposed route of the Davenport-Iowa
City Interurban Railway. Company name: Davenport, Iowa City & Western
Traction Co. It would run within five miles of the Rock Island and Clinton-Iowa
City branch of the same road.
(The Daily Times. October 18, 1909)
