Chuck Grassley. The Iowa Senator Who Refused To Fade Away

 

Chuck Grassley

If you’ve followed Iowa politics for any length of time, you’ve heard of Chuck Grassley.

He’s not just part of the system—he’s part of the backdrop. Like a courthouse clock that’s always been there, ticking whether or not you notice it. You go to a town hall, a fair, some random meeting in a school gym…there’s a decent chance he’s been there or is about to walk in.

But he didn’t start out powerful.

Grassley grew up on a farm in Butler County, where he milked cows and hauled hay. Did the same chores over and over until they were just part of the day. You can see that in him now. Same rhythm. Get up early. Keep moving. Don’t complain. Don’t slow down.

He didn’t come from a political family. No connections. No uncle who knew a governor. No shortcut.

He worked his way through school, landed at the University of Northern Iowa, and paid his way however he could. Factory shifts. Teaching. Farm work. Nothing about how an early life screamed future power broker.

When he got into politics, it was small stuff.

Top Ten Toys Iowa Boys Played With In The 1960s

 

You won’t believe how much fun kids had with this stuff—and none of it plugged in or connected to the internet.

 

Iowa kids didn’t sit still long in the 1960s. If you weren’t outside, you were in the basement making your own action.

 

These toys got dirty. They got dropped, smashed, and dragged across gravel.

 

No rules. No instructions. Just imagination and whatever you had on hand.

 

These were the must-haves. The ones every kid either owned—or wished he did.

Iowa Five-and-Dime Stores Kids Loved

 

Before Walmart swallowed up everything in a 30-mile radius, you had the dime store.

Not that you called it that. You just said you were “going to town.”

 

Mom needed thread. Dad needed something he couldn’t quite describe. You needed a couple dollars and about an hour to wander.

 

Every Iowa kid knew the layout without thinking. Toys somewhere near the front. School supplies off to the side. Candy close enough to beg for. And if you were lucky… a lunch counter in the back.

 

You didn’t run in and out. You drifted. Picked things up. Put them back. Checked your money again like it might’ve magically increased.

 

These weren’t big stores. That’s why they worked.

When They Lit Up Des Moines' Western League Ball Park

 

The Des Moines Register. May 2, 1930.

The Des Moines Register printed this picture showing readers what to expect at the first night time ballgame at the Western League Ball Park. The Des Moines Demons were playing the Wichita ball club in what the paper called a "night baseball experiment."

Pictured at the far right is L.E. Keyser, president. Club members shown (left to right) include: Cy Lingle, catcher; Bud Tinning, pitcher; Jim Oglesby, firstbase; Leo Norris, secondbase; Hughie Nielsen, shortstop; Breezie Windham, thirdbase; Fred berger, leftfield; and Francis Keyes, rightfield.

Waterloo Laundry Company and Apartments 1919

 

The Courier. December 31, 1919

The Courier printed this picture of the Waterloo Laundry Company and apartments that was scheduled to open on February 1, 1920. The building at Jefferson Street and Park Avenue was three stories high. The Waterloo Laundry Company was on the bottom floor. The top two floors housed 34 apartments - 10 two room units, and 24 one room units. Each unit included a kitchenette, bath, dressing room, and closet.

One Kiss Under These Wings And You're Done

 

The Black Angel rises out of Oakland Cemetery in Iowa City—ten feet tall, solid bronze, dark as a storm rolling in. Her wings are raised, her head tipped downward, like she’s watching something you can’t see. Or waiting for it.

People will tell you all kinds of things about her. She moves. Cries at midnight. If you kiss under her wings, you’ll be dead within a year.

It might be nonsense. Maybe not. Either way, nobody walks up to her like she’s just another statue.

People don’t understand that she didn’t start out that way.

When the statue went up in 1913, it was bright bronze. It was commissioned by Teresa Feldevert after the deaths of her son and husband. She wanted something permanent that would hold their memory in place.

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.