Cape Girardeau History and Photos

September 10, 2012

A.C. Vasterling Building

I went to get something out of my van parked at Broadway and Fountain when I noticed a cornerstone for the first time: A.C. Vasterling 1903, it read.

It was on a light-colored three-story building next to where the Idan-Ha Hotel used to stand. A quick search didn’t turn up about Mr. Vasterling, except that it sounded like he had been a mayor at one time. There was a Google-scanned document called Barrel and box and packages, Volume 19, by Edgar Harvey Defebaugh that had this brief item that made it sound like Vasterling was a mover and shaker:

Himmelberger – Vasterling wedding

Charles A. Himmelberger, of Cape Girardeau, Mo., and Miss Louise Marguerite Vasterling were married June 16 [possibly 1914]. Mr. Himmelberger is the son of J.H. Himmelberger, the well-known lumberman of southeast Missouri and president of the Hardwood Manufacturers of the United States. The bride is a daughter of A.C. Vasterling, one of the best-known insurance men of Missouri.

Dinner party for newlyweds

A Missourian story on January 2, 1920, carried this brief: Mrs. Charles Himmelberger entertained at a dinner party last night at her home at 325 North Sprigg street in honor of Mr. and Mrs. A. C. Vasterling, who were married on Christmas day. Mrs. Laura Pape, Miss Lizzie Vasterling and Mrs. J.F. Williams were the other guests present.

Firsts of 1920

In the same paper was this lists of “firsts” of 1920:

First Baby – Marguerite Oliver Dearmont, 9:30 a.m. Jan. 1.
First Death – Mrs. Mary Herbst at her home, as clocks announced arrival of new year.
First Accident – Albert Mason, fireman, badly burned at 4 p.m., Jan. 1.
First Court Case – Suit of a hound dog, won by Cicero Estes.
First Snow – 2 a.m., Jan. 2

September 9, 2012August 2, 2021

A Plane in Every Garage

Oliver Parks predicted in 1944 that flying would become as much a part of our lives as having an automobile. So, how do you like that airplane and your neighborhood flying field? We’ll get around to that in a minute. (Click on any photo to make it larger.)

When I was looking for information on the Dollar Store, I happened to spy a June 19, 1946, story that said, in part, two Cape Girardeau men – Eddie Erlbacher and Oscar Windisch – have purchased 55 of the remaining airplanes at Harris Field [now the Cape Girardeau Regional Airport]. The purchase included the fuselage, wings and landing gear; the engines had been removed and retained by the government.

Going to salvage landing gears

Twenty-two of the planes were the AT-10 twin-engine ship used as an advanced trainer. Eight were A-25 Helldiver dive bombers. The buyers took the ships at an average cost of $35 each. The men plan to use the landing gear in making agricultural and commercial type trailers for moving livestock and farm equipment.

“There are only 111 salable ships left at the field out of the 1,200 originally there. Of this number there are 48 of the PT-23 models, 30 Timms biplanes, 14 twin engine UC-78, or twin engine models, 15 AT-17 twin engine ships and four of the dive bombers.”

One thing led to another, and I found the following story, written two years earlier. (By the way, the City of Cape Girardeau website has a brief history of Harris Field, which became the Cape Girardeau Municipal Airport.)

Future of aviation after World War II

On July 6, 1944, The Missourian did a Q & A with Oliver L. Parks, head of Parks Air, which operates Harris Field [Cape Municipal Airport] and four other flying schools, who described what aviation will mean once the war is over. It’s worth reading the full story about his flying predictions. Here is a boiled-down version of the more interesting parts of the interview.

Neighborhood landing fields

Q: Would acquisition of Harris Field answer Cape’s flying needs completely?

A: No… For private flying, Cape Girardeau would want two or three small landing fields right on the edge of the residence district. Motoring is so much a part of social and business life today that our garages are a few steps from our front door; yes, in many instances, the garage is part of the home. Flying will become just as much a part of daily existence in the future. Therefore, the private flier will want his airplane hangered just across the road, if possible. In other words, we will be demanding neighborhood landing fields, small airports with turf runways, with landing surfaces 1000 to 1500 feet long and about 300 to 400 yards wide….

I’ll fly out of my back yard?

Q: Do you mean to tell me that I’ll be flying my own airplane in the future, practically out of my own back yard?

A: To be sure, you will be flying your own plane, but as to your own back yard, I don’t happen to know how large it is. If your back yard will accommodate runways of the brief length outlined, you could be flying your airplane – and your wife and grown children – today… As soon as air combat requirements ease up, production of … airplanes will be resumed – cozy, two-place little airplanes that will carry yourself and your wife, plus 100 pounds of luggage, on weekend visits to your friends in neighboring towns, at 100 miles per hour, on gasoline cost that can be figured at the rate of 25 miles per gallon; or, if you have a favorable wind, at that much less.

Locate a field at Country Club?

Q: Where would you suggest these fields be located?

A: At the country club, for the first one, perhaps. Then, wherever sufficient ground can be obtained at a reasonable price southwest of town, right on the edge of town.

Commercial Flights

There would be scheduled commercial flights to and from Cape and St. Louis and Chester (17-minute flying time), Cairo (9 minutes).

The Dollar Store

Mother said this building at the intersection of Cape Rock and Country Club Drives used to be called the Dollar Store. She thought someone named “Dollar” owned and operated it, but she couldn’t be sure.

A quick search of the Missourian in the Google archives came up blank except for a real estate ad dated June 19, 1946, for a “large lot on Cape Rock Drive located just across road from Dollar Store.” So, it was a prominent enough local landmark that it was used for giving directions.

I DID turn up a couple of other cool stories in that day’s paper that I’ll share soon. They deserve a little more research.

September 7, 2012September 7, 2012

Vice Raids and a Skeptical Editor

I guess it’s safe to tell this story now. On my way back home, I passed through Gastonia, N.C., where I worked in the early 70s. One of my favorite SBI (State Bureau of Investigation) officers, sadly, is no longer with us, I found. To keep him from haunting me, I’ll just refer to him as “Vance.”

Bill, the Gazette cop reporter, and I supplemented our meager newspaper incomes by freelancing stories and photos to crime magazines. Gaston County folks had unique and imaginative ways of eliminating each other. I had lots of tasteless pictures and Bill had a knack for lurid prose, so we could sell something every couple of months to turn fifty or seventy-five bucks each.

“You’re making this stuff up”

One of the editors we dealt with in Chicago called and said, “I think you guys are making this stuff up. I have to pass through there and I want to meet you.”

He happened to pick a day when there was a major bootlegging and gambling raid going on, so we took him with us. My SBI buddy, Vance, said, “We know there is gambling going on in that bar, but they know all of us. We need a stranger to go in and observe the gambling so we can get a warrant. Hey, you, Chicago. Go knock on the door and tell ’em ‘Charlie sent me.’ Look around and come back out.”

He was a frail little thing who was obviously more comfortable editing crime than seeing it, but he went in, saw skullduggery and reported back. They got the warrant and busted the place for gambling and bootlegging. The cops were standing around the card table counting the cash they had seized when one of them asked, “Anybody here got a rubber band to wrap this up?” One of the gamblers reached into his pocket, pulled out a roll of cash bigger than what was on the table, slid a rubber band off it and handed it to the cop.

Later that evening, we were over at Bill’s house rehashing the day’s events when the phone rang. It was Vance looking for me.

“I need a favor”

“I’ve got a favor to ask. It’s totally off the record. Can you help me out?”

“Let’s talk.”

“An old woman who had been confined to a state mental hospital died and her body was shipped down here to a funeral home. The family, who hadn’t seen her in years is insisting that the woman in the casket isn’t ‘Aunt Nellie.’ We KNOW it’s Aunt Nellie because the institution’s records say that Aunt Nellie has a club foot. They want someone to go to the funeral home to take a photo of Aunt Nellie and her foot so they can confirm her identity.”

I went with him to the funeral home, shot the photos and handed him a roll of film. “This never happened,” I told him. (Not that the newspaper would have cared anyway.)

“Can I pay you for your time?”

“Nah, I’d rather have you owe me.”

“Well, we took down all those joints today. I have a trunk full of booze. Want some?

“Nah.”

“How ’bout some pot?”

“That’s OK.” I was afraid to see what else he would offer me.

I just “happened” to have a screwdriver

During the raid, I spotted this cool slot machine being carried out. It had a brass Indian head on it that had been polished shiny by hundreds of hands rubbing it for luck. When the courts were through with the case, all of the gambling equipment was consigned to the local landfill where it was to be destroyed by pulverizing it with a bulldozer.

I saw my slot machine sitting waiting for its turn and just “happened” to have a screwdriver with me. I took the Indian off and sidled up to my buddy Vance. “I’d really like for this to follow me home.”

“Sorry, Ken, I have to swear to the judge that I saw the pieces scattered all over the landfill,” he said, tossing it about 10 feet and turning his back.

The Indian head is in a place of honor on my bookshelf. R.I.P Vance.

Oh, and, by the way, the Chicago editor never questioned any of our stories after that.

P.S. Mother has a slot machine story of her own. (It’s at the bottom of the post.)