Sportsman’s Club 39 N. Water St.

I shot the doorway to the Sportsman’s Club at 39 North Water Street when I was going through one of my periodic “peeling paint” phases. I didn’t know anything about the Sportsman’s Club, I just thought it was neat. It was probably shot around 1966.

Sportsman’s Club in 2009?

When I went walking down Water Street in 2009, I carried a copy of the photo with me to see if I could shoot a before and after picture. I thought it looked like it had become the back entrance to Port Cape. The door post at the right looks the same, only in better condition; there are two courses of brick on the left side of the door and an open space with a foundation stone sticking out.

39 North Water St. collapsed in 1968

I was surprised to run across an October 16, 1968, Missourian story that said the front part of the building at 39 North Water Street had collapsed. Workers for Gerhardt Construction said the two-story brick structure apparently caved in from the roof because of its old age.

How could something collapse in 1968, but still be around in 2009? This aerial photo of that block, taken before 1968, shows the three-story building that became Port Cape on the right. To its left, next to the parking lot that looks like a missing tooth, is a two-story building with three windows. Sandwiched in the middle is a two-story building with five windows.

It sounds like the 39 Water Street building collapsed from the middle in, spilling some bricks into the street, but leaving at least the front wall partially intact. It must have been rebuilt as a one-story building.

Problems with “Negro” Sunday night dances

Harold Abernathy, Oscar Abernathy, Charles Wilson, Harry Lee and Maso Meacham, representing the Sportsman’s Club, 39 North Water, an organization seeking to help Negro teen-age youngsters, called on the city council, The Missourian reported Dec. 9, 1958, using distinctions that signal how segregated the city was going into the 60s.

A Sunday night dance sponsored by the group was halted when there was a complaint. The council explained that city ordinance prohibits public dances on Sunday. If the organization was private, the said, did not sell tickets and held a party as a private organization, that was another matter.

The visitors said it was a private group designed to raise funds to provide recreation for teen-age Negro youths. Programs for the youths are held on Friday nights during the school year and on Tuesday and Friday in the summer, they said.

Caught fire in 1939

Cape’s downtown was threatened by fire when three business buildings caught fire, The Missourian reported Feb. 27, 1939. The blaze started on the second floor and involved the Co-op drug store, Fred Bark’s cafe, the Louis Suedekum cafe and beer parlor and a rooming house entrance on the Main Street side. On the Water Street side, were the Charles Young and Ben Edwards Negro cafes.

The paper said the fire apparently started on one of the Young Negro rooming houses, how or exactly where hadn’t been determined at the time of the writing.

Mr. and Mrs. Barks, who lived above their cafe, were momentarily trapped there. Mr. Barks, who hadn’t been feeling well, was in bed. Mrs. Barks rushed upstairs, using a rear stairway, then on fire, to call him. This was the only exit, and it was shut off by fire and smoke before they could escape. Firemen had to place a ladder on the front of the building to get them to safety.

The third floor of the Young building was mostly gutted and some damage was done to the second floor. Since the aerial shows that it was only two stories in the middle 60s, I’m guessing that the building lost its third story during its repair.

“General O,” Tom O’Loughlin

I was going to do a bunch of research about Central High School chemistry teacher Tom O’Loughlin, better known to his students as “General O,” but I figured you folks could contribute better stories than I could dredge up.

Mercury and explosions

Back in the good old days, there was a ready supply of mercury in the chemistry room that you could play with. It was neat how it would form into tight little globules that you could chase around. A penny dipped in it immediately turned shiny silver like a new dime. If we were warned not to play with it, it was more so it wouldn’t be wasted than it was considered hazardous.

Today, mercury is banned from classrooms. Not too long ago, someone spilled a small quantity that had been overlooked; the school was evacuated and the guys in moon suits showed up to decontaminate the place.

Nothing ever exploded or caught in fire when I was in his class, but others were luckier.

General O supported his students

When Jim Stone decided to build a laser for the science fair, way back before you could buy them in every Staples store, Gen. O found money to help subsidize the construction. I’ve been bugging Jim for months to send me information about that project, but he keeps begging off. Maybe this will get him going.

Here they are picking up some contraption or another in St. Louis. All I remember is freezing on a hay bale in the back of Gen. O’s pickup to keep the thing from jostling around while Jim was up front where it was warm. I guess that’s a good indicator of who was the rocket scientist.

I didn’t know until Ernie Chiles told me that Gen. O had been a bomber pilot in World War II (maybe that’s why he was able to maintain his calm in the midst of classroom explosions and hijinks)  and a farmer who recruited students for hard labor.

He and Alene Sadler were the kind of teachers that students remember the rest of their lives.

OK, folks, let the stories roll.

Wayne Golliher Dressed Me

In that period between the time Mother picked out my clothes and the time Wife Lila came along to spare me from sartorial suicide, Central High School classmate Wayne Golliher was the guy I turned to. He worked in a Main Street clothing store, Al’s Shops.

Al’s Shops

Al’s, on the corner of Independence and Main St., billed itself on the side of the building as “Styles for the young at heart.”

Francine Hopkins and Wayne

I’d walk into Al’s and tell Wayne, “Give me three of everything that’ll go together: shirts, ties, pants, socks…” Underwear was something I could handle myself. How could you go wrong with basic white?

You might think it was strange that I would trust my wardrobe to someone who dressed like Wayne, but he managed to talk Francine Hopkins into donning similar duds in December 1966.

Note how he suggested vertical stripes to make her look taller?

Candidate for high school royalty

See how conventionally she dressed when Wayne wasn’t helping her make clothing decisions? Those stripes might have earned her a place on the podium. Francine was crowned Basketball Queen, but I’m not sure what this event was.

It’s a Boy!!!!!!!!


Son Adam and Daughter-in-Law Carly presented us with Grandson Graham Louis Steinhoff on Valentine’s Day 2011 at 8:13 p.m. He weighed 6 lbs 12 oz and was 19 inches long. He was born with more hair than his father and grandfather combined.

Louis was my Dad’s first name and carried on a semi-tradition of having a middle name starting with “L”; Graham “just sounded good,” they said.

Mother Carly is doing well

Adam called at 6:44 Sunday night to say, “something’s happening.” That was followed by an email 12:48 a.m., with the subject, “Not looking like tonight,” with the message “She’s laboring, but not ready to go to the hospital yet.”

Lila’s brother, John, (of termite, plumbing, missing wall fame) was set to fly back to Missouri this afternoon. He kept telling her to PUSH! PUSH! PUSH! because he wanted to hold HER (he was sure it was going to be a girl) before he got on the plane.

Father Adam looks pretty good, too

The baby was born at 8:13; Adam emailed me a photo with the subject line, “Baby boy!” at 8:17, and John’s plane landed in St. Louis at 8:19 our time. Lila, who was out running an errand, got a call from me at 8:18 with the good news. Adam posted a bulletin on Facebook at about 9:00. Electrons were flying in every which direction.

Old-time birth announcements

Adam and Matt’s arrivals were announced with mockups of newspaper pages. This was back in the days before folks had computers at home and could knock off stuff like this with their eyes closed. I had to call in some favors from my friends in the art department to throw these together, then run to a print shop with the paste-ups.

Matt’s announcement

You can tell from the headlines how competitive the boys were going to be. Adam’s reads, “7 Lb. 8 Oz. Weight Only 1/2 Ounce Less Than Weight of Firstborn.”

We didn’t have time to write creative stories to go under the headlines, so the artists pulled real stories out of the paper to fill the space. That’s why there are stories about the Space Shuttle, how we’ve been misled by history, unethical conduct by a politician, and a 60 per cent increase in accidents by county employees on the pages.