Boonslick Country and the War
Jury foreman • No hung jury here • Fly boys • We aren't complacent • Babe's escape • Mr. Tert looks us over • Charles van Ravenswaay's farewell dinner • So much to do Ñ so little time • Reported missing in action.
The Takeover of the German Reichstag by Hitler and his development of the Nazi Military power at first aroused little interest in the Boonslick Country. But the Nazi takeover of the Rhineland in violation of the Versailles Treaty, followed by the absorption of Austria and Czechoslovakia began to penetrate the consciousness of the Boonslickians. The Nazi blitzkrieg of Poland, France and the Netherlands, leading to England’s declaration of war against Germany, generated sympathy and support for England and its allies.
Enactment of the Selective Service Act and implementation of the Lend Lease Program to supply England with needed war materials, met with general approval.
Patriotic fervor was so intense most people disapproved of conscientious objectors. One such Negro member of the Jehovah’s Witnesses was on trial for having failed to report for induction into the Army. The trial took place in Jefferson City. Lilburn was selected for the jury to hear the case and was elected foreman. He writes of this:
Jury Foreman: No Hung Jury Here
Dear folks,
It was quite an experience down in Jefferson City. I had thought of coming home each night but while the jury was being chosen the judge stated that 12 chosen disciples would be locked up for the duration of the trial. In my last free moment I rushed out and bought me a pocket comb feeling it would get me by somehow.
I was one of the chosen, being one of those who said he had no prejudice against Jehovah’s Witnesses (that I would get up and declare).
And then for 36 hours I never visited a toilet without a detective looking in first to see if there was another person who might violate me as a juror. I found myself spending the night with three utter strangers and sleeping with one of them. My bedmate was from Bunceton but I never heard of him before nor do I recall his name. But he was closer to me by ties than any of others - ties of distance. Of the four in my room, three other than myself, the two from Osage Co., and from Camden County, slept together and fussed all night about how hot they were and slept on the blanket and under the bedspread. I spent a very good night with the electric fan on continuously. We had our meals in a private dining room. A detective accompanied the waitress on the rounds to keep her from contaminating us as jurors.
Yesterday morning when we got up my three companions were all worried because they didn’t have a comb so I came to the rescue as graciously as I could and I have not seen three more appreciative persons. The man from Camden County lives near Montreal, S.E. of Camdenton and told me that just north of Decaturville, south of Camdenton, there are some Kingsburys at the third house this side of Decaturville, on the east side of the road. (I think loaning my comb created the favor which brought me the foremanship of the jury.)
The trial itself was interesting but we were marched a lot from the court room to the jury room while the attorneys settled their differences before the judge. Things got hot at times.
Mr. Johnson, Negro, aged 27, conscientious objector, Jehovah’s Witness, was on trial for not having reported for induction. Most of the audience was made up of Negroes and white people who seemed to sit together just as if Missouri was Kansas. Well-dressed Negroes and well-dressed white people and I wondered if they were there because they were Jehovah’s Witnesses. When the defendant was called to the stand he came with his record playing outfit and all the Bibles he could carry and a brief case bulging with tracts. But never was the Jehovah Witness side of the story allowed to be told in court. Johnson had for his attorneys a man from New York and one from Jefferson City, a wonderful looking man, handsome and impressive in his bearing. It was a pleasure to watch him handle his part of the case. The New York man who must have been the regular representative of the Jehovah society, turned out to be a disgruntled personage when the Judge ruled against his pleadings and testimony adduced from witnesses, time after time. He turned out to be a regular old sour puss. But when smooth talking Richard K. Phelps, Asst. District Attorney worked, he was smooth. After watching him I swore to behave myself hereafter.
It didn’t take the jury long to arrive at a verdict. On the first ballot, it was 10 to 2 for conviction. One gentleman then told what point was doubtful in his mind, so we wrote to the judge about it. We were then herded back into the court room as court opened so the judge could reinstruct us on that point. Another ballot in the jury room and Mr. Johnson’s fate was “writ.”
Johnson claimed he should have been classified so he would not have to enter the regular fighting forces. He should have, but he had not, according to testimony, made the appeals which are necessary in such cases, although he testified he had come to two members of the Service Board, its Clerk and to see the District Attorney in Kansas City. The defendant testified he went to Kansas City and that he was told by Mr. Phelps to return to Jefferson City and to see Col. Carver. Mr. Phelps elicited this information about Johnson’s visit to Kansas City and the time of the visit. Then Mr. Phelps in an exciting court moment making the final argument, and amid a noisy protest from opposing attorneys, said that the party had never been to see him in Kansas City on that date, that it was impossible for him to have been there because he had testified he was in Jefferson City on that date. But the whole decision hinged on whether the Negro received from the Board a reclassification card which the board proved by its testimony was mailed to him. The law says the Board must mail the card but it does not say the registrant must receive it. In other words if the registrant doesn’t get it, it is just too bad for him. Johnson, most of us thought, was just bluffing himself along, thinking his religious claims would cut the ice, and just waited too long.
Left: Captain Barto, USMC. Squadron Executive Officer, VMF-218. Right: Major Kingsbury, USMC. Commanding Officer, VMF-218. Green Island South Pacific, 1944.
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Fly Boys
Two of Lilburn’s young nephews, his namesake Lilburn Edmonton (Babe) and Bobbie Kingsbury aspired to fly military aircraft, but had difficulty being accepted for flight training because their teeth “did not bite properly.” Costly dental work and their Congressman’s intervention finally cleared the way. Bobbie went to Pensacola for Marine flight training, Babe to Corpus Christi for the Navy. Both received their wings and were furloughed home at the same time. Lilburn writes of this in a family letter in 1942. It follows:
I think Lillian was a bit disappointed when Babe came home in uniforms which were not adorned with as many bars, buttons, and stripes as Bobbie had. There was much to be explained, why he didn’t have as many of these ornaments. And to make matters worse, Margaret said quite openly that Bobbie’s uniforms were much more attractive than Babe’s. Moreover, Bobbie was a Lieutenant where Babe was just an ensign. Babe went over to try and straighten this out, explaining that in the Navy, the rank, “Ensign” was the same as second lieutenant in the Marines and the Marines prided themselves on the elaborateness of their uniforms whereas the Navy swung the other way toward simplicity. Life was terribly complicated. Margaret liked the way the Marine dress uniform fits up tight about the neck and almost chokes the Marine, as we saw it do at Hancock’s the big Sunday night we were up there. And then there is the matter of photographs.
Margaret said she had no assurance she would ever see Bobbie again, and she wanted the best picture available, and therefore one of the Columbia photographers was visited and he made fourteen sittings and finished off a picture of each one. Babe, like nobody’s business, went over to Rehmeier’s and as a photographer he don’t rate a damn with Bob and Margaret. Imagine Lillian having to admit that Rehmeier only took five or six sittings! (Crushed to earth like truth,) Margaret had wanted a “very military” picture of Bobbie and one with a sword, but he didn’t have any sword. Bobbie thought maybe he would have one sometime and he could get her a picture with a sword then.
We in the Midwest come in for so much public criticism for “complacency” for “not doing more.” I wonder what in the name of common sense we can do until called on, and, if it would do any good to get out and wave coat-tails in great excitement. It seems to me it is a blessed thing to have calmness. I have no doubt about this part of the country putting its hand to whatever needs to be done when the time comes. Perhaps I should have gone to the vegetable meeting last week to which I was invited, which was to show people how to cook and eat vegetables. I read where one man who attended ate some spinach prepared there and declared that never before had he tasted spinach which was offered.
We aren't Complacent
I was able to go to Fayette today. I just felt old and let down, had no energy and regretted the time had come for me to sit on the shelf. But I had a busy day in spite of it. In the morning I went to the Gas Rationing Registration School to be prepared for taking registrations on the 9, 10 and 11th. Then I bought myself two pair of work shoes; a pair to work in; and the other to wear to town, as I can’t change from high top to low with impunity being an old man. But I did get me a good looking pair of low shoes and a pair of high overshoes. Couldn’t get any for church or anything like that. That made four pair in all. I am hoarding shoes instead of coffee. The shoe men say they may not have any to offer after their present stocks are exhausted. Long drawers are getting scarce too, the ankle length type which I like to break the wind off my old shanks. (First year I have bowed to the need).
Two other nephews were drafted into service and Lilburn’s protege, Charles van Ravenswaay was applying for a Naval commission.
Lilburn saddled up his letter writing hobby horse to report on war related activities. In January 1942, he wrote:
Babes Escape
On Monday morning Babe Edmonston was flying in formation and a plane flew over him too close, was sucked down by the propeller wash on top of Babe’s plane and knocked off Babe’s tail. That made his plane go straight up and the propeller of the other plane sheared off the left wing of Babe’s. Then they both went into a spiral and started toward the ground. Babe tried to level off but couldn’t. He yelled to the boy with him to jump and tried to get out himself. The cockpits are so small he is always cramped. He got one leg out but couldn’t get the other, so pulled the cord of his chute, and when it filled, it jerked him out. He fell into the water which “Thank God” was shallow - about five feet deep. In about half an hour, a fishing boat came along and took him to shore. He is bruised and sore but is full of thankfulness for an escape. He baled out, watchers told him, at less than 500 feet which does not give one clearance as a rule, so he feels especially favored. The boy with him escaped safely, as did the boy with the pilot whose plane fell on Babe’s. The other pilot lost his life. He was “Andy,” Babe’s best friend and they had planned to room together. Bad, foggy weather still interferes with flying at Corpus and Babe thinks it will be February, around the 6th when he will graduate. Bobbie graduates at Pensacola tomorrow, Friday, and is expected home shortly.
A niece of Lilburn, Alice Kathryn Darneal, had gone to work at the Marine Base. She was home for a week. Lilburn reported November 1941:
Dear Homefolks,
Alice Kathryn Darneal is home for a week. Her Bud is up for fleet duty and has the jitters and they don’t know whether to marry or not, but are still very much in love.
Alice paints a very lurid picture of free love as it flows around the Navy base, and says it is very difficult for a nice gal because the men seem to take it for granted that none of that kind are around. Bobbie looks terribly dissipated and says he just can’t take care of all the women who want to sleep with him.
Mr. Tert Looks Us Over
Bobbie apparently decided it was time to wed. The father of the woman he fancied decided he should visit Bobbie’s family to see if they would be fitting in-laws. Lilburn writes of his visit May 1942:
We have just been through an ordeal. For some weeks this had been hanging over us, the visit of Mr. Tert, the father of Bobbie’s intended, to inspect the family. Finally, the time of arrival was to be 5:15, Saturday afternoon. Margaret arranged for the family parade at 7:00, to be followed by a buffet supper. Ellen was in Louisville and Horace, Ernest, Hazel, Lillian, the Hancocks and I were there. We arrived on time to be informed Mr. Tert had called from St. Louis to say his train had been delayed three “hou’s. Three Pullman ca’s had been tu’ned ovah but nobody was hu’t.” He would arrive in Boonville at 8:47.
The parade was called off, not having any reviewers and we fell to Margaret’s old ham and fried chicken, pineapple-cheese salad, peas and carrots, creamed potatoes with Roquefort cheese on ‘em, pickle, jelly, hot biscuit and coffee with two slices of angel food cake, strawberries and whipped cream for desert.
Time came to meet Mr. Tert at the bus and Robert started out but Margaret, all of a swivet, decided she was afraid for him to drive alone in the rain and she canvassed the crowd for four seaters but there was none except Hancock’s and it was dirty they said, and all the other cars were dirty, so Bob got out on his own, but at Margaret’s insistence Ernest got in to accompany him. Time passed. All this time it was just pouring like the Bagnell floodgates outside. Margaret got out Kodak pictures to show us the Florida scene and when we all looked at one of Mr. Tert we knew he and Rob and Ernest would never be able to travel three abreast. So after a family conference, Horace, the head, thought I had better go over to the bus station and get the overflow, which I did and three of us were there to meet the guest.
We got him to Rob’s in time for all of us to listen to him for awhile before breaking up for the night. He did not prove to be as large as he appeared in the picture, and from the conversation I learned he is 68, is married a second time, has a son 24, and the daughter, Mildred is younger. His second wife is younger than he. He has a granddaughter “thuty months old.” First he took from his billfold, a Kodak picture showing the kid loading barrels of marmalade into a box-car. He put it back and replaced his billfold. Frequently he took it out again to show us another snap of the same child with his dog. It was put away and the third time he took it out and showed us a picture of the baby watching a film at the age of eight months. Fond Grandpa was holding the line with the fish on it and the baby and the kid looked as elated as if he had really done it himself. Fond Grandpa Rob reached over and showed him a picture of Kenny, and he looked at it casually but it wasn’t as good as his own.
He told us some delightful stories. And a tendency to stammer added spice to the conversation rather than distraction. And I don’t know from his speech whether he is part Italian, or whether it is all South Carolinian with some of the gullah dialect thrown in. I do not know whether he is a native born South Carolinian but he went from there to Jacksonville, Florida., and thence to Pensacola. He talks so softly it is a little difficult to understand him at times and Saturday night after he came, Horace was seated on one side of him with an ear cocked over and Bob on the other, cocking his at another angle. We all like “Doc.” (He said his son calls him that) mighty well.
Lillian invited them to dinner Sunday. We got down an old ham, sliced it and Lillian fried it beautifully, then we had fruit salad, creamed asparagus and corn, hot biscuits and butter, water melon pickle, raspberry jelly, hot butter cake (un-iced) with ice-cream and hot fudge sauce. We continued to like Mr. Tert and found much to interest him about the place. He looked at the trees, the garden, and my hogs and cattle were at the opposite end of the field, but a call or two from me brought them running and he thought that was wonderful. At the close of the meal we were all touched when he said, speaking of families, “Ah have ‘neve’ seen anything like this whe’ you all get togethe’ and even when you all saw each othe’ last night, you greet each othe’ like you hadn’t met fu’ a long time. It seems so sweet to me.”
Horace took Margaret, Rob, and Mr. Tert on the Glasgow-Marshall tour soon after we finished dinner. I wanted to take him to the Clark’s Chapel this morning but it rained almost constantly so that seems definitely to be out. But I know he would appreciate the “setting” of the family I could show him there. Well, he is a personage, a delightful character, and we don’t care much what he thinks of Bobbie’s folks, but we all like him very much.
He has fo’ty acres no’th of Pensacola, twenty of it in flowe’s, and devotes much of his time to the propagation of azaleas. Probably hopes to have a show place some day. He has oil interests, handling oils I think, and making barrels just now for marmalade which is being sent to England in barrels which contain 20 gallons of grapefruit and oranges ground up with something to make it sweet. When received in England, it will be made up into seven times that much jelly with sugar added there. Mr. Tert is leaving sometime today. From his conversation, it seems to me he travels most of the time. He gives the general impression of being older than 68. He is good looking with nice dark eyes and white hair.
Margaret seems to feel that Mr. Tert left with a favorable impression. She said he talked so much about his girl and said it would just break his heart if anyone married his little girl for her money. I think Margaret was so affected she wrote to Bob at once not to marry her for the money. I don’t know whether he has that much but evidently he thought he has. He said he thought the people and the country so delightful up here that he wanted Mildred and Bob to drive up here just as soon as they were married so she could have the pleasant experiences he had enjoyed. Margaret said, “But Bobbie doesn’t have a car.” Tert’s response was... “Well, he can have one of mine.”
Bobbie decided against marriage when he spoke to his commanding officer about arranging a military wedding. His C.O. told him, “Don’t you know old man Tert is as crazy as a coot?” Bobbie subsequently married a nurse. Babe married a girl he had met in college. Both flyers served with Pacific fleet carriers shooting down a number of Japanese planes. Babe decided to become a career officer, but several years after the Japanese surrendered, he was killed in a training flight in Washington.
Charles Van Ravenswaays Farewell Dinner
Dear Family,
We are still having spring-like showers and the whole country is just beautiful, more so than in spring for vegetation is so luxuriant. I had a chance to observe much scenery on the way to and from St. Louis when I fathered Charles to his plane departure and for a business trip to the city to see the world. Charles had asked me to take him down when his time came to leave for service. I had four good tires and had been itching to get to some old newspaper files in the library down there too. So we got going around six a.m. and arrived at the Jefferson Hotel Air Station around 10:30. I left Charles to have lunch with friends and promised to join him for dinner. I spent my time in the library, joining Charles at the Missouri Athletic Club where his brother, Arie was living. Arie had arranged a farewell dinner party for Charles and it was a swell affair. There was champagne for all and then with the dinner those who had taken dark meat were served sparkling Burgundy, while those with fish had only more champagne. I gathered if you are eating fish, you do not do the reverse of drinking with Burgundy any more than Lillian approves of drinking milk with salmon. Courtney Werner, who was eating fish the same as I, insisted that it was steak until they gave him Burgundy and then he hated it because he didn’t have any more champagne. I was glad the rich Van Ravenswaays were paying for the party.
The following day Lilburn did historical research at a library and that evening took Margaret Odom, the daughter of ministerial friends for a ride on the Mississippi Riverboat Admiral. His letter continues:
So Much To Do - So Little Time
All evening the town had been filling up with soldiers. They just poured into the hotels, and the streets downtown were full. I believe the Admiral can accommodate five thousand passengers and there must have been at least four thousand soldiers and sailors aboard. I hadn’t ever seen so many people moving about in such a small space, although in fact the space is immense. As we explored the boat I witnessed the amazing spectacle of 3500 of these people throwing all restraint but a little (which saved many of them maybe) overboard and running wild, drinkin’, and lovin’ like nobody’s business.
On the top deck with only the starlight above, the deck chairs, all of which were reclining like cots, had occupants who presented scenes which would have inspired me if I were an artist to do frescoes and murals the rest of my life, which would do justice to those unearthed in Pompeii. I may not be young, but I am terribly impressionable. Those who were not in love clutches and kiss holds that lasted longer than I could time were saying in emotion-cracked voices, “O my love. so much to do and so little time to do it in.” Others were gettin’ up their drunks as fast as they could to let it be wearing off a little by twelve o’clock when the boat docked. I got a belly full of bleary eyed men and women, going and coming from the dance floor which was as crowded as a cattle truck on the way to market. They danced the rumba, but in St. Louis the wiggle has been eliminated. But even with that off, I did not essay it. We watched. Some did not know they were in St. Louis and certainly they wiggled beautifully and amazingly to me. My Sunday School class has always been against the rumba so I had never seen it danced before. Some of the people danced with so much feeling, if you know what I mean, and those who did not feel, patted it.
I was interested in how eager the crowd was to get off the boat. One bleary eyed soldier said to Margaret as we were sitting in some comfortable chairs fronting the dance floor, “Lady, will you please get up. You are sitting on my bottle.” We thought he was drunk and fresh but he persisted that she was in spite of her feeling under and insisting she was not. Finally she got up and from behind the cushion in the seat, he recovered his pint bottle of whiskey.
It is no place for Winter and Springtime to visit together when there is no disposition to drink something to reconcile the differences in ages. The orangeade was good.
One feels sorry for the soldiers of the Army, of the Navy, the Marines, and may I add, the Cross. If all over the U.S. it is like the Admiral was on Saturday night, the world is in a terrible mess. Aunt Margaret has heard someone say that after the war the people will wear no clothes.
I thought I might get home in time for Church Sunday morning, but I overslept. Lillian held down the fort alone while I was gone. She will not mind taking a job as some lonely housekeeper, if the necessity arises.
I have to go now, since the last shower has about dried off, and throw up hay. I am thankful to pitch hay instead of liquor.
Reported Missing in Action
In 1944 Major Robert Kingsbury was reported “Missing in Action.” I presumed he had been shot down but this proved not the case. According to Lilburn, Bobbie’s explanation was:
Before the forces in 1944 began a full scale invasion of the large Phillipine Island of Mindinao, the Army, Navy and Marine Air Forces decided they must have an emergency air strip somewhere on this balmy island on which disabled U.S. air craft could land during the initial stages of providing cover for the landing forces.
The job of establishing the air strip was assigned to the Marines and Bobbie was asked “to volunteer.” So - he volunteered and was ordered to build an air strip long enough for freighter planes to land and take off. It had to be about 2000 feet long.
Bobbie and his team, a lieutenant and three sergeants, were dropped into the area and with native labor, began work on the runway.
In about three days the Japanese discovered the task force. Bobbie, his team, and the natives with their oxcarts, took to the hills. He radioed his command about 300 miles away...”we are heading for the hills but cannot guess what the outcome will be.” He informed them that if they really wished to hold the spot, they had better send some paratroopers in - “lots of them and now!”
The command to cover itself, sent a telegram to Bobbie’s wife that “Major Robert Kingsbury is missing.”
The paratroopers did come in and defended the strip, but failed to send a telegram that Major Kingsbury and his men had escaped the Japs and rejoined the command.
In all, Bobbie had 500 flying hours in combat against the Japanese.
For his distinguished military service he was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross, five Air Medals and a Bronze Star Decoration. He continued in government service for the next ten years serving as a Liaison Officer for the Defense Department around the world.
All Lilburn’s nephews in the service and his good friend Charles van Ravenswaay came through the war safely. The increased prices of Fairview Orchard/Farm products increased his income, enabling Lilburn to devote more time to his hobbies. The sections which follow reflect this.
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