SMALL TOWNS
                           SMALL CITIES
                   by Eugene Hutchinson Mallory 2



     These tales were brought to mind by a recent report of a
media event to Mason City Iowa. The real world was presumably
interested in how the natives were getting along with their
quaint caucus system whose rituals they presumed to think have
some influence and importance in the flow of events outside
their little backwater.

     The news writer thought he needed a little local color and
all he could dig up, were the cold and snow, and the fact that
Mason City is supposed to be the model of River City the site of
Meredeth Wilson's play the Music Man.

     To point up the economic insignificance of the place, he
also adds that even lumped with the nearby cities of Austin,
Minnesota and Rochester, Minnesota, Mason City is only the 149th
T.V. market in the nation.

     I was born and brought up in Hampton, Iowa 30 miles from
Mason City. So you can imagine how deep in nowhere I came from
and that I have a little different viewpoint on Mason City than
the big city writer.

     This was my first city, my first contact with city life. We
went on the train, the Saint Paul express, Father, Mother and I.
Brother Judson was too young to go and stayed with Grandma.

     I remember the train ride, the red velvet seats in the
parlor car and the fancy brick station. The bricks were made in
Mason city.

     The trip was to buy furniture for the new house, so the
date was 1920. I was seven years old and much impressed with
Chapman's Furniture Store, I had never seen that much shining
furniture before.

     Mother was positively radiant as her purchases mounted up.
The massive mission style table and Tiffany lamp for the living
room, the black mahogany for the front hall and parlor, and the
walnut bedroom set. Father grew a bit grim, but he was game. I
was so excited I wanted to take it all home with us, but of
course it had to come later by rail freight.

     I can remember other later trips in the old seven passenger
Nash before the highway was paved in our county.

     Father and Mother in front, Aunt Nettie and a guest, Miss
Kingsbury the librarian, I believe, in the back and Brother
Judson and I on the little jump seats. These unfolded from the
floor behind the front seat.

     The unpaved road in our county was in bad shape. It was
going to be paved and was neglected and in places under
construction. It was rutted, washboardy, and lots of dust and
loose gravel. The Nash had old style high pressure tires and we
had taken quite a rough ride before we got on the new concrete.

     No more dust. Mother hurried us all to get the windows
down, brush ourselves off and said to my father. "Isn't this
grand. No more dust, no more bumps, and never any more muddy
road. I can't wait until our part gets paved."

     Father said "It will be grand if we get it paid for."

     But I could tell that he was relieved to get on a smooth
road. He was of the old school. He would always be more at ease
with reins in his hands than a steering wheel.

     When we got to the city, the inter-urban tracks came in
from Clear Lake and ran right up the middle of the street to the
downtown station. The big red cars were intimidating in the
middle of the street, but Mason citizens could get on one of
them and be out to the beach, and roller coaster in Clear Lake
in practically no time. Those big reds could really fly. Further
into the city smaller yellow four wheel trolleys ran on the same
tracks. The main street was paved with interlocking wood blocks.
Father said they were easy on horses feet and quiet with steel
tired buggies and wagons. This inter-urban recently made the
papers as the last trackage hauling freight by electric power,
1988.

     This was already the age of the autos and rubber tires and
by the middle of the 1920's we were going to Mason City in the
Buick with balloon tires, four wheel brakes and Duco lacquer
finish. The old Nash had to be revarnished every year to keep it
shiny.

     Mason City didn't stand still either. One day we went to
Mason City and the trolleys and the wood block pavement were
gone. The streets were paved in asphalt and there were traffic
signals. Not lights overhead, but slotted hollow posts in the
middle of the street with revolving stop or go signs inside.

     Mother could drive herself now with the better car and
road. She liked the department stores. They had cashiers in
little booths hanging from the ceiling and the clerks sent your
sales slip and money zipping on the wires and the change and
receipts came back the same way.

     Judson and I were more interested in visiting Woolworth Ten
Cent store and Kregse's Ten Cent to a Dollar store. You could
buy anything there.

     The family usually ate lunch at the Green Mill Cafeteria.
It had a real Green Mill run by real water in the front window
and inside you could pick what you wanted to eat and be well fed
for a dollar or less.

     I grew up fairly impressed with Mason City. Even father was
impressed with the moneyed people of that place. Hanford
Machnider owned the bank and the cement works and was even
mentioned as a vice presidential candidate. The Deckers owned
the packing house and there were others who were millionaires
when a million dollars was serious money. Father didn't approve
of their life style and I didn't even know about it until I grew
up and learned about the Saddle and Sirloin Club at Clear Lake.
It was a private club for this kind of people and some of our
own people. The bar never closed for prohibition. The wheels and
the gaming tables came out of the closets every weekend.

     I never could see much resemblance between the Mason City I
knew and Meredith Wilson's River City of puritanical rubes
waiting in their rural village for the music man to come along,
and sell them 76 trombones and run off with the money.

     The other two cities were in Minnesota, but I came to know
them well enough. Austin in the livestock business and Rochester
for the Mayo Clinic where people came from all over the world,
came to ask that grim question "Must I really die so soon?"