As I Remember: In School Days

The following is from “As I Remember Scott County,” a collection of oral histories from Scott County’s senior residents in the 1980s. In this selection, Clara Rybak shares her memories of teaching and education. It has been slightly edited from the original for clarity.

“Still sits the schoolhouse by the side of the road, a ragged beggar sunning.”  – John Greenleaf Whittier

How many times have the words of this poem gone through your mind as you passed an abandoned schoolhouse by the side of the road? You must have been smitten by nostalgia if you ever taught or spent part of your school days in one of them.

My advent into teaching was purely accidental. A friend of mine wanted to take the examination to qualify her to teach in a rural school. She did not want to go to Shakopee alone to take the exam, so she persuaded me to go with her. We went armed with our high school diplomas and the results of the State Board examinations taken in high school. The County Superintendent presided over the examinations and the results were sent to our homes. He informed me that I had passed the test and was awarded a certificate to teach. He said that he had notified school boards in the county and that they would contact me. Soon, several boards came to interview me and I selected Helena, because it was nearest to home and I could walk that far if transportation was difficult.

Teacher's contract between Mary Benes and Scott County schools for the 1939 school year. It was written out on November 30, 1938 and states that Benes will work for School District 32, Scott County for a term of 8 or 9 months beginning September 1939 for $80 a month. Handwritten notes states that Benes was expected to sweep and keep the schoolhouse clean, and to start fires as needed when the janitor was not available. Additional notes state that Benes would receive two weeks off at Christmas, one week off at Easter, and all other recognized holidays if they landed on a school day. She was also expected to work from 9am-4pm. The piece is signed by Arthur Bohnsack, L. F. Burn, Frank E. Bastyr, and Mary Benes. Printed along the bottom edge are recognized holidays and rules for hiring teachers. Scott County Historical Society.

I had never gone to a rural school and had only visited one on social occasions, like a basket social. I had some teaching experience, however. In those days, it was very unusual to hire a substitute teacher if a teacher was sick or in need of personal leave. On such occasions, one or two of the upper class students were sent to take over the class. This was especially true in the elementary grades.

During my last year in high school, the principal and the eighth grade teacher exchanged classes for one hour each day. The eighth grade teacher taught a math class, and the principal taught English for eighth grade. The principal, a woman, had a beautiful contralto voice and sung for many occasions in the Twin Cities. When she needed to practice or had other duties to attend, she would send me to teach her class. I was enrolled in the math class, but I did not attend very often, except to take the tests so that there was some basis for grading. When I was suddenly thrust into a teaching situation the experience was invaluable. I did attend the summer session at the Mankato Teachers College, but the classes I took were not very valuable for my situation.

At the time I went to teach in Helena, there was a store, a creamery, and a railroad station there. It was possible to flag the 5 o’clock train and ride to Jordan for $0.25.  One time, I flagged what I thought was a passenger train, but it was a freight train. The conductor allowed me to ride in the caboose because they needed to stop at Jordan to let the passenger train pass. I arranged for room and board at the store owned by Mr. and Mrs. Engles. They were the kindest, most helpful people in the world. I was a young, inexperienced girl, and I desperately needed all the help I could get, and they gave me encouragement and much valuable advice.

Helena had one of the better school buildings and equipment in the county. The teacher was expected to build the fire; see that there was adequate water supply, which was brought from a neighboring farm; keep the place clean, including the outdoor toilets; and teach. There were no lights in the schoolhouse except that which came through the windows, and on cloudy days, that was not adequate. It was heated by a stove with a jacket around it in the corner of the room. The bigger boys were in charge of the wood and water supply. Keeping a fire in the stove overnight was a work of art, and after much advice and effort, it was possible to keep the coals.

Monday morning in the winter was the worst of all. When the roads were impassable, I walked the four miles from Jordan to Helena via the railroad track. It was always plowed because the morning train had gone through. The schoolhouse was icy cold, and by the time I got the fire started, I was almost frozen.

Black and white albumen print of District No. G schoolhouse, located at Marshall's Hill on County Road 17. The exact year is unknown, but likely taken in the early 1900s. Scott County Historical Society.

If there were many trials, there were also pleasures. The children were well disciplined and were eager to learn, thanks to their home environments. I could not judge my predecessors, because I had nothing in my experiences for comparison, so I took things as they were and built from there. I became acquainted with the books and materials at hand and planned my course. I had twelve students in five scattered grades. I read as much material as was available, especially the teachers’ manuals, and somehow the children learned and so did the teacher.

I think I enjoyed the recess and noon hour periods almost as much as the children. In winter, we slid down the long hill to the railroad tracks. There was little traffic and the road was an ideal slide. In fall and spring, we roamed the nearby woods and gathered flowers and identified trees, or played games in the schoolyard.

The time after the children went home was spent preparing for the next day. There was little prepared material to be had, and not enough money to buy what there was, so seat work was left to the teacher’s initiative. I made endless numbers of addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division flashcards, and phonetic and word cards out of any available cardboard. Usually, I worked at school until the light failed, and then I had to bank the fire and go home.

The Christmas program was the highlight of the year. We hung sheets for stage curtains and improvised whatever stage settings we had. It was challenging, but fun. We had no piano and my voice had points to be desired, but we sang Christmas carols with gusto, if not perfection. Lamps had to be brought to light the evening performance. Although our Christmas tree had no lights or candles, it stood proud under the students’ art class decorations. The classroom was adorned with long paper garlands daubed with paste that the smaller children had made. All the parents and friends came to celebrate the occasion.

The end of the year was marked with a picnic. The parents provided the food and it was sumptuous. It as the fashion of the community to invite the teacher for a meal once or twice during the year. This was an excellent idea because the teacher became better acquainted with the parents and the children’s environment.

Souvenir card from Fish Lake School in Spring Lake Township, with a list of the students, teacher, and school board officers, 1911. Scott County Historical Society.

The first year of teaching had its trials, errors, and tribulations, but the second year was much easier. The County Superintendent came around twice a year to discuss current problems and give advice. He suggested that I should go on to college and get a certificate that would entitle me to teach in a city school. I followed his advice and enrolled at the Mankato Teachers College the next September. A new junior high school program was just starting, which offered a certificate to teach both in junior high and elementary schools. Because I enjoyed teaching older children, I enrolled in that program. This was the beginning of many college courses and forty years of interesting, gratifying, and fulfilling years of teaching, thirty-five of those in New Prague Public Schools.

Cover Image: Photographic postcard of St. Lawrence School students posing in front of the schoolhouse, 1912. Scott County Historical Society.

Lucky Lindy's Savage Landing

By Jim Ross, Dan Patch Historical Society

One hundred years ago in the summer of 1923, America’s premier pilot was forced to land in a swampy area in Savage due to a torrential downpour.

Charles A. Lindbergh was born February 4, 1902 in Detroit and was raised south of Little Falls, Minnesota. At age 18, having a knack for all things mechanical, he studied engineering at the University of Wisconsin. He left after two years with poor academic results; the new field of aviation had struck his fancy. He learned to fly at Nebraska Aircraft Corporation and became a mechanic. In April of 1923, at the age of 21, with financial help from his father, he bought a surplus WWI Curtiss JN-4 biplane, a “Jenny,” for $500. He joined other pilots and became a barnstormer – pilots who flew throughout the country selling rides and performing stunts. To help cut expenses, Lindbergh would often sleep under the wing of the plane with a cushion from the cockpit, or trade a plane ride for room and board. Lindbergh’s paying customers got 15 minutes of airtime for $5.

The Jenny’s wingspan was over 43 feet and 27 feet in length with a top speed of 70 mph. Powered by a 90 horsepower Curtiss OX-5 engine, the Jenny had a sensitive stability. Cheaply priced, its limited power allowed for the stunt flying of barnstorming.  The radiator of the OX-5 had a tendency to overheat, and water would boil over and spray the windshield. Pilots had about a half hour to land before they needed to add more water. Exhaust pipes also caused issues as fumes and oil would spit back into the pilots face. Flying gear consisted of leather leggings, helmets and goggles. Pilots carried their own tools and linen for wing repair. The OX-5 used regular gas, burning about 9 gallons per hour with a 21-gallon tank. Aviation was unregulated in 1923, with no laws, licenses, or qualifications to fly or carry passengers. The Aeronautical Chamber of Commerce statistics showed 470 accidents from 1921 to 1923 with 221 deaths.

In May of 1923, Lindbergh’s father, also Charles, wrote him that there was money to be made back up north. Charles Sr., a former U.S. congressman, was campaigning for a U.S. senate seat and they could combine barnstorming with dropping his political handbills from the plane. As Lindbergh’s Jenny headed north in early June, with a stopover for gas in Iowa, he planned on meeting his father in Shakopee. As he neared the area he was met by a severe thunderstorm and was forced to circle over Savage waiting for the storm to pass. But when his cylinders started cutting out, he was forced to land quickly. He eyed a flat area near the Minnesota River and went low. At touchdown, the earth proved to be swampy, and after 20 feet, the Jenny’s nose dipped into the mud, dug in, and flipped over. With the top wing and radiator touching the ground, and the propeller cracked, Lindbergh was left suspended in his safety belt.

Reports vary as to whether he cut himself free or he merely released the belt, but either way he was uninjured. Reports also vary on whether he walked to a nearby farmhouse for help and met the farmer who witnessed the crash, or if he was rescued by two local Savage youths. Townspeople soon gathered to gawk at the wreck. The locals helped right the plane and pull Jenny to firmer earth. The crash site is located in what is now downtown Savage, near Highway 13 and Port Cargill.

Though cushioned by the soft mud, “Lucky Lindy” was not going anywhere with a bad propeller. He wired for a replacement from Little Falls and in the intervening 3 days it took to arrive, he was a guest at the Savage Depot under the care of Charles F. McCarthy, depot agent and mayor of Savage. The depot still rests in Savage, though not in its original spot. The deeply worn depot steps that Lindbergh would have walked have been removed for safety reasons and are in the archives of the Dan Patch Historical Society.

Lindbergh’s log indicates when he left the swamp in Savage after installing his new propeller, he eventually made it to Glencoe to meet up with his father and spread the campaign materials from the air. At Glencoe, there was another mishap, and they wound up in a ditch, damaging the propeller and landing gear again, but both Lindbergh and his father were unharmed.

After another crash in 1927, Lindbergh’s barnstorming Jenny was sold for parts. It was rescued from an Iowa barn and has since been restored and displayed in multiple locations. It was once on Long Island, New York, where Lindbergh himself confirmed its identity when he found his own initials he had carved on a wing. It survived a massive fire while on display at the Minneapolis Northwestern National Bank building in 1982. It also spent some time on display at Terminal 1 at the Minneapolis-St. Paul Airport, also known as the Lindbergh Terminal. The Jenny is currently housed at The Cradle of Aviation Museum in Garden City, New York.

On May 20-21, 1927, Lindbergh was the first person to fly solo and nonstop from New York to Paris. His plane, the “Spirit of St. Louis,” took 33 ½ hours to complete the 3,610-mile trip. He was met with enthusiastic ovations, much adulation and worldwide fame. Later that year, he returned to Minnesota on a whirlwind tour. As he left town, he flew over Savage to acknowledge their hospitality extended to him in 1923. He circled several times, buzzed down to 100 feet, waved at his old friend Charlie McCarthy and dropped him a letter of greetings.

Resources and Further Reading

City of Savage Website

“Lindbergh’s Return to Minnesota,” Minnesota History, Winter 1970.

“Barnstorming With Lindbergh,” Minnesota History, Summer 1991.

This article first appeared in the Dan Patch Historical Society Newsletter and the City of Savage’s website in an abbreviated form. We have republished it here with permission of the author.

As I Remember: Jordan Breweries

Cover Image: Postcard of Schutz & Hilger’s Brewery in Jordan, 1940. SCHS Collection.

The following is from “As I Remember Scott County,” a collection of oral histories from Scott County’s senior residents in the 1980s. In this selection, Johanna Herder Duestermann shares her knowledge about Jordan’s local breweries. It has been slightly edited from the original for clarity.

Frederick Heiland took a homestead in the Jordan area in the late 1850s. He came from Leipzig in the German province of Saxony, where he had been a brewmaster. After establishing himself on a farm for some years, he moved to Jordan shortly after the Civil War to join a Mr. Berk, who ran a small brewery on the south end of Jordan on Highway 21.

Berk had begun to build caves back into the hills behind his building. There, the temperature was constant and conditions were ideal for aging the beer. Frederick Heiland took complete control of the business around 1873, and in a short time, enlarged the caves to their present 300-foot lengths. He installed ventilation for them to the tops of the hills. Frederick died in 1881, and his widow and children hired a German immigrant, a Mr. Piemeisel, to manage the business. In 1890, Piemeisel retired, and Frederick’s oldest son, John, took over. William Koschel, another German immigrant and expert brewmaster, as well as a good friend of Jacob Schmidt of Schmidt’s Company, helped run the operation.

John had also heard of a Bohemian named Pilney, who was skilled at the difficult art of making the malt used in the brewing process. He was so impressed with Pilney’s work that he brought him over from Bohemia to work for him.

John operated the brewery until 1904, when he sold it to brewmasters Koschel and Mesenbrink, who had been farming in the Jordan area. The brewery operated under that management until Prohibition was passed [in 1920].

About the same time that Frederick Heiland was taking over his business in 1873, another brewery was being erected by Sebastian Gehring, who, with a man named Pier, began a competitive business. Gehring soon took over sole ownership of the firm and named it Sand Creek brewery, but sold it to Peter Schutz and his brewmaster, Kaiser, in 1885. Schutz and Kaiser ran the brewery until the turn of the century.

At that time, Kaiser died, and a man named Peter Hilgers joined Schutz. They operated the second brewery until Prohibition, and opened again in the 1930s with the repeal of the Volstead Act [also known as the National Prohibition Act]. The last beer was brewed in the Schutz-Hilgers plant during WWII. The ruins can still be seen today.

Schutz & Hilger’s beer label, 1940. SCHS Collection.

The Koschel-Mesenbriink building was completely destroyed during the Prohibition years, when what is now Highway 21, was straightened and routed through the brewery property.

The two breweries carried on a tradition of beermaking in the “Old Country” style. Jordan had a bountiful supply of pure spring water, and the malt used in the brewing process was made from barley bought from local farmers. This made a rich lager beer.

The two breweries also initiated social festivities that brought people from miles around to Jordan. They constructed a large round pavilion dance hall on the site across the highway from the brewery ruins, which is now Mini Met Ball Park. The pavilion drew people from the Twin Cities who would travel there by boat on the weekends.

Beer was sold by the barrel and delivered by both companies in the famous large brewery wagons pulled by horses in teams of four and six. They had to weigh at least 1,700 pounds. Gravel roads were rare at this time, so wagons often became stuck in the mud. Most of the business was done with saloons. Free delivery and ice was provided to their customers, as well as free hot water to clean the copper coils through which the beer passed in the saloons. Deliveries were made to Green Isle, Blakeley, Belle Plaine, Henderson, and Arlington, but most of the business was done in Jordan.

The ruins of the Schutz & Hilger’s Brewery can be seen in the right center of the image during a flood in 1960. SCHS Collection.

As I Remember: Early 1900s Reminiscences

The following is from “As I Remember Scott County,” a collection of oral histories from Scott County’s senior residents in the 1980s. Carol Rybak of New Prague shares her memories of childhood and family history in Scott County. It has been slightly edited from the original for clarity.

My grandfather, Christian Fischer, and my grandmother, Theresa Birkman, were married in Scott County in 1858. They were both born in Germany and immigrated to the United States after the German Revolution in 1848. They met in St. Paul and decided to be married and homestead in Scott County. Their marriage was unique. Her was Lutheran and she was Catholic, and beacue there were few priests or ministers around at that time, they were married by the Justice of the Peace. They agreed that all boys born to the union would be baptized Lutheran, and all girls, Catholic.

They selected 160 acres about four miles east of Jordan. They built a log cabin and started to clear the land. Two sons were born to them at two-year intervals. Clearing the land was difficult, so my grandmother helped as much as possible. They left the baby asleep in the cabin and took the older one with them. A spark flew out of the fireplace, set the cabin on fire, and the baby died in the fire. Their grief must have been inconsolable. The child was buried in the woods where it was thought a church would be built. The cabin was rebuilt with the help of the community, but things were not the same.

After the Civil War, a law was passed enabling any man who had served in the Union Army the right to homestead land. A man by the name of Rohs had homesteaded a piece of land 1 ½ miles east of Jordan. He was a bachelor and had no interest in keeping the land, so he sold it to a man named Rodell, who, in turn, sold it to my grandfather, and the family move there. I still have the original papers signed by President Lincoln and his secretary, Stoddard.

There were rumors at that time that the railroad going west would run through the Minnesota Valley and also that a mill was being erected on Sand Creek. This made the location very desirable. Another cabin was built in the new place, and three more sons and two daughters were born. My father was the youngest of the children. My grandfather died of typhoid fever when my father was two years old. This left my grandmother with six children and a farm. The oldest boy, John, was fourteen years old. She was determined to run the farm, even though people advised against it. She was successful.

When John was eighteen, he decided to go west to seek his fortune prospecting for gold, silver, copper, etc. He roamed the mountains and discovered a vein of copper in Montana. He sent back such glowing accounts of success that the next brother joined him. This left George, who was married, to run the farm. My father was the youngest son and he was restless to join in the adventures of his brothers. He was there a short while, when John had an offer to sell his mine claim to the Anaconda Mine Company. It was too tempting to ignore. John came back home to visit his mother, then took a trip around the world. Of all the places he had seen in his travels, he decided that the Willamette Valley in Oregon was the most promising, so he bought 640 acres of land and settled there. Fred and George bought land near Merriam Junction, and my father came home to live with his mother and run the farm. Again, the house burned, and they built a big, square house of the usual type of that time.

My father called square dances with the Haigie Band, and it was at one of these dances he met my mother. She was a pretty, dark-eyed girl, and he was a tall, blue-eyed man. They fell in love, were married, and went to live in one half of the square house. It was a great arrangement because my grandmother helped take care of my sister, me, and my baby brother.

Grandmother was a marvelous woman. She was very intelligent and read everything available. She spoke and read English and knew endless stories to entertain us. She died when I was five. She was seventy-five years old when she died, and I still remember how dark her hair was against the white pillow sham.

We lived on that farm until I was in high school. My father injured his back and my mother decided to sell the farm. That farm house has so many memories for me.

We celebrated Christmas with gusto. There was always a big Christmas tree in the parlor. The tree had long strings of candy which wound around like garlands, candies wrapped in foil, beautiful ornaments, and dozens of candles. My mother and father decorated the tree after we were sent to bed, and they would wake us when it was finished. They set a pail of water on each side of the tree in case of fire. After we had admired the tree in its glory, the candles were extinguished, and then we enjoyed our gifts. There wasn’t much sleep that night, because at that time, instead of Midnight Mass, we had mass at 5:30 a.m. We usually walked to town to mass and so did many of the neighbors. It was wonderful trudging through the snow on a glorious Christmas night with everyone happy and shouting greetings.

Birthdays were a big celebration too. There was always a special meal and a big birthday cake. One birthday I remember especially was when my mother went to visit my father’s sister, who was sick. My father did not know how to bake a cake, so he made popcorn balls. I came home from school to find a huge pan of popcorn balls and a gift for my birthday.

Fourth of July was another holiday. There was always a picnic at the park and we each had a dollar to spend. It was so difficult to decide what to buy. There were so many tempting things.

The Harvest Picnic was a neighborhood celebration. We all drove out to Fish Lake and shared a huge potluck dinner. The men fished and played cards and the women set out their most delectable dishes, exchanged recipes, and gossiped. After everyone had too much to eat, all was packed up, because everyone had to get back home to do the chores.

In winter we had Wurst parties. There were no freezers in those days, except the great outdoors, and those temperatures were not dependable. All meat for the rest of the year was prepared at butchering time. In our area, everyone made sausage. It was canned, fried in lard, eaten fresh, or smoked. Whenever a family finished making their sausage, they would invite the entire neighborhood, and there was a big party that lasted until early morning. They came by sleigh or on foot. The early part of their evening was spent playing cards or just chatting. Then, a big supper was served of the sausage, potato, beans, salads, rolls, cakes, and cookies. Finally, the largest room in the house was cleared and the dancing began. One neighbor played the violin, and his wife the piano, and Father called the square dances. It was great fun and all had a wonderful time.

Every year, we went to the Carver County Fair. We met my Uncle Fred and his family at the ferry, then went to the fairgrounds. It was so exciting to cross the river on the ferry. It was a large, flat platform with a gate at each end. There was a thick cable strung from shore to shore and attached to large trees. The horses and wagons were driven on to the platform, and the ferry man pulled us across with paddles attached to the cable. We looked at the fair exhibits, watched the performances, and went back by ferry at dusk. It was great!

Ferry between Shakopee and Chanhassen/Eden Prairie, 1879-1880. SCHS Collection.

Not too many years later, Jordan managed to institute a fair too. We got season tickets for the family and went to the fair every evening. We saw the same performances, saw the same exhibits, and ate soup at the Lutheran stand before we went home. It should have been boring, but we all enjoyed it. My sister, who loved to cook, baked up a storm and entered pies, cakes, and cookies. My mother had her hand work, and my brother and I groomed every animal that looked healthy for the fair. My father was on the fair board and thought it looked better if all the stalls were filled even though they were not exhibition stock. The parade was the highlight of the fair. Every business sin town had a float and sent a band around. It was a gala affair!

That farm and the square farmhouse have so many memories that it would take pages to tell. The wonderful woods where we played and picked strawberries on the hillside, the clumps of blackberry bushes, the thorn apples and grapes we ate on our many excursions, and the trips to Helena on a Sunday afternoon along the railroad track to buy candy with the neighborhood kids, are just some of them.

I don’t know if everyone raised on a farm feels as I do, but to me, it was a wonderful experience. We lived near enough to town that we did not feel isolated. We walked 1 ½ miles to go to St. John’s School and had some excellent teachers. I especially remember Sister Andrina. She was a tall, stately, dignified, intelligent woman and a thorough teacher. She allowed us to advance according to our ability and used methods far in advance of her time. We had music, but none of us displayed any talent, though our parents tried. I enjoyed going to school, so the days passed by quickly and now they are only memories.

Cover Image: Aerial photo of the Whitlock-Tiegs farmstead in Belle Plaine during the late 1930s. While not Carol’s family’s farm, it may have been similar to the one she grew up on. SCHS Collection.

As I Remember: Our Colorful Circus Life

By Leo and Angela Albrecht, Belle Plaine

This excerpt is from “As I Remember Scott County,” a collection of oral histories from Scott County’s senior residents in the 1980s. Leo Albrecht of Belle Plaine, and his family, had a circus for many years, traveling the country and performing for audiences all over. The following contains some of his recollections of his childhood and time in the circus. It has been slightly edited from the original for clarity.

We were born in Belle Plaine when the days most looked forward to were Christmas, July 4th, and the circus. This was the horse and buggy days and before the radio and movies in our town. Dramatic plays, by both school children and adults, were popular.

When I was about seven years of age the Gollmar Brothers Circus came to Belle Plaine from Montgomery. A truly wagon show. They set up near my parents’ home and with great anticipation we youngsters were there to meet their arrival, very early in the morning. Oh! The thrill to see the animals, the fancy costumes, and the various acts. A circus with all the color, glitter, glamor, excitement, and thrills.

After the circus left town, we kids would play in the ring, which was left as it was. To make a circus ring, the circus crew would plow up a circle of sod, forming a ring about 40 feet in diameter. The outside of this was banked with dirt. The space on the outside of the circle where the sod was removed was about six feet wide, leaving the center grass intact. On top of the sod ring bank they drove in stakes, leaving them about four feet above the ground. They would then string three ropes around the stakes, forming a fence to hold the stock from getting out.

We would pick up the transparent colored papers that were wrapped around the popcorn bars. IN those days, all circuses sold popcorn in bars, which were about the size of a Cracker Jack box. We played circus, making a tent of burlap (burlap was easily obtainable in those days for free, as furniture and many articles came wrapped in it for protection while being handled in transportation), had parades, and tried to do some acrobatic acts. It became my burning ambition to become an acrobat and someday have my own circus. In playing, we had to have a menagerie, so my father bought us a goat. We caught striped gophers, pocket gophers, woodchucks, and birds. I tried so diligently and succeeded to stand on my head, walk on my hands, do handsprings, flip flops, and a few other stunts.

At age twelve, the era was for boys to work during vacation, so I went to work in my uncle’s brick yard. Now I was a wage earner and helped support our family of then seven children. The money I earned was given to my mother. At the end of each month she gave me a quarter for my pay. I spent it for five ice cream sodas and was broke until next pay day.

The brick yard work was hard working ten hours a day. We walked to and from home to work. During the noon hour we young ones would run to the river, which was close by, for a swim. My pay at age fifteen was sixteen cents an hour. When night came, I was ready for bed, no loitering uptown, nor any playing. I worked there until I was nineteen, practicing my acrobatics in the meantime. There being no physical education taught, I sent for some books that might help me to learn.

The wanderlust was in my blood, so I left for Duluth; then to Denver, Kansas, and Oklahoma, working at various jobs in the southern states. In the spring I came back to Belle Plaine and helped my brother decorate, wallpaper, and paint. Through this, I became a professional in that line. I had my own company and crew and had all the work I could handle. Being seasonal, I usually left for the south in the fall. However, the circus was still my first love.

At age twenty-eight in 1918, while painting steeples and high bridges in Seattle, Washington, Uncle Sam called me for World War I. I was sent to Fort Dodge, Iowa. There, I helped entertain the soldiers two and three times a week. I met many other performers. The famous Felix Adler was on the same program I was, as well as a man named Wilbur Wright [not the aviator], who I teamed up with after we were mustered out, calling our show “Wright and Albright.”

We toured together from 1922 through 1924, when an injury prevented him from doing his part in the act. We had traveled from town to town in a car and truck on dirt and gravel roads, staying at tourist camps – every town had one. There were no motels then.

I went back to Belle Plaine and got married in 1928, and in 1929, the Great Depression started. Would you believe that we then started our circus, when most of the small circuses went broke? We got all our equipment, tent, truck, props, amplifiers, and all necessary items together and then started our first season in May of 1930. Our son was then 15 months old.

Wedding portrait of Leo Albrecht and Angela (Quast) Albrecht, 1928. SCHS Collection.

We traveled a town a day, with much rain and many disappointments, but of course we had our good days. Admission was 10 and 25 cents; gas was three to five gallons for $1.00. To keep everything going smoothly was a tremendous amount of work with long hours. Minnesota seasons were short, so we spent some winters in the south in Oklahoma, Arkansas, and Louisiana.

The Depression was far worse there than in the north. Many kids at age 15 had never had no shoes and had never tasted candy. We often bartered for bread, meat, chickens, or anything they could spare and we could use.  In Hot Springs, Arkansas, the bread and soup lines were of great length. When our second son was a year old, his diapers and clothes were stolen off the lines.

This was our pattern for many years.

When gas rationing went in after 1941, we had to cut down on trucks. By now, I had three sons. We joined out acts with circuses and carnivals. As the children grew, so did we in experience and knowledge, and kept adding to our entertainment. Gradually, the two older boys joined the Navy, so Leo and I, with our youngest son, had a large 100-passenger bus converted into living quarters and a place to carry our dogs and ponies, and we traveled with the larger circuses.

Promotional poster for the Albright Circus, 1955. SCHS Collection.

When the two sons returned from the Navy, we built a large portable 32 x 40-foot stage to play at fairs and celebrations. Many dignitaries, such as Governor Orville Freeman, Cedric Adams, Archer Nelson, Hubert Humphrey, the mayors of the towns, queen contestants, drawings, etc. were on this stage. The boys both married girls in the profession; they did aerial, contortion, rolling globe acrobatics, and singing. They boys worked animal acts, tumbling, chin balancing, rope spinning, announcing, and sometimes clowning. We had a complete unit of high class acts. We played fairs, celebrations, trade shows, schools, Christmas shows, shopping centers, and parades. We were a close knit family.

However, television and air conditioning took over and people enjoyed staying indoors. Fairs discontinued free acts and our sons were starting their families, so in 1967 we bid farewell to thirty-five years of trouping through 33 states.

Photograph of one of the wagons used for the Albright Circus. SCHS Collection.