The District

What if Jefferson City had become like Washington, D. C.? What if it wasn’t the county seat of Cole County? What if the state capitol was not even in any county?

What if everything within a four-mile radius of the Missouri Capitol, south of the river, was the District of Jefferson?

On February 26, 1923, Representative Casper M. Edwards of Malden offered a proposed constitutional amendment to create such a district. If the legislature approved it, the matter would go to a statewide vote in November, 1924. His proposed four-mile line would have taken in almost all of the city, at the time a town of more than fifteen-thousand people (and growing fast; the population would be almost fifty percent bigger in 1930)

All laws governing the district would be decided by the General Assembly which also would appoint all local authorities.

The proposed district would have devastated Cole County’s tax base, of course, and would have required relocation of the county seat. But where would it go? The population in the farmland outside of Jefferson City at the time would have been pretty small. Russellville had 364 people in 1920; St. Thomas, probably not more than 150; Lohman had 120 in1920; St. Martins, Taos, and Wardsville had a few hundred each. Osage City was unincorporated.

We could have had one heckuva fight for the county seat! Or maybe later laws would have merged the remainder of Cole County with surrounding counties.

We haven’t found any records of what Edwards was thinking about or what prompted him to suggest the District of Jefferson. While some contemporary accounts contemplated the district as being like the District of Columbia, it’s likely Edwards did not intend his proposed district to be part of no state. Even then, Missouri had districts of various kinds.

We’re not sure how much square mileage his plan would have totaled, but today, Jefferson City sprawls over almost 37.6 square miles (about 26 square miles fewer than Columbia but six more than Joplin, eight more than Cape Girardeau, eight fewer than St. Joseph) so the city would have grown far outside his circle. The Jefferson City Country Club is 5.4 miles from the Capitol, for instance. Binder Park is 3.2 miles farther west. (And it’s pronounced BIN-der, not BINE-der. It’s named for a German fellow who was a powerful civic leader in the late 19th and early 20th centuries.)

And what a mess would things be if the General Assembly was the agency that appointed local officials?

Citizens might have been offended by losing their rights to vote for members of the city council, the mayor and the municipal judge. Instead of a local police department, would there be a state police department and would it be in charge of penitentiary security and capitol safety as well as making sure the city streets were safe?

Would the appointment of local officials mean no election of school board members? Who, then, would hire teachers and on what basis. Would state taxpayers be financing the local high school football team?

Would the city have been more prosperous if state funds made up its budget? What would it be like if the legislature-appointed mayor had to go before the appropriations committees each year to ask for money for everything the city has or does now?

Good Heavens!

Fortunately for the City of Jefferson (that’s what its real name is), Edwards’ resolution was assigned to the House Committee on Constitutional Amendments and was not heard from again.

Who was this guy Edwards anyway?

He was a Representative from Dunklin County for three terms, born in Farmington in 1870, a lawyer and a newspaper publisher. Robert Sidney Douglas, in his 1912 History of Southeast Missouri, wrote that the Malden Clipper moved to Kennett in 1886 and became the Dunklin County News, a weekly paper. Several years later Casper Edwards formed Edwards Publishing Company, and took over the News. He was described as “a brilliant and forceful writer.” He finally sold the paper to the Malden Printing Company. The newspaper continued until 1931 when it became the Twice A Week Dunklin Democrat until 1956 when it became the Daily Dunklin Democrat, which continues to publish in Kennett.

Edwards died of a head injury suffered when his car overturned down an embankment near Malden in August of 1936. He appeared not seriously injured by died five hours later of a cerebral hemorrhage. One newspaper report said the hemorrhage was brought on by “excitement over the accident.

Another account said he had practice law in Malden since 1900, had been an Assistant Attorney General under John Barker (1913-1917), and had published newspapers in Malden, Caruthersville, and Van Buren.

As we have noticed, from time to time, discovering a long-forgotten incident while prowling through old newspapers can lead to being involuntarily drawn down a path to other stories. This is one of those. It eventually leads to a poem saluting a legislative colleague who had died, the story of a disappearing rabbit, the discovery of a huge hoard of bat guano, and the early days of Missouri tourism.

It’s a long and winding road from the story of the Casper Edwards and the District of Jefferson and we’ll have to tell it some other time.

 

A good time for a critical review

As we have researched issues related to funding for construction of a National Steamboat Museum and a State Museum building, we have come to the conclusion that somebody should empanel a commission, task force, or committee to see if the laws and regulations on casino gambling in Missouri are best serving the interests of the six-million people who live here or are best serving the interests of the owners of thirteen businesses, all of which are headquartered in other states.

Frankly, we think things have evolved to the advantage of the latter and to the disadvantage of the best interests of the people of Missouri.

We don’t know if there has developed some kind of mysterious mental vortex on this matter, but it’s good to see that Speaker of the House Elijah Haahr has established an interim committee on gaming headed by Representative Dan Shaul of Imperial.

The committee already has held a hearing on Video Lottery Terminals. Efforts are being made to legalize them. Some people in the casino industry see them as illegal competition and folks in the home-dock cities of our casino boats are concerned those terminals will further erode patronage at casinos and the steadily-eroding financial support those cities draw from casino admission fees.

About two months ago, Platte County Prosecutor Eric Zahnd sued a company that provides VLTs. He says the company has put a couple of the illegal machines in stores in Parkville, where police seized five of the machines last year. The company says the machines are not “betting devices” because lottery results already are determined before the player uses the machine. The case apparently is set for hearing in December.

We understand from talking to Rep. Shaul that the committee also will examine issues such as proposed sports wagering and other things.

We’ve had casinos in Missouri since the spring of 1994. There is ample evidence that at least one part of casino law is badly outdated, allowing the casinos to make large profits at the expense of their home dock cities, veterans, and others. And there are some serious questions about proposed sports wagering legislation.

Speaker Haahr has taken an important initiative and members of the committee and members of the legislature next year might be asked to exhibit courage during an election season in the face of a politically-powerful industry to tilt the tables back to a more fair level for the all of the people of Missouri rather than thirteen businesses.

There is nothing wrong with casinos making a lot of money. The problem is how they keep it. And after a quarter-century, it’s time for a fair but critical look at an industry that seems (from this perspective at least) to have only one goal: to take as much money out of Missouri as possible—by obeying the law. But are laws passed in the early 90s valid a quarter-century later?

They are to the casinos, who correctly note they are obeying laws and regulations. But are they fair to the people who elect members of the legislature to watch out for the welfare of all of the people of Missouri?

Speaker Haahr has appointed the committee to answer that important question.

Must be a local delicacy

Travel opens minds with many people. The chance to see different people living in different situations is always a plus, not because the traveler is lured into sympathy, or sympathy that reaches condescension, or feelings of superiority (“There but for the grace of God—“) but because it generates an opportunity to experience life outside of ourselves and an understanding that we are not better or worse off, we are just different.

So it is with this sign that my recent traveling companion, Jim Coleman, noticed when we were  in Indianapolis for the Brickyard 400:

Notary and fruit. Fried notary.   We quickly admitted that we had never had notary, fried, stewed, boiled, broiled, barbecued, or any other way. Beer-batter fried notary. Breaded notary. Notary with apple chutney. And fruit. Add pineapple and you have Hawaiian Notary, we suppose.

Maybe having notary with fruit was something the new fry cook brought with him or her. Until then, perhaps the place served plain notary and business had started to drop off so a new chef was hired to bring new tastes to the notary.

Since this sign was at a gas station/convenience store, we were left to wonder if notary could be sliced and sold in a deli sandwich (cold or microwaved) with lettuce and tomato included in the pre-wrapped package—packets of mayonnaise, catsup, and mustard sold in separate squeezy things.

We also don’t know if this is a place where the police get their fried notaries instead of doughnuts. Must be a reason it wants them to be blessed.

We didn’t have time to sample fried notary, unfortunately. We were on our way to a friend’s place for some fine Italian food. There is such a thing as an Italian notary but the place we went to didn’t have any. I guess we’ll just have to go back to Indianapolis another time.

We’ll let you know if notary tastes anything like chicken.

Although we didn’t get to taste notary, your traveling observer can tell you that he has tasted—-get this now:

Pasties. 

For those whose minds are infiltrated by the seamier side of entertainment, pasties are known as things with or without twirly tassels that add, uh, titillating movement to some stage performances in places usually favored by men.   If you get my drift.

But if you are in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan and you see a sign for Pasties, chances are you’ll be walking into a family-friendly eating place, not some version of a bar.

In fact, Calumet, Michigan has a mid-August annual Pasty Fest. And not a shred of clothing is shed to show off the pasties there.

Up there, Pasties are baked pastries. You can make one in your home. You take a flatbreak pastry circle, put some uncooked meat or meat and vegetables on top of it and then fold the crust in half to create a pastry semicircle. Crimp the edges for form a seal and bake it.

Don’t try to wear it. Eat it. It’s good.

Although the word is spelled the same, it’s pronounced “Past-ee” when referring to the food. It’s “Paste-ee” when referring to the dancing accessory, likely because it is somehow pasted on.

Pasties, the food,  seem to have started in England as a way for miners to carry cooked sandwiches to work with them. They arrived in the UP (people up there are known as “Yoopers.” If you want to see one without driving all the way up there, stop by my house. I have one living with me.) with various European ethnic groups that showed up to work the cooper mines.   You’ll also find them as part of the culture of the Iron Range in northern Minnesota.

Wonder how a notary pasty would taste.

(photo credits:  Your humble observer, alamy, npr)