My home town--Part 1

From the archives of Paul Corbin

I was born and spent the first 18 years of my life on a 50-acre farm about six miles west of Advance; however, I have been living in town for over 66 years, so I think I should be eligible to claim this place as "my home town."

This little town of Advance had its beginning back in 1881, when Mr. Louis Houck extended his railroad from Cape Girardeau through Stoddard County. Mr. Houck tried to buy land for a terminal just a few miles west of the Cape Girardeau and Stoddard County line at a little place called Lakeville, where a Mr. Jacob Capler wanted $30.00 per acre for his land.

Mr. Houck thought $30.00 was too high, so he advanced the line one mile farther west for his terminal, where Mr. Joshua Mabery would sell his land for $10.00 per acre.

That is how my hometown got the name "Advance."

Advance was officially organized in 1883. The main industry was farming and sawmills.

At this time, most merchandise, including food products, were shipped in wood boxes and barrels, so in addition to the regular sawmill lumber, these mills produced a lot of barrel staves and lathes for making boxes.

In the early years of Advance, life was slow and vibrant. The streets were dirt, which could be dusty or muddy, depending on the whims of Mother Nature. The typical home was made of clapboard, with about four rooms downstairs and four upstairs. Nearly all the homes had a large garden, a stable for horses, a chicken house, and sometimes a cowshed and a pigpen.

There was no indoor plumbing, so the outhouse usually sat in one corner of the garden with the clothesline attached to one corner, extending along the path to the house.

The alarm clock was the whistle of the stave mill, which got everyone up at an early hour. I have heard reports that at one time there was a city ordinance that "every wife shall arise before 5 a.m. and bake biscuits for her husband, so that he can get to work on time."

The general store was generally a two-story structure with living quarters for family upstairs, and the stock of merchandise--including everything from sewing thread to log chains--downstairs. It was also a gathering place for loafers and gossipers, who would sit around the wood-burning stove, chewing tobacco, swapping pocket knives and lies. This stove sat in a shallow wood box that was filled with sand and ashes, and that is where the tobacco chewers deposited their tobacco juice. If the tobacco juice began to form a puddle, someone would just shovel in more sand and ashes.

Quite often, this general store was also the post office and sometimes an informal bank, where the merchant would loan a few dollars at an interest rate of 15 to 20 percent.

The merchant also carried a lot of credit accounts, where the customer would buy on credit through the spring and summer and pay his bill in the fall, when he harvested his crop, disposed of his liquid assets, or sold his possum hides.

Everyone in the area depended on horses for transportation, farming and hauling logs, and most of them were very proud of their animals. They would decorate their harness with brass rings and bright-colored tassels, and they were inclined to brag about the performance of their teams.

A Mr. Charley Nolan told me about a team of bays he once had. He said that one day he started to town to sell a few chickens, and shortly after he started, it came up a thunderstorm. He gave the team the "go ahead" and just barely made it under the shed of the poultry house ahead of the rain--but, when he looked back in his wagon bed, he discovered that all his chickens had drowned, and it hadn't even gotten his spring seat wet.