Last Train to Clarksville - My Hometown

Last weekend was the big Chili Cook-off in the small town of Clarksville, MO, population 470. Second in scope only to the Applefest held every October, the whole town comes out to eat and judge chili and dance to the music of an “oldies” band from St. Louis. My husband was the Chief Chili Judge again this year, which he swears he will never do again. It seems the regular 20 or so judges sit and taste chili samples all day. But the Chief Judge only calculates and records the rankings and distributes the results – no chili; and according to my husband, no fun! He was so tired by 6 p.m.when it was all over, he said, “I never even got to hear one note of the music, much less eat chili!” The rest of us had fun visiting with old friends, dancing like kids hate to see their parents dance, and reminiscing about the good old days. Commendations go out to all planners, helpers, cooks, judges and those who make it a point to come back every year and spend the day.

My Mom and Dad of course were there, but barely made it out of the parking lot before they were swarmed by old friends. My parents were pillars of the community from the 1940’s to the 1990’s. When Dad retired and sold all the businesses, half of the people in town had been employed at Duvall’s Restaurant or Duvall’s Shell Station and Motor Co. The other half had worked at Duvall Motel or the Sky Lift across the street. All of these businesses were within a two-block radius, including the motel pool. Our bright purple house was only two blocks further south, after passing the main part of the town. Nobody locked doors, every parent had permission to reprimand or tattle on every child and there were eight churches in the small town where kids like me could repent and be baptized.

Dad had been mayor, on the city council, a member of every club and lodge, and received his 60-year pin from the VFW. We were even members of the Boat Club, though we never owned a boat. You didn’t need one since everyone else in town would loan you theirs. Since we only lived a block from the docks, we could catch a ride any time night or day. Mom had been president of most of the women’s clubs and school organizations. My sister Donna, and brother Duke and I couldn’t get away with anything. My mother was always a stay-at-home-mom until my teen years when she became the manager of our restaurant. She worked to help support my sister who was at the University of Missouri, and my brother and I weren’t far behind. Although we too worked at the restaurant or motel, we found with Mom gone in the evening, we were able to get into a lot more trouble!

Being back there for the weekend, we visited the shops, explored the riverfront, toured the town and visited old friends. My dad said, “I only know two people in town who are older than I am!” Both of them served during WWII as he did. He is almost 90, and Mom pampers him, as we all do. I am so thankful for a great heritage and for the blessing of two parents who loved God, each other, their children and their country more than life itself. Some things of our little hometown have changed drastically; yet much of that which really counts has not. On Sunday we attended the little Clarksville Christian Church where Mom and Dad still hold their membership and have served there in every capacity except preacher. My grandparents are on the records there from the 1919 roster. I was baptized there, spanked there for poking Laney with a piece of straw in the “little angel’s choir,” took piano lessons there for 12 years, and was baptized there with my best friend, Lynne. We were both bridesmaids in each other’s weddings there and, of course, she came to the chili cook off with me as she does every year. Although I have lived my entire adulthood in south St. Louis County, my first hometown will always be Clarksville.

Clarksville is located on Missouri Highway 79, which is part of the Scenic Great River Road, and is one of the most intriguing little towns along the Mississippi River. Situated at the foot of the highest point on the Mississippi River from New Orleans to Minneapolis, Clarksville was established in 1817. It was then that the first settlement took on the name, supposedly in honor of William Clark, of the Lewis and Clark expedition. Clark served as governor of the Louisiana Territory from 1813-1820, and when I was ten, my grandmother arranged for me to be the one who in an honorary celebration would uncover the little monument along the riverfront there.

By 1860 the population of Clarksville approached 1,200 folks, with dry goods and grocery stores, a blacksmith shop, meat markets, a bakery, hotel, a printing office, barber shops and eight factories including a vinegar factory, a barrel factory, two tobacco factories, a paper mill and a saw mill. Local vineyards yielded 12,000 gallons of wine annually and of course the Mississippi River became the great water highway for transporting goods both north to Minnesota and south to New Orleans. From the port in New Orleans, items were even shipped overseas.

Through the years many have explored the Clarksville peak that has had a plethora of history and folklore. We used to hunt for arrowheads when I was a child, not knowing then that this was a sacred Indian burial ground. In the 1960s a sky lift was built to carry tourists to the top where they would find a western town, log slide, trails to explore, and even caves hidden in the clefts of the rocks. A local fellow, Jim Church, erected a flag pole at the top where he managed to sit for nearly the whole summer. TV stations and the folks from the Guinness book of records documented it say and night.  Though Jim and the pole are gone, his record and legacy still stand.

Growing up in Clarksville in the 1950s and 60s was similar to the days of Leave it to Beaver and Andy of Mayberry. We had a hometown school where every family went, integrated in 1954, and it was only a block from our purple house. In the summer, we could sit on the boat docks, take a john boat to the sand bar in the middle of the Mississippi and water ski, swim or even camp overnight. At the end of town we could climb the stairs to U.S. Lock and Dam 24, where we had the best vantage point to watch the riverboats and barge traffic. We could also count the number of boxcars on the trains that came through every other hour or so. We even commemorated the last passenger train in the late ‘60s, when all of us teens rode to St. Louis and back on the “The Last Train to Clarksville.” The Monkee’s-type band played all the way there and back.

Growing up in this idyllic little town, I thought Clarksville was huge! My parents owned the only motel and restaurant in the town and my friends and I spent every summer swimming and lounging around the motel pool.  Today as then, the town is filled with artists, potters, glass blowers, jewelry designers, antique dealers, furniture makers and specialty craftsmen. And even today one can hear the trains at any time of the day or night, the steam whistles of the occasional paddle wheels like the Delta Queen.  Clarksville is also one of the largest winter migration areas for the Bald Eagle, and now, even pelicans have come up from the South and decided to stay.
With the historic Mark Twain lore of Hannibal just an hour north, the beautiful homes and estates of many famous Missourians, Clarksville offers its’ own unique place on an incomparable route for travel. Although passenger trains no longer go through the town, Scenic Highway 79 and the Mississippi River still do. I am so grateful that my ancestors took the road less traveled in pursuit of finding the good life. Perhaps the next time you travel north you too will take the road less traveled – to Clarksville.

Dr. Debra Peppers, a professional speaker for 25 years, is one of only five inducted into the National Teachers Hall of Fame, which followed her retirement from Lindbergh High School. A member of the National Speakers Association, she has traveled to all 50 states and 60 countries teaching others that if she can go from being a 250-pound high school dropout, to Teacher of the Year there is hope for every child and adult. Her web site is www.pepperseed.org