Hi, Diary.
It's Gordon Bartholomew Hoffman again. Naturally. I think I told you already, but if I didn't, I'm in the sixth grade at the new Howe School, a light-colored all-brick one-shtory building that has scads of windows. It's located on Eighth Street North in the same place where the old Howe School stood. The old building was three-stories tall and a slide was built on the third story and hooked up to the second floor. It was for kids to slide down if there was a fire. Dad said, "The school was a dump and cost the city’s taxpayers too much money for upkeep." That's why the old building was torn down three years ago. The new Howe School was built on the same land where the old school stood.
That’s why during the past two years, I attended fourth and fifth grade classes at Howe School Annex on the bottom of Baker Street hill. Next door to the annex—up the hill a bit—is the red brick Wood County Jail. Sheriff Becker runs the place. His wife does all the cooking for prisoners. Each morning and afternoon, when we Annex school kids walked by the jail, prisoners yelled at us through second story barred windows, "Hey, kid, bring some of your old man's ciggie butts and toss 'em up here." Not one student ever threw cigarettes up to them as far as I know. But that didn't stop those bad guys from yelling at us all the time.
Howe School Annex used to be our city's public library, but a new library was relocated on Third Street in a huge mansion that some rich people donated to the city. Third Street has many old mansions where our richest citizens live. Those huge homes were mainly built in the nineteenth century by people in the logging and paper industries.
According to Dad, a lot of changes are taking place because Wisconsin Rapids and other cities in the United States are suffering from "growing pains." When the Second World War ended six years ago, men who used to live on farms and who served in the armed forces are moving to cities like ours because there's plenty of work for them along with good pay.
Of course, because you're a diary, you couldn't have known that a long, long time ago, before European pioneers settled this area in the early 1800's, Winnebago Indians camped here by fast-moving water. The Indians named the place, "Ahdawagam," which means "Two-sided Rapids." Doc III’s high school yearbook is called Ahdawagam.
According to Miss Saturday Morning, the elegant public librarian who's so helpful in answering my questions and offering me books meant for high school students, our city has a forty-five foot drop in land. That drop, she said, caused water in the creek to quickly run downhill. And because there were plenty of rocks on the creek's bottom, they created cascades, or rapids.
Chief Evergreen Tree, the local Winnebago Indian Chief who received a silver star for bravery in World War II, told Miss Saturday Morning the rapids in this area a long time ago were divided in two by a gigantic boulder. Indians, she told me, don't write down their history in books as we do. Instead, their history is passed from one generation to the next, and if it's not passed, it's lost. That's why Indian elders are so important to the tribe. Chief Evergreen Tree said after European settlers moved here, they built dams to tame the creek's rapid flow of water. Building dams not only stopped homes and barns from floating away or people's basements being flooded during spring thaws, the Chief Evergreen Tree said paper mill owners built dams mainly to make hydroelectric power for the mills. The force of flowing water through the dams spun massive blades of gigantic turbines. The mills sold their extra electric power to businesses and homes along the river. We get our electricity a lot cheaper than anywhere else in the country.
"Hydro" means water. "Hydra doesn't," said Dad when I asked about his Oldsmobile with a Hydramatic transmission.
Miss Levernce, our fifth-grade teacher, said the Wisconsin River is called the "Busiest River in the World." Seven paper mills that use the river for electric power are in Wausau, Mosinee, Whiting, Biron, Wisconsin Rapids, Port Edwards, and Nekoosa. That's why the rapids were changed forever into our slow flowing and deep, stinky Wisconsin River that hides that huge stone that split the rapids of long ago into two separate violent streams.
Also, since every river has two sides, each side of our river had a town with a different name. Our side was Grand Rapids. People on the other side called their town Centralia. I like that word. It sounds peaceful and poetic. In 1900, citizens of both towns voted to become one city. They chose Grand Rapids, Wisconsin, as their city's name, and not Centralia, Wisconsin, probably because there were more voters living on our side. Plus, most of the rich people built their mansions on Third Street, not Third Avenue. Streets are on our side while avenues are on the other side.
Years later, in 1920, citizens voted to change their city’s name from Grand Rapids to Wisconsin Rapids because postal workers all over the country mixed up our mail with mail of people living in Grand Rapids, Michigan. Citizens from both cities were upset but since Grand Rapids, Michigan, was named first and was much larger, it was decided we had to change our name. With our city's name Wisconsin Rapids, postal employees knew exactly where to send the mail. And get this, Diary: We live on Wisconsin Street. Our address is 1041 Wisconsin Street, Wisconsin Rapids, Wisconsin. Our mail would never ever be sent to Michigan, now would it? Unless a postal employee couldn't read.
It's Gordon Bartholomew Hoffman again. Naturally. I think I told you already, but if I didn't, I'm in the sixth grade at the new Howe School, a light-colored all-brick one-shtory building that has scads of windows. It's located on Eighth Street North in the same place where the old Howe School stood. The old building was three-stories tall and a slide was built on the third story and hooked up to the second floor. It was for kids to slide down if there was a fire. Dad said, "The school was a dump and cost the city’s taxpayers too much money for upkeep." That's why the old building was torn down three years ago. The new Howe School was built on the same land where the old school stood.
That’s why during the past two years, I attended fourth and fifth grade classes at Howe School Annex on the bottom of Baker Street hill. Next door to the annex—up the hill a bit—is the red brick Wood County Jail. Sheriff Becker runs the place. His wife does all the cooking for prisoners. Each morning and afternoon, when we Annex school kids walked by the jail, prisoners yelled at us through second story barred windows, "Hey, kid, bring some of your old man's ciggie butts and toss 'em up here." Not one student ever threw cigarettes up to them as far as I know. But that didn't stop those bad guys from yelling at us all the time.
Howe School Annex used to be our city's public library, but a new library was relocated on Third Street in a huge mansion that some rich people donated to the city. Third Street has many old mansions where our richest citizens live. Those huge homes were mainly built in the nineteenth century by people in the logging and paper industries.
According to Dad, a lot of changes are taking place because Wisconsin Rapids and other cities in the United States are suffering from "growing pains." When the Second World War ended six years ago, men who used to live on farms and who served in the armed forces are moving to cities like ours because there's plenty of work for them along with good pay.
Of course, because you're a diary, you couldn't have known that a long, long time ago, before European pioneers settled this area in the early 1800's, Winnebago Indians camped here by fast-moving water. The Indians named the place, "Ahdawagam," which means "Two-sided Rapids." Doc III’s high school yearbook is called Ahdawagam.
According to Miss Saturday Morning, the elegant public librarian who's so helpful in answering my questions and offering me books meant for high school students, our city has a forty-five foot drop in land. That drop, she said, caused water in the creek to quickly run downhill. And because there were plenty of rocks on the creek's bottom, they created cascades, or rapids.
Chief Evergreen Tree, the local Winnebago Indian Chief who received a silver star for bravery in World War II, told Miss Saturday Morning the rapids in this area a long time ago were divided in two by a gigantic boulder. Indians, she told me, don't write down their history in books as we do. Instead, their history is passed from one generation to the next, and if it's not passed, it's lost. That's why Indian elders are so important to the tribe. Chief Evergreen Tree said after European settlers moved here, they built dams to tame the creek's rapid flow of water. Building dams not only stopped homes and barns from floating away or people's basements being flooded during spring thaws, the Chief Evergreen Tree said paper mill owners built dams mainly to make hydroelectric power for the mills. The force of flowing water through the dams spun massive blades of gigantic turbines. The mills sold their extra electric power to businesses and homes along the river. We get our electricity a lot cheaper than anywhere else in the country.
"Hydro" means water. "Hydra doesn't," said Dad when I asked about his Oldsmobile with a Hydramatic transmission.
Miss Levernce, our fifth-grade teacher, said the Wisconsin River is called the "Busiest River in the World." Seven paper mills that use the river for electric power are in Wausau, Mosinee, Whiting, Biron, Wisconsin Rapids, Port Edwards, and Nekoosa. That's why the rapids were changed forever into our slow flowing and deep, stinky Wisconsin River that hides that huge stone that split the rapids of long ago into two separate violent streams.
Also, since every river has two sides, each side of our river had a town with a different name. Our side was Grand Rapids. People on the other side called their town Centralia. I like that word. It sounds peaceful and poetic. In 1900, citizens of both towns voted to become one city. They chose Grand Rapids, Wisconsin, as their city's name, and not Centralia, Wisconsin, probably because there were more voters living on our side. Plus, most of the rich people built their mansions on Third Street, not Third Avenue. Streets are on our side while avenues are on the other side.
Years later, in 1920, citizens voted to change their city’s name from Grand Rapids to Wisconsin Rapids because postal workers all over the country mixed up our mail with mail of people living in Grand Rapids, Michigan. Citizens from both cities were upset but since Grand Rapids, Michigan, was named first and was much larger, it was decided we had to change our name. With our city's name Wisconsin Rapids, postal employees knew exactly where to send the mail. And get this, Diary: We live on Wisconsin Street. Our address is 1041 Wisconsin Street, Wisconsin Rapids, Wisconsin. Our mail would never ever be sent to Michigan, now would it? Unless a postal employee couldn't read.