The Battle

Prologue:

Cedar Lake, located in Millersville, MO was built by my grandparents, Truman and Eula Statler, on their farm with assistance from the Missouri Department of Conservation in 1948. It was part of a state assisted flood control-watershed program.  Truman and Eula were “Pappy and Mammy” to us. Spring-fed and healthy, this lake of 40 acres became a popular day-trip for serious fishermen all around Cape Girardeau and Bollinger Counties. For a dollar, you could fish all day, or as the sign on the boathouse said, one dollar gave you “trespassing rights” for the day. The farm was also prosperous, with bottom land that lay along the Upper Whitewater Creek for feed corn, and gentle sloping hills ideal for cattle grazing. It was a great place to settle in and spend the day. In the lake’s heyday, my grandparents even seasonally ran a restaurant called “The Snack Shack” for their patrons.

Since this was located a mere 15 miles from our home in Cape Girardeau, we in the Johnson family were lucky enough to enjoy the lake and farm fairly often, to fish, or swim in the Upper Whitewater Creek at the deep pool bluff, a short walk from the boathouse, a spot known by all the locals as “the swimmin’ hole”. My personal memories include several times spending a week with my grandparents at the farm by myself;  helping Pappy feed the calves early in the morning, bouncing across the corn fields with him in his pickup truck, playing in the hayloft, helping with customers at the boathouse, and taking trips to Fredericktown to buy minnows for bait. Other perfect memories there: dumping peanuts in the bottles of Dr. Pepper–the perfect salty-sweet concoction for a summer afternoon treat, eating ice cold orange pushups from the boathouse deep freeze, a few snake encounters (mostly black snakes and king snakes) with assurances from Pappy that “they won’t bother you if you don’t bother them”. I remember having to hold my breath and wrinkle my nose while using the outhouse next to the lake. I learned to handle a rowboat there. Here at the lake, we were loved unconditionally; and perhaps for the first time we were trusted to be independent and safe. I still wonder at how hard my grandparents worked to keep that place up and running. Pappy dutifully bush-hogged and mowed and trimmed the grass around the lake and Mammy kept the boathouse fully supplied and kept the books, and they did everything in between, in addition to running the farm.

The Battle

One family day trip to the lake in the middle of summer stands out in my mind. I was about five or six, and we had made the trip over to Millersville in our powder blue Chrysler station wagon, with me in the center seat in the back. Realize that this was before air conditioning was common in cars. I must have griped the whole way there, and I was determined to call a window seat for the return trip.

At this time, we were a family of six, and I was the youngest of the four kids with an older brother, Larry and two older sisters, Lea and Beth. Wayne, Bryan and Tina came along later. Birth order theory, at that particular time, would have rightfully pegged me as “the mascot”. Mom and Dad spent much of their time as peacemakers, as was typical. They were the impartial mediators, judges and jury, and their laid-back demeanors belied the fact that they were no pushovers.

After spending the day at the lake, and as we gathered our stuff and headed for the car, I called a window seat. Larry quickly responded. “Sorry, Randy–Lea and I already called the window seats.”

“When did you call them? I didn’t hear you!”

“You weren’t here when we called it. Sorry, the window seats are already taken.” (I believe he audibly snickered at this point).

“That’s not fair! You can’t call it that far in advance!”

At this point, my Dad, with a playful bent and trying to help by easing the tension, interjected this statement, which started a dizzying chain of events: “Randy, you can sit anywhere you want…..as long as it’s not by a window”.

At first I fell for it. “I can?”. Then the reality set in. I remember being pissed at that point. Then without thinking it all the way through, I blurted out, “OK, then I’m riding on TOP OF THE CAR.” That caught Dad a little by surprise, but with a sly grin, he nodded and said OK. The battle of the wills was on.

As the ‘reality’ of a 15-mile ride down the highway back home to Cape on the top of the blue Chrysler started to register in my mind, I began thinking about practical things like: what was I going to hang onto, and how to breathe in the face of what would be a strong impact of the wind. I eyed the car suspiciously, and found a narrow band of metal, perfect for gripping near the front just above the windshield. Spread eagle on my stomach seemed to be my best bet. I also thought that the best way to breathe in the face of the strong wind was to turn my head away toward my shoulder. This also would keep me from inadvertently inhaling any bugs. OK, I think I have this figured out. I’m ready, let’s go!

I began to get chided by my siblings about my decision, but I explained that I was doing this with Dad’s blessing, thankyouverymuch. I don’t specifically remember this, but in retrospect I’m sure I got the wide-eyed incredulous looks from everyone, as in “What is wrong with this boy?”

As the rest of the family loaded in the car, I climbed up on top, lay down on my stomach, dug my fingertips into the strip of metal, turned my head and closed my eyes. Wow, this is really happening, I thought.

Dad slowly backed out, slowly turned and pointed the hood of the car down the gravel road. Then, it was he who blinked first. Suddenly, his door cracked open, and he yelled “GET IN THE CAR!!”. He sounded a little peeved. What? I obediently, although dejectedly, scampered inside—grumpy and back where all of this started, in the middle seat–unaware at the time that I had actually won this battle of wills with Dad.

Another visit to the lake in an earlier time. Top row: Pappy, Mammy, Randy, Mom. Bottom row: Lea, Beth and Larry.

Epilogue:

One other vivid memory of Cedar Lake was my 11th birthday, which we celebrated out at the lake. On or about May 3, 1965, we hosted a few of my fifth-grade friends and classmates for a day of fun at the lake. We had a great time, and even managed to play a ragged game of baseball in the meadow below the dam. We didn’t have bases, so we used dry cow patties instead. Others fished and explored the lake in rowboats. Then this happened: Pappy and Mammy were at the end of the dock cleaning fish. We had all gathered around, ostensibly to view the carnage of fish guts. When this task was completed, Pappy pushed the remaining fish body parts into the lake, off the end of the dock. We then ran off to do whatever was next. Unbeknownst to us, my little brother Wayne stayed behind to peer over the edge to get another look at the fish guts, and fell in. The water was deep at this end of the lake, and Wayne was not yet a swimmer. My best friend Jimmy Limbaugh, for reasons no one knows, maybe with the help of some divine intervention, went back, jumped in and fished Wayne out. He saved my brother’s life, plain and simple. Believe in angels? I do, and this one changed all of our lives, and made this day a pleasant memory.

My birthday haul included an awesome transistor radio, a new bat and a sleeping bag.

Left to right, Mike Uhls, Mike Roth, me, my sister Beth, Greg Best, Narvol Randol, Jim Limbaugh, and Rob Shoss.  Older brother Larry in the back, and younger brothers Bryan and Wayne in the front.

Pappy and Mammy sold the lake in the late 1960’s, when the upkeep became too much for them. We all lamented the decision, but we also knew it was for the best. Subsequent owners of the farm have kept Cedar Lake as a private lake. It is still beautiful, but its look has changed immensely while nature, trees, and long grasses have slowly taken over. Even the once prominent cedar tree groves are obscured. The “no trespassing” sign is to be taken seriously as I found out one day a few years ago, while taking pictures. I now know to ask permission at the main house. ‘Pappy’s grandson’ still has some status.