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by Anna Doris Whelan Shanks
A 'Happening' before happenings were cool! That was the Flaherty Picnic. From Kansas and from Illinois, my parents made the annual trek "home" for the event. Having her offspring look their best was very important to Mom, so she always made each of us a new outfit, a 'Picnic Dress,' to wear on that day. I remember my favorite, a pale green ruffled creation with little pink bows scattered all over.
What was the Flaherty Picnic?
The Flaherty Picnic was practically an institution. It was an annual affair and was looked forward to by young and old alike. (The first documentation for a picnic at Flaherty was in the Diocesan newspaper, The Record, dateline of June 25, 1892, in which it was reported from Meade County that "the members of St. Martin's Congregation are preparing for a grand picnic to be held on the church grounds, July 2. The earnestness shown by each and every family in this work is sufficient to justify the prediction that this will be a first class picnic in every particular. The proceeds will be used towards the building of a new church. The object is undoubtedly a worthy one, and a large concourse of people will certainly attend. The pastor expects to meet all his old friends from St. John's and St. Ambrose's on that day." (excerpted from copies of old clippings sent to the historical committee by Father John Lyons) Former parishioners,friends and relatives came from all the surrounding counties and those from far away timed their vacations to Kentucky to coincide with the date of the picnic, the last Saturday of July. There was no other way they could see as many people as to visit the picnic. The dinners were legendary. The men of the parish started cooking beef and mutton the day before. The lady of the house brought 4 fried chickens, ? gallon each of green beans, corn, cole slaw and strong sweetened tea along with two pies, and one cake and all the ripe tomatoes they could spare. Each lady was also expected to furnish at least one embroidered, crocheted or knitted item to be raffled in the linen booth. As more of the men left the farm to take public jobs and more of the ladies entered the work force they found that they neither had the time nor the energy to plan and execute the picnic. Instead it was agreed that the amount of the Sunday donations and special donations would be increased enough to bring in the amount to either equal or surpass the income from the picnic. The last annual picnic was held in 1961.
Daddy was one who planned his vacation to coincide with the Picnic date, the last Saturday in July. Off we would go to Kentucky after weeks of preparations. I don't remember my first picnic in 1937. I was four months old. Frances and Irvin Whelan made the hard two-day trip from Halstead, Kansas -- primarily to show me off, I'm sure. Daddy did totally enjoy getting together with his brothers and cousins. Mom and her cousins had a corner of the picnic grounds they considered theirs. They staked it out with quilts and pillows for relaxing and children's naps while they caught up on each others lives, and kept a sharp eye on kids. Mary Alice Shacklette, Emily J Ritchie, Mattie Lee Campbell and their youngest sister, Jane, were the people Frances Roberts Whelan most looked forward to seeing on those hot Saturdays in July.
I was about 10 years old the year I wore the pale green dress with the little pink bows. Daddy had a 1939 Chevrolet sedan, and the trip between Flora, IL and Flaherty took between five and six hours over old Route 50 through Indiana. That might not have been so tedious if four little girls hadn't been crammed in the back seat with our feet propped up on a trunk jammed between our seat and the front seats. Since this would be Irvin and Frances' only opportunity to visit "home," they would stay several days, and they packed accordingly. The car trunk, along with every nook and cranny, was stuffed with pillows, quilts and whatever paraphernalia might be needed for kids to wear and to sleep on the floor. Frances would also pack food for a picnic during the trip, as well as her dutiful contributions to meals at Grandma and Granddaddy Whelan's house.
We did have the Burma Shave signs to read and to laugh at the jokes? We spotted for out-of-Illinois license plates and we played while we anxiously awaited the lunch stop at picnic tables provided by the state of Indiana. Those early-day rest stops are best described as primitive, complete with an outhouse. Since we were 'very modern' with indoor plumbing, using an outhouse was an exciting, if smelly, experience. Mom carried a pottie for in-between relief, but memory of its use in the crowded car doesn't warrant description. Daddy wasn't real eager to stop at few and far-between facilities.
Three rest stop locations occurred as we crossed the state. Our favorite featured a picturesque little creek burbling through the woods. About half way through the road trip, it was a welcome opportunity to stretch our legs -- and do some running around. We would have stayed there forever to avoid getting back in the car. But we finally did, and we continued on our way.
Finally, we arrived at the Whelan 'home place.' Looking back, I marvel at Grandma Whelan's patience and endurance. Aunt Mary Lottie lived nearby, but all four of her sons and Aunt Bernadine came home for the picnic, along with all of the grandchildren. It was a madhouse. Everyone helped, but with all the chores she needed to do, meals to set, along with preparing her contribution to the Picnic event, a lesser woman might very well have felt overwhelmed. However, Grandma never seemed, to me, to be put upon in any way. I loved the house with it three separate upstairs chambers. There was the girl's upstairs, with a fireplace, where Aunt Bernie and Aunt Mary Lottie had slept in a double bed. The boy's upstairs was strangely smaller than the girl's room, with no fireplace. Four boys slept in the room. One double bed was there when we visited. I always wondered, but never asked, if all four boys slept in one bed. I still do wonder. Stories about evil tricks Uncle Pat pulled on his younger brothers were legend. He was evidently very proud of his flatulence.
Whelans assemble for the 1937 Flaherty Picnic
From left back: Lorene (Raymond), Frances (Irvin), Bernie, Wilson, Mary
Lottie and Crit, Sallie (Pat) Front: Raymond and Joe, Irvin and Anna Doris,
Pat and Patty Ann
And there was my favorite place, the kitchen upstairs. When I was very good, Grandma would let me go up there by myself and investigate. There were old magazines and catalogs along side the cradle Granddaddy built before Uncle Pat was born. Onions and other produce hung drying from the rafters where Granddaddy also dried his tobacco twists. Shelves of home-canned vegetables lined the walls. The smells, as well as the many treasures to explore, were wondrous. I loved my time in the kitchen upstairs.
Downstairs, meals were being made on a cast iron wood stove. Grandma had a state-of-the-art model with warming compartments above the heating surface and a large, water heating reservoir. All cooking, and baking, was done on this behemoth of yesteryear. Without benefit of today's indispensable thermostat, cakes and pies, somehow, came out of the oven perfectly baked confections. Women were miracle-workers in those days. They still are, but now it's quicker and less precarious.
Grandma and Granddaddy had an outhouse complete with an old Sears Roebuck catalog. Water came from a pump at the kitchen sink at this time. There was a big, round stone well with a pulley for letting a bucket down. The well was covered and not in use, but Granddaddy would remove the cover and let us lower and raise the bucket. Later running water and a bathroom would be installed, but for now -- What a thrill!
Finally Flaherty Picnic day arrived! Contents of the hot water reservoir were the subject of many terse discussions between the four sisters-in-law intent on scrubbing their respective children sparkling clean.
We got up very early. Mom was determined to put our best foots forward, no matter the cost. With four sisters-in-law jockeying for position -- and hot water -- it must have been a zoo, and a trial for Grandma who was getting her fried chicken, vegetables, pies and cakes ready to take for fund raising enterprises at the picnic. In due time we would all be scrubbed, curled, beautified and slicked up enough to make an appearance before relatives at the picnic.
The cleanliness Mom achieved lasted long enough for us to make an impressive show for relatives Mom deemed important. However, the July Saturdays were always hot. The picnic grounds was carpeted mostly with dirt being pounded into a fine dust by the multitude of feet traipsing across the confines. With Mom firmly ensconced with her cousins and Daddy off reconnecting with his family, we kids bounded about like wild things. Cousins we saw only once a year were soon reinstated bosom buddies, and we ranged throughout the area, sweating, pummeling, racing and generally carousing through the crowd. What had looked like precious little angels when we arrived soon deteriorated into disreputable ragamuffins sporting runnels of sweat-streaked dirt. But we had fun!
One of my special memories involves searching out Grandma to see how she was occupying herself. She was in the kitchen ladling out food. She invited me in to join her for the first mutton sandwich I had ever eaten. Oddly enough, that is the only food I still remember from the Flaherty Picnic.
Trips to Kentucky would have lost the mighty spirit of anticipation without the Picnic. If not for the Picnic, who knows how differently my life would have turned out. 1956 was the last time I attended the Picnic. Daddy was going and he wanted to take his six-year-old son. Mom didn't want to take their five-year-old daughter, so she elected to stay at home. I was commandeered to keep an eye on Tom in case Daddy got too involved with his brothers and cousins. I even remember what I wore. I had discovered halter dresses which Mom considered immodest. So I made my own turquoise halter dress. I pictured myself being totally sophisticated as I wandered around by myself. It appeared that my cousins had put other activities on their priority list and I was feeling utterly deserted when I was flagged down by Mom's cousin, Emily J Ritchie. She told me that one of those cousins, Eddie Ritchie, had enlisted in the United States Marines. She went on to say how homesick he was and how much he wanted mail. Would I write to him? Sure, I said and she wrote his address on a slip of paper. I meandered about the rest of the day, keeping Tom in sight, much to his consternation.
We returned home, and I wrote Eddie Ritchie a letter. I emphasized my lack of a boyfriend and speculated on the availability of a nice, tall Marine. Two of my mother's brothers had served in the Marines, so I figured all Marines were pretty good guys. As luck would have it, Eddie played basketball on the base team at Camp Lejeune, NC, and he gave my address to one of his team members, kind of a goofy guy named Jesse W. Shanks. My life acquired a whole new dimension.
Jess has heard the story time and again, and one year said, "Let's go!" So I called St. Martin's in Flaherty to verify the date. That's when I learned this iconic memory from my childhood was
Gone, gone, gone
Everyone that you meet baby
As you walk down the street baby
Will ask why you're standin' all alone
Why you're on our own
Just say it's gone
Gone, gone, gone
Gone, ga-gone, while memory stays strong
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