N is for Nebo

The irony of Nebo, Illinois, is that while I lived there, I could not wait to leave it.  Now I think about those days, get a wallop of nostalgia, and wish I knew more about the place left behind.

It began as a true log cabin town, growing with each new settler with names of Shaw, Ross, Franklin, and many more.  With each new family the settlement became a township.

When I returned for visits over the years, the town had shrunk just a little bit more and the people I knew had died. Their children left (just as I had), and then there were empty vandalized houses, and people I don’t know.

Basically a ghost town compared to its former self.

Here are photos of the then and now:

Hebo High School, 1920?

Baptist Church, which still looks like this.

C.R. Rodgers' Trans Continental trip for
to promote Vin Fizz soda

Peck house on Pearl-Nebo road

Painted by in-mate at nearby prison

Nebo High School Gym--all that remains
of the High School

Country School Students

Another Nebo, in Wales, 1984

Mt. Nebo, where Moses is buried

N is for Nebo. 

145 words, or thereabouts.

Hometowns Have Long Memories

Source: Point Pleasant, West Virginia

It was nearly three a.m. when Donna drove along the Main Street in her hometown, Grandview.  How many years had it been? She asked herself. 

Donna had been a clerk in the local drugstore, working with kindly Mr. Jameson.  Those days had been so simple, so happy.

That was when the “incident” occurred.  Ol’ Miz Grandview, the founder of the city, had staggered into the store, in obvious distress.  “I’ve been drugged, drugged, I tell you.”  Then she collapsed on the floor.

From her dead hand rolled the prescription, filled by Mr. Jameson himself.  “This is not the prescription I gave her!”  Sweat beaded on his forehead, as he remembered what he had been doing that day.

Mr. Jameson had been in the storage room that day, hidden in a scandalous  and passionate embrace with Mrs. Calhoun.  No one knew, and now what?

“SHE did it!” He pointed at Donna .  “SHE replaced the pills!”

The trial was quick and the jury could not agree to a verdict.  Donna left town, nearly forty years ago.  Mrs. Jameson finally confessed to the crime which sent her to die in the electrocution chair, frying as her husband sobbed.

What am I doing here?” Donna wondered.  She honestly did not know.

Many thanks to Delores @Under the Porch Light!  Every Wednesday, Delores puts up some very challenging words for readers to use in creating prose, poetry, whatever.  Please check her site!!