Hatch Hall: True Mokena Landmark

  A new dawn in the business life of Mokena has been announced with the coming arrival of Zap Tacos, which will set up shop for hungry customers at 19711 Mokena Street. This address has been home to many local concerns over the years, most recently the well-known insurance agency of the late Cadet Cottingham. Turning back the pages of time, we find that there’s no small amount of history attached to this old landmark, and when a new chapter starts, it’s best to look at the beginning of the book. 

   In order to really understand this place, one first has to know the man whose name will forever be connected to this property, and whose life is more tied to it than anyone else’s in the record of years. John Alexander Hatch was born February 27^th, 1842 in what would later be Frankfort Township to rugged pioneer parents of English and Scottish birth. His earliest years were lived in the prairie wilderness, a world where neither Frankfort nor Mokena existed yet. 

 

   After spending his formative years here, as a young man John Hatch made his way to Tinley Park, then still known as New Bremen, where he found work with the Rock Island railroad. With the outbreak of the Civil War in 1861, he rallied to the flag and joined the 72^nd Illinois Volunteer Infantry at Chicago’s Camp Douglas in August 1862. Private Hatch became a veteran of the storied Vicksburg campaign, among other clashes, and at one point even saw duty on the home front as a recruiter. Just after the start of the war’s last year, he was transferred to the 47^th United States Colored Infantry, a unit made up of former slaves. In this new regiment Hatch was awarded the rank of Lieutenant, no small testimony to his skill at soldiering. 

 

   While John Hatch came out of the war’s veritable storm of shot and shell physically unscathed, he suffered a unique injury during his service that stayed with him for the rest of his days. While with the Colored Infantry in the gulf states, the region’s blinding sun caused irreversible damage to his vision. 

                       John A. Hatch circa 1914, Civil War veteran and Mokena businessman.

                               

   Home from the battlefield, he married local belle Nancy McGovney in Mokena on May 10^th, 1866. This union was ultimately blessed with nine children, all of which but one survived to adulthood. The first years of John and Nancy Hatch’s marriage held many travels for them. Soon after they tied the knot, the Hatches moved to the neighborhood of New Bremen, where John tried his hand at farming for three years. This was followed by a brief residence in Chicago, whereupon they went back to New Bremen for a spell. In 1869, the young family moved to Missouri with John’s parents, and finally came back to Mokena for good in 1876 after an absence of seven years. 

   

    With the re-planting of their roots in our neck of the woods, Hatch took a job at the general store of McGovney & Son, kept by his father and brother-in-law. Upon Mokena’s incorporation in 1880, he was elected clerk of the newly minted village, and thus, as the first to ever hold this position, the earliest written records of administrative doings in town are in his hand. John Hatch was the wearer of many hats in our community over the years, including postmaster, justice of the peace, and school director. 

 

   Bit by bit, Mr. Hatch became more established in the commercial affairs of Mokena, eventually branching out into the grain business, becoming the builder and proprietor of the town’s new grain elevator in 1884. After toiling at the general store for a while, he was at last able to buy the concern from his father-in-law along with the stock of goods. By the 1890s, John Hatch was maintaining his own general store on Front Street. 

 

   At some point towards the end of the 19^th century, he further diversified his business portfolio and filled a long-wanted need in town by managing a hall for social gatherings such as dances, balls and meetings in the village. It has long since disappeared in the pages of posterity when exactly this began, if he had any partners in this venture, or even where exactly in town the hall stood. What is known, is that for some reason, John Hatch decided to have the building jacked up, hitched to teams of horses, and moved to a new location in winter 1901. Hatch Hall, as it was known around town, was set down south of the Rock Island tracks along Mokena Street, close to the grain elevator. 

                                        Hatch Hall as it appears today at 19711 Mokena Street.

 

   A new life was on the horizon for the place. As soon as the dust settled after the move, Hatch moved his general store into the former hall. By the end of October 1901, new shelving was built and various tables moved into place to complete the building’s transformation. Part of the store was used as Hatch’s grain office, with their scales being installed as the store was coming together. It was the ultimate convenience for John Hatch, as all of his businesses were now under one roof. It what was deemed “improvement fever” by one Mokenian, cutting edge gas-powered lights were installed too, two in the store and one outside. It was miraculously said that the business was as light as day inside, and one resident, prone to exaggeration at comic levels, said the glow of the one outside could be seen two miles outside town. Riding the wave of modernity, a Gramophone was also set up in the store, and for a span of a week, concerts were held each night, which adoring Mokenians ate up. 

 

   At the dawn of the 20^th century, John Hatch was one of Mokena’s most prominent businessmen, keeping not only the store, but also still selling grain, along with feed, coal, tile and everything in between. That Hatch was one of the most liked and well-respected men in the village would not need repeating in his day. After throwing a “dancing party” in the hall for the community’s youth in January 1900, Mokena’s youngsters “voted Mr. Hatch to be the best man in town.” After another dance about a week later, a local news correspondent noted that he “still cherished a place in his heart for the gayeties of young people.” The old veteran was later known to dole out large lumps of maple sugar to youngsters visiting the store. Years later, it would be warmly reflected that “he was a kind-hearted man who always went out of his way to do a favor to anybody. He was beloved by all who knew him. He always was of a cheerful disposition and made and retained friends readily.” 

 

   The book closed on John Hatch’s long life on July 17^th, 1920, when his passing was rued on the front page of the News-Bulletin, our community’s erstwhile newspaper. Within months, Hatch’s youngest son Alfred re-converted the building into its second iteration as a hall. The store was deconstructed, the interior completely remodeled, and the floor even freshly polished. On November 20^th, 1920, the opening dance was held with a handsome turnout, 77 tickets having been sold. In this era, silent movies were also screened at Hatch Hall, which were noted to be just as “good as can be seen in city theaters”. They were aided by musical accompaniment on a Bauer piano that Alfred Hatch had installed. 

 

   In January 1924, the old place was made over into the headquarters of the Hall Medicine Company, named not after the building, but rather its proprietor, the illustrious Don Carlos Hall. He, his wife Clara, and their children Don Carlos Jr, Walter, and Inez Hall moved into the place and also made it their home. They were newcomers in town, and rarely on the pages of Mokena’s history has there appeared a more unique couple than Mr. and Mrs. Hall. A salesman of patent medicine, former member of the Wisconsin state legislature, as well as a Shakespearian actor, Hall was affectionately called “Colonel” by those who knew him. The Halls were also known for their prowess at traveling by thumb, having crisscrossed the country hitchhiking. Favoring western attire and sporting long whiskers and flowing white locks, Colonel Hall had one of Mokena’s most unforgettable visages. When Chicago was in the world’s spotlight for the 1933 Century of Progress, Colonel and Clara Hall were naturally a part of it, running the “Days of ‘49” mining camp on the fairgrounds, hearkening back to the days of the California Gold Rush. The Colonel served as the settlement’s mayor, while Clara was the camp mother.

                                    Colonel Don C. and Clara Hall, circa 1940.

   By 1930, the Halls had packed up their household and relocated elsewhere within Mokena, and during the Great Depression and World War II years, the building served yet again as a public hall, hosting among other organizations, the William Martin Post of the VFW. In April 1953, Halley and David W. Noble, residents of Chicago and photo finishers by trade, took possession of Hatch Hall. They opened Noble’s Variety Store here, which sold a little bit of everything. They also brought the old place into the post-war era, thoroughly modernizing it with indoor plumbing, fluorescent lights, and even a coral rose color scheme to the interior. Like the Halls previous to them, the Nobles made their home in the building. 

 

   If the walls of Hatch Hall could talk, they’d tell of moments of whimsy; dances and masquerade balls, the business of fraternal meetings, and the coming and going of customers over the span of time. They’d reveal the personalities of some of the most interesting and unique people in our community’s history. In the frenetic pace of today’s world, it’s easy to get lost in the here and now. Upon pausing and reflecting, it’s just as easy to lose oneself in the history of this important, hallowed Mokena landmark. 

Unsung Hero: The Story of John Van Horn

 If you’re an old reader of mine, you’ll know that not only do I take a personal interest in the history of Mokena, but that I also have a special place in my heart for the unique personages of our town. My mind revels in the stories of those from our community who have set themselves apart from the rest, and especially those who have marched to the beat of their own drummer. Figures like these enhance life in our community. On this note, it is this writer’s pleasure to introduce John Van Horn, a well-known figure in the annals of Mokena’s past, and a man with a poignant story.  

   He first saw the light of day on September 16^th, 1825, at a place called Fundy in central New York. John could count among his cousins William Cornelius Van Horne, who, aside from spelling his surname slightly different than our Van Horn, would go on to be honorarily knighted by Queen Victoria for his services in building Canada’s first coast-to-coast railroad. The early history of Frankfort Township cannot be writ without this family, as patriarch Mathew Van Horn broke the virgin soil here as early as 1832, counting the John McGovney clan of Ohio as some of his very few neighbors. 

 

   History has long since erased how exactly young John Van Horn fit into this larger family, but he arrived in our neighborhood around 1836 as an eleven-year-old, and was later noted to have lived in a rustic pioneer’s log cabin with his parents close to where Frankfort would later sprout up.  He spent his youth on the untamed prairie, and as one who knew him would later state, “devoted his time and energies to agricultural pursuits.”

 

   By 1860, John was living with his mother and stepfather near Mokena, which at the time was a young hamlet along the Rock Island railroad. Not long thereafter, he struck out on his own and found work as a farmhand not far from Manteno in northern Kankakee County. Like countless others of his generation, John Van Horn found himself in the center of the storm in the vicious debate over slavery, and four months after the Civil War finally broke out in April 1861, he volunteered for service in Abraham Lincoln’s army. At a time when the average Northern soldier was about 25, 36-year-old John generously rounded down his age by 11 years upon enlistment. Shouldering a rifled musket with the 88^th Illinois Infantry, he first heard the whine of shot and shell at the Battle of Perryville, Kentucky in the fall of 1862. Less than a month later, however, his military service came to an abrupt end, when he was sent home on account of a long-forgotten disability.

 

The Civil War Battle of Perryville, Kentucky, where Mokenian John Van Horn first saw combat in the fall of 1862.

   After shedding his blue uniform, he spent time in his Illinois home, but before long the ex-soldier made up his mind to head back to New York, the place of his birth, to look up his brother Yates. Despite his first stint in the Union army having ended prematurely, John’s desire to quash the traitorous uprising of the slave holders knew no bounds, and he re-joined the army in April 1864, this time falling in with troops from the Empire State in the 115^th New York Volunteer Infantry. Once again, John Van Horn saw hard fighting, this time in the tangled underbrush of the Wilderness, the bloodbath at Cold Harbor, and the brutal siege of Petersburg, all in the state of Virginia. A contemporary would later say that Van Horn “didn’t know what fear was.”

 

   Years later, it would be said that he was wounded in action, although under scrutiny, no documentation of this can be found. Private Van Horn did however suffer an injury during the war that plagued him for life. As he would later put it, lugging backbreaking crates of hardtack in Virginia gave him a hernia that would eventually grow to the size of a goose egg, requiring him to wear a truss in later years. His service to the Union complete, John Van Horn was discharged from the army in June 1865, this time for good. 

 

   After the war, he stayed in New York for a spell and found work in the lumber camps of the Great North Woods. In the fall of 1865, John tied the knot with Nancy Miller, who was eight years his junior, in Herkimer County. All roads led back to Illinois, and in 1871, the year of the Chicago Fire, the Van Horns came back to Mokena, where they made their home for the rest of their days. The historical record doesn’t indicate that John had any kind of steady profession after the Civil War, but he was known to work in town as a laborer, and also came to be partially supported by a meager veteran’s pension from the federal government. Opportunities for John and Nancy Van Horn may have been limited in their day, as neither one could read or write.

 

   The Van Horns settled into a domicile on Cross Street, that was described as being a “quaint cottage”, a one-story structure “roofed with heavy sheet iron.” John proudly referred to it as his “shanty”, behind which was a little vegetable patch that would matter-of-factly be referred to as the best kept garden in Mokena. “There is not a weed to be seen along the well-cultivated rows of sweet corn, and blossoming potatoes, and carefully-staked peas”, said one who saw it firsthand.

 

  As they got older, Nancy became more or less crippled with rheumatism. As such, John did all the duties of the household for his “Mother”, as he affectionately called Nancy. The old soldier was a doting husband, seeing to his wife’s every need in her disability, doing all the cooking, baking, and dish washing. He was known to even personally cut and feed dinner to Nancy, such was her ailment that even holding a knife or fork was too difficult. One who gained access to the domestic life of the Van Horns noted that dessert usually was cool beer, and being the rugged folk they were, that was usually washed down with a “swig of Bourbon or sour mash.”

 

   One long-time Mokenian remembered years later that “Johnny Van Horn liked his liquid refreshments, especially when free.” In Van Horn’s day, Front Street saloon keepers dispensed their wares out of big wooden barrels, and when done with the barrels, would leave them in front of their establishments. The veteran would make his rounds of our town’s main street, starting at one end, and working his way down, emptying the last drops out of every keg he encountered. The resident recalled that by the time he was finished with his last barrel, the veteran “was ready for a nap.”

 

   The same Mokenian recalled a time when, in the middle of winter, one of his townsmen said something to Van Horn that didn’t sit right with him. In response, he ambled into the barroom where the naysayer sat with some other men, all gathered around a small stove fighting off the day’s chill. John was wearing thick mittens that day, and showing that he had the last word, he picked up the hot stove and walked out the door with it. Ultimately, “everyone laughed, including Johnny” and there were no hard feelings. 

 

  John Van Horn ran afoul of the village’s laws at least once, in another event that was probably fueled by alcohol. On September 6^th, 1884, he was hauled in for using “loud and boisterous language, and disturbing the peace” when it appears that he had gotten mixed into a fracas involving two other men. The incident won him a fine of three dollars, or about eighty-five dollars in today’s money.

 

   The pain of this alcohol use hung over John Van Horn like a specter; it reached its apex at the turn of the twentieth century, when a meddling neighbor of his tipped the scales for the 75-year-old. The neighbor in question was fellow Cross Street resident Horace E. Clark, a piano tuner who had married into the McGovney family. History hasn’t left us modern day townfolk too many details in regard to what exactly rankled Clark’s delicate sensibilities, but he was known to spy on the Van Horns through a hole in the fence that separated their houses, and whatever he saw, scandalized him. Descriptions would be rife of “sprees” and accusations hurled that the Van Horns “get drunk and disport themselves in a shameful manner.”

On the right, a modern day view of the former home of Horace Clark on the northwest corner of Cross and Division Streets. The Van Horn home formerly stood to the left.

   Horace Clark’s complaints would eventually be heard by county authorities, and John Van Horn was officially charged with being a “vagabond”, the legal paperwork also windily declaring him to be a “dissolute person, a common drunkard, railer, and brawler, and a lewd, wanton and lascivious person in speech and behavior.” His cousin Kate McGovney kindly furnished his bail, allowing Van Horn to return to the village for the time being. 

 

   Mokena was agog over the charges leveled against John Van Horn. It was said that the population was divided into two camps, those who easily supported the claims, and those who took pity on the old man and outright rejected them. Neighbor Clark had the support of a good number of his church, while on the other hand, the flock of one of the other Mokena churches, long since lost which one, considered themselves sympathizers of the aged veteran. The involvement of the churches in this affair is an interesting sidenote, and plainly illustrates their importance in the small-town life of Mokena in this day. Nothing in the dusty pages of history indicates that John was a church-going man, nor that he had anything to do with one congregation or another. 

 

   The case was set to be tried in the summer of 1900 in the common law court of Will County Judge Albert O. Marshall, a native of New Lenox. Many Mokena residents had been subpoenaed to appear as witnesses for one side or the other, and it was leaked that even Noble Jones, a former village mayor, would be among them. 

 

   A reporter from the Inter Ocean, a city paper with wide circulation through what we now call Chicagoland, got wind of the story brewing in our country town and took special interest in it. With no small curiosity, the publication noted that Will County’s Civil War veterans had taken the case keenly to heart. John Van Horn’s fellow “Boys in Blue” pledged to be on hand at the trial to show their support to their comrade, and to personally see to it that he would “not (be) disgraced now, at a time when one foot has already slipped over the brink of the grave.” 

 

   With all the media attention and local hubbub that the Van Horn case churned up, it is now completely unknown how it ultimately played out. All further coverage of the trial is conspicuously absent from local newspapers, and the archive of the Will County Circuit Clerk is devoid of records on the trial. Therefore, we are left holding our breath, not knowing if John Van Horn was found guilty of the charges that were brought upon him. 

 

   The old warrior breathed his last on January 17^th, 1909, and his earthly remains were buried outside Mokena under the sod in a peaceful corner of Marshall Cemetery. Even though Nancy Van Horn continued to draw a widow’s pension for her husband’s true service to the Union during the war, it wasn’t enough to live off of, and furthermore, without John’s care, she couldn’t live on her own. She had to move from the village to the state-run Soldiers’ Widows’ Home in Wilmington, where she ultimately passed away on January 24^th, 1912. 

 

   A little over a year after he died, a government-issued marker was erected over the grave of John Van Horn. It had arrived in the cemetery thanks to the efforts of Bill Semmler, a Mokena reporter who pulled the right strings to make sure that a fitting monument adorned the place. Nowadays weather beaten and covered with lichen, the stone proudly states John’s service, standing sentinel over the earthen mound that bears his bones. 

 

The grave of John Van Horn in Marshall Cemetery. (image courtesy of Michael Philip Lyons)

   In one breath, it might be easy to call John Van Horn a hard-drinking troublemaker, one of rugged individualism, or to dismissively brush him off as the village drunk. With another deeper, and probably more empathic look, one must wonder if his years-long struggle with alcohol was the result of the carnage he lived through as a battle tested Civil War veteran. With a hindsight of more than a century, it’s not too difficult to realize that John and Nancy Van Horn could have been the victims of malicious gossip on the part of their busybody neighbor; the bane of small-town existence. For someone who put his life on the line during this country’s greatest crisis, it’s time that John Van Horn’s reputation be rehabilitated, and he be recognized for the hero that he was. 

Mokena's Oldest Sidewalk?

   Pictured below is what is likely Mokena’s oldest length of sidewalk, built on Union Street around 1910 by Julius Gustav Oswald. A lifelong native of the village, Oswald was a manufacturer of all things concrete and was responsible for the installation of the majority of hard sidewalks in town in the early part of the 20^th century. 

J.G. Oswald's maker stamp in what is likely Mokena's oldest length of sidewalk on Union Street. 

Located on the east side of Union Street headed north from Second Street, this is likely Mokena's oldest sidewalk. 

Wanted: Indiana Billy

 Who doesn’t enjoy a hair-raising story of true crime? From bank robberies to safe crackings and horse thievery to street brawls, Mokena has seen them all. These dot our collective village timeline, providing for some proverbial spice to otherwise uneventful periods in history. It might not be so easy to believe, but our idyllic community has been the stage for quite a few violations of the law over the years, and when we turn back the pages to the year 1903, one will find that none other than the elusive Indiana Billy, a feared criminal of yesteryear, was in our midst. 

 

   The Mokena of the earliest years of the 20^th century was pretty sleepy place, even by the standards of rural farm towns. The reasons for this were many, primarily that trade and commerce that would have normally came to our community had been diverted to the newer trading points of Alpine, Marley and Orland due to the construction of the Wabash Railroad about twenty years earlier. A dearth of good roads in the area also wasn’t exactly auspicious for Mokena. These factors plus a severe countrywide economic depression in the 1890s led the town to experience such a drain of citizens, that by 1900, a federal census taker logged a mere 281 souls living within the corporate limits. 

 

   Thus, the scene was set for treachery. Under the cover of inky darkness one night in July 1903, a daring criminal act was committed when Mrs. Harry Miller’s village home was burglarized. The historical record isn’t clear as to whether or not Mrs. Miller was there when the thief struck, but he managed to make off with some valuables, including silverware, and about $12 in cash, or roughly $345 in today’s money.  

 

   As the small town reeled from the burglary, another drama was unfolding. Officer Oscar J. Klose had been Mokena’s sole peace officer for two years, and was used to run of the mill escapades in town, usually of the kind fueled by alcohol. What would happen on July 14^th would prove to be a little different. As he patrolled the village that morning, it was the general consensus of the town folk that the perpetrator of the burglary at Mrs. Miller’s was likely to still be lurking the community, and the constable kept a sharp lookout. With this in mind, Officer Klose spotted a suspicious character making his way up the Rock Island railroad tracks across from the Hacker lumberyard on McGovney Street. As Klose made his way over to the figure to see who he was, the stranger took off on foot. 

The Hacker Lumberyard, across from which Indiana Billy was captured, seen in its later iteration as the Mall Lumber Company. These buildings stood on the site of today's 11125 and 11131 McGovney Street.

 

   He wasn’t fast enough for Oscar Klose, who caught up with him in no time. In a dramatic escalation, the man then drew a revolver and attempted to shoot Klose. After an exhaustive tussle, the Mokena lawman subdued the would-be shooter, and with the help of general store keeper John A. Hatch, was finally able to handcuff the man and take him prisoner. Before a hearing with the town magistrate, the miscreant was drawn into a village building to be searched, and was quickly determined to not be the Miller burglar, as he had no cash on his person. However, what was found raised more than a few eyebrows, namely some fake keys and a bottle of nitroglycerine, all tools of a professional safe cracker. 

   The frisk very nearly had a completely different ending. When questioned more closely about the bottle, the stranger fibbed and said it was full of liniment for his leg. It was then thrown with a dismissive toss onto a bed, nearly resulting in a calamitous explosion of the agitated nitroglycerine. In a statement to the Joliet Weekly News a few days later, the man readily admitted that he “was trembling in his boots for a moment.” He went on to say that “I couldn’t open my mouth quick enough to stop him and I thought we would both be blown into eternity.”

 

   Officer Klose didn’t know it just yet, but he had just snagged an elusive criminal, the loathsome William Warren, otherwise known as Indiana Billy. It would turn out that he was wanted for a daring robbery in Missouri, and one local newspaper proclaimed that he was “one of the most expert safe blowers in the country.” Indiana Billy was sent to Joliet, where he stood before the grand jury, who slapped him with a charge of having burglary tools in his possession, and also sent him to stay in the Will County jail for seventy days on one count of vagrancy. 

 

   The saga was not yet over for the hardened criminal, who in early October of the same year got a new charge of assault with a deadly weapon, harkening back to his confrontation with Officer Klose in Mokena. Klose testified as a witness in the proceedings, as did the venerable John A. Hatch, the town storekeeper who helped the officer wrangle Indiana Billy the day of the incident; Mary and Ida Kiniry, mother-daughter residents of McGovney Street attested too.  For this charge, Indiana Billy was given a fine of $50 and court costs, but he couldn’t settle the fine, so he was carted back off to the county jail. His increasing familiarity with the jail in Joliet led the Lockport Phoenix-Advertiser to snort that he was now “Weary Willie.”

 

   The historical record is imprecise as to what criminal hijinks Indiana Billy found in his future after his run-in with the law in Mokena. What is clear, is that his short stay within our gates was one that undoubtedly stayed in his memory for a long time.

Just What the Doctor Ordered: Mad Stones of Mokena

   We live in an age of medical wonder, on the cutting edge of technology that allows for quick and easy cures for many maladies. A simple trip to Walgreens can even get you an elixir for the common cold. Even serious issues, such as afflictions of the heart, are fixable nowadays. Nevertheless, many of us still employ home remedies that have been passed down through the generations. Some of these have survived the test of years, and some have been totally lost in the ether of time, and would be completely foreign to anyone living in the 21^st century. One of these long-lost cure-alls is the mad stone. 

   The venerable Encyclopedia Americana stated that these “stones” were calcifications of a “vegetable substance”, while a local source expertly stated that mad stones could only be found in the stomach of a certain deer that lived high in the Swiss Alps, these being formed by the animals licking rocks that ultimately cause the stone to form. They ranged in size, but were generally known to be rather small; for example, the famed Sauter mad stone of Crete was described as being “an oblong, black, smooth pebble about an inch and half long by one inch wide.” Regardless of their size and exact origin, what made mad stones so treasured was the belief that they had special healing powers. According to tradition, a mad stone properly applied to the bite of a wild dog or any other animal, would adhere to the wound and draw out the toxins that cause rabies. 

   Due to these healing qualities, a mad stone would be jealously guarded by its owner. They were as rare as the proverbial hen’s teeth, and those afflicted with the bite of a wild animal were known to travel for miles to seek one. As we modern Mokenians look back over the annals of our community’s past, it stands upon the record of the years that the village has been home to at least two mad stones. 

   In the spring of 1896, the Joliet Republican took an interest in elderly Mokena resident Christian Schatley and what it termed “one of the largest mad stones in the country.” The paper recorded that Schatley had found it in the stomach of a deer that he had bagged a few years previous in New Lenox, although what possessed him to dissect the stomach in the first place was not noted. While the stone had up to that point never been applied to a dog bite, the paper was quick to note that “its powers have in a measure been tested on other wounds.” Alas, an abundance of details on this mad stone haven’t survived the ebb and flow of time. 

  In contrast, a little more is known about the Bechstein mad stone. W.H. Bechstein earned his place in Mokena’s history by being the proprietor of the village grain elevator for many years in the early 20^th century. He inherited a priceless mad stone from his maternal grandfather, William Jacob, a Hessian-born Front Street saloonkeeper. Perhaps seeing it as an investment opportunity, Jacob bought the stone for $50 from local auctioneer Charles Moriarty around 1876, after it had been shown off in his barroom. In his heyday, Jacob was known to state that he wouldn’t let go of the stone for a cent less than $500, or about $12,000 in today’s money. As of 1911, the mad stone hadn’t been used in Mokena, but before it came to our village, while in the possession of a German shoemaker in Tinley Park, it was used effectively on area resident Jacob Stellwagen, after he was attacked by a ferocious dog back in February 1876. 

   The ultimate fate of the Bechstein mad stone has been lost to time. This author would like to think it still exists, its significance totally forgotten, but still containing some curative juice. With its value in the days of yore in mind, it’s enough to make one wonder how much Mr. Bechstein’s descendants could get for it on eBay. 

When Trouble Brews...

   When we look back on our past, we tend to focus on the idyllic. Visions of small-town rural Mokena enchant us, a place where everyone knew each other, and nothing ever went wrong. In reality, not all was perfect, or even always peaceful. After all, our forefathers were just as human as we are, and were people who had passions and tempers, both of which flared when faced with unpleasant situations or neighbors that were viewed as less than desirable. One such instance thereof of the many that dot our history took place 142 years ago, and involved several members of the well-known Schiek family of Mokena. 

   The Schieks were a hardy clan originally from the village of Neckarbischofsheim, in today’s southwestern Germany. As their homeland and Europe at large were torn by violent revolutions in 1848, they, like many of their countrymen, re-planted themselves in America. After completing a hike by foot from Chicago, the family patriarch and matriarch, Georg Heinrich and Juliana Rosina Schiek could proudly count themselves as some of the first German folk to settle what would become Frankfort Township, ultimately setting down their stakes here in August 1848. 

   The Schiek brood was a big one, counting seven children altogether, who ranged in ages from twenty-six to five upon their arrival in Illinois. One by one, the members of this family carved out a home in our midst. Philipp Schiek, the oldest, was an agriculturist who made a farm for himself on modern-day Wolf Road, while Johann Schiek, or John, as he came to be known, became one of Mokena’s first saloon keepers after the Rock Island railroad was built in 1852. Over the years, he would own at least two farms near town. 

   Julia Schiek was wed to Carl Gall, who operated Mokena’s first inn when the locomotives first puffed into town, and later married Moritz Weiss, a pioneering pharmacist in the village. Ferdinand Schiek was also a Front Street innkeeper for decades, (having owned the old landmark that last housed Paul E’s restaurant) and also kept a farm on what is today 187^th Street near where Marley would later sprout up. His sister Barbara Schiek married Henry Stoll, a jack of many trades.

   The youngest Schieks, Jakob and his brother Heinrich Jr, or Henry, both ran farms on 187^th Street, a little way west of Wolf Road. All of the members of this family found success in Mokena, and collectively left their mark on our community’s history.

   Alas, at this point, the narrative shifts in tone. In the fall of 1878, some of the family members found themselves on the wrong side of the law. Through the fog of ages, it’s not entirely clear what transpired to get them there, but enough has remained to indicate that at least one of them ran afoul of an archaic law relating to “selling liquor to persons in the habit of getting drunk”, the perpetrator likely having been saloon owner John Schiek.

   Regardless of how it came about, the aftermath of this affair has been left abundantly clear for Mokenians of today. The events were reported on by two Joliet newspapers, the Joliet Daily News and the Joliet Signal, and while almost definitely filled with bias and sensationalism, they give us a snapshot of what played out. Tempers had reached a boiling point in the affair, and when Henry Stoll, brother-in-law of the Schieks, was taken into custody in part of this episode, it pushed John Schiek, his brother Jacob, and his adult son Charles over the edge. 

   As was covered by the Daily News, amidst their legal troubles at the end of October 1878, the Schieks put Mokena justice of the peace Francis Morgan, a 34-year-old enforcer of the law, square into their crosshairs. Originally a native of Pennsylvania, Justice Morgan had lost his arm 14 years previously while serving the Union in the Civil War. With their dander sufficiently raised, the trio of Schieks stormed his house in town, which on the day in question so happened to also contain a gentleman named Bobzin, who worked as the justice’s constable. An audience with the lawmen was demanded, and in the vivid language of the Daily News, it was printed that “the Schieks opened upon Morgan and Bobzin with a fusillade, in mixed German and English, of cussing and obscene blackguardism.”

   Justice Morgan and Bobzin kept their composure and remained steely in the face of the verbal abuse that was being dealt to them. After “firing off their jaws for a few minutes”, the Schieks wore themselves out and beat a retreat. However, they weren’t totally out of steam yet. About 15 minutes later, they came back to Justice Morgan’s, and this time, with a vengeance. Upon their reappearance, the one-armed veteran was seated at a desk in his office, and one of the Schieks – it’s no longer clear who – burst into the house, and commenced beating him with a chair. 

   The situation looked hopeless for the justice. From our standpoint nearly 142 years later, we can’t but wonder if any fear arose in him during the attack, and if so, if it matched what he may have felt on the battlefield during the war. In a stroke of luck, his Norwegian-born wife Margaret and Constable Bobzin rushed to his aid and rescued him, fighting off his attacker. As all of this was happening, the other two Schieks continued their verbal barrage, “firing their jaws right lively” as the Daily News put it; one standing in the doorway, the other at a window. Before long, Margaret Morgan and Bobzin managed to fend off the Schieks for good. It is to their credit that no one was seriously hurt in the entire episode. 

   In the end, the grand jury indicted Charles, Jacob and John Schiek, and they found themselves saddled with charges of inciting a riot. In reporting on the event, the Joliet Signal, placed itself in the Schieks corner and struck a much gentler, more sympathetic tone with them. It struck up a defense crediting the Schieks with being “among the oldest and most respectable citizens” of Mokena, and that “none of them were ever known to commit an unlawful act or do a mean thing.” The charges foisted upon them by the grand jury were preposterous, the paper said, and they were handed down “solely on evidence originating from malice and personal resentment.” 

   The family members stood trial, and the Signal reported that none of the charges stuck. In a final barb thrown in the direction of the grand jury, the Signal huffed that Will County taxpayers were the losers in the case, as they were ones shouldering the brunt of the costs. As nostalgia tends to forget sagas such as these, it is important to bring them back to light, if only to make us, Mokenians of the 21^st century, thankful for the relative peace we enjoy today. 

Tripping the Light Fantastic: Dancing at Cappel's Grove

In today’s age, when village residents are seeking a fun day spent with friends or a romantic night out, they usually leave Mokena. The long-ago advent of the automobile has secured this fact. However, for a generation of Mokenians, there was a time when countless locals came together, made merry and found love right at home, in a pastoral grove of trees just outside town that held a dance pavilion where dreams were made. 

   Mokena has long been a community driven by its organizations. A well-established group of yesteryear was the Mokena Men’s Club, founded in the summer of 1908. Laid out in their articles of incorporation, the organization’s goal was to “promote public and private good” as well as to “build, control, (and) acquire buildings, dance hall, skating rinks, bars and objects of amusements, etc.” Summed up, they wanted to provide for fun in town. As the Men’s Club was born, a dance pavilion already existed in McGovney’s Grove a touch outside town on today’s LaPorte Road, but it had its limitations, namely its shabby condition and its size, which measured in at forty by eighty feet. 

   The Men’s Club set to building a newer, better one, and an idyllic patch of trees known locally as Cappel’s Grove was chosen as the spot, being situated a little south of town and just northwest of St. John’s Cemetery. In early June 1908, five acres in the grove were leased from Elizabeth Cappel, the family’s matriarch, and before long a committee of five gentlemen from the Men’s Club were formed to oversee construction of the new pavilion. Builders under local contractor Herman Geiger got to work in early summer 1908, who used Birdseye maple for the dancefloor, which came out to measure sixty by one hundred feet. Everything in the grove was lit by gas lamps. A refreshment stand was built as part of the pavilion, where soft drinks and coffee could be had, but no alcohol, as the Men’s Club decided early on to keep it away from the grove. Construction was rushed to have the pavilion ready in time for July 4^th, its grand opening day. William Semmler, Mokena’s correspondent to the Joliet News, beamed with pride at the new project, writing that “this floor will be one of the finest in the county.”

   On opening day, July 4^th, 1908, the brand-new pavilion was handsomely decorated for the Fourth, where in the afternoon patriotic speechifying was done by attorneys George Barr of Joliet and Mokena native Arthur McGovney. For that evening, 300 dance tickets were sold, and 65 gallons of ice cream vanished before the partier’s eyes. Revelers came from all parts of eastern Will County to enjoy the festivities. Correspondent Semmler covered the bash, and noted that “peace and order were evidence everywhere on the grounds”, and referencing the Men’s Club no booze policy, he added “no drunkenness or disorderly conduct being observed.”

   The first summer of Cappel Grove’s new existence was a successful one, setting the tone for future seasons, with one small example being a dance held at the end of July that first year that netted over $200 in profit for the Men’s Club in 161 sold dance tickets. The pavilion and the grove itself were host not only just to dances, but also to “moonlight picnics” and church functions of every sort. The pavilion featured live bands and orchestras from Chicago, and early on, a dance ticket would cost somewhere in the neighborhood of fifty cents for men, with free admission for ladies. By the 1920s, the price had risen to seventy-five cents to a dollar, depending on the event. (Or roughly thirteen dollars in today’s money) A huge improvement came to Cappel’s Grove at the end of 1913 when it was wired for electricity, replacing the old gas lights. 

   A type of bus service was even set up within a year of the pavilion first opening, which consisted of a big, horse-drawn wagon piloted by one of the village businessmen that ferried patrons from a point in town to and from Cappel’s Grove. Later the rig was upgraded to an auto. 

   Being the host to a constant atmosphere of Saturnalia, there were, of course, some who stepped over the line with their merrymaking. In the summer of 1913, the new Bunny Hug and Turkey Trot dances were declared forbidden at the grove due to their salaciousness. The next year, the Tango made the list. In October of that year, the cashier’s office and refreshment stand were burgled, and at a dance in June 1917, Deputy Sheriff Fred Mau of Mokena, who was working the pavilion as a security officer, was given a black eye by two roughs from Joliet. The incident involving Deputy Mau was not the first that occurred that season at the grove. After this brawl, the Men’s Club was “incensed by recent outbreaks of rowdyism”, and then hired plain clothes security men, who were authorized to ban anyone caught misbehaving. 

  After decades of service to Mokena, Cappel’s Grove was sold in 1935, and the pavilion dismantled not long thereafter. By 1942, what had once been the grove had been subdivided and named Woodland Acres, and nowadays the aptly named Woodland Circle curves over the site where so many laughs and moments of joy were had in years past. Taking in the shady neighborhood today, it’s still easy to be transported back to those days.