There’s a concept in ecology called phototropism. It’s where a plant bends toward the light.&nbsp;

In the natural world, it’s common for organisms to gravitate toward energy. Plants lean toward the light. Animals are drawn to food sources.&nbsp;

People, as it turns out, aren’t so different. Energy attracts.

Sometime before I could drive, I remember going ice fishing with my dad and a couple friends of his. One of them was named Pat, and he had an infectious energy. I was drawn to him. Turns out, most people were. And still are.

Years later, I find myself serving an internship with the very county conservation department I now lead.&nbsp;

That’s where I first got to work with Pat the “Rock-n-Roll Ranger” Rogge (pronounced with a hard-O and hard-G), and truly experience phototropism in the workplace.

It didn’t matter how hard or crappy the work was (and I mean that literally, we cleaned a lot of latrines). You couldn’t help but want to show up and do your best work when you worked with Pat.&nbsp;

Pat was energetic in work boots and Carhartts. Phototropism incarnate.

You couldn’t have a bad day when you worked with Pat. You could – and would — have hard days. In fact, he liked making sure you did. You’d go home completely spent, dirty from head to toe, but you couldn’t help but look forward to coming back the next day, as long as Pat was going to be there.

Pat thrived on hard work and helping those around him live up to their potential. He would never admit to being a mentor, but dozens of past employees will undoubtedly label him one — as would I.&nbsp;

That first internship was over 20 years ago. Pat and I have been friends ever since. Almost 15 years ago, I got the honor of joining the conservation department full-time. He and I became coworkers then, but I will forever see him first as my friend.&nbsp;

In the two decades I’ve known Pat professionally, I’ve seen countless other people drawn to Pat’s energy. Interns. Volunteers. Campers. Untold numbers of park visitors. Full-time staff. Part-time staff. Even people he arrested (he is a Park Ranger, after all).&nbsp;

I don’t know exactly how he does it. And I’ve tried to figure it out. It’s just who he is. He’s endlessly (sometimes infuriatingly) optimistic and energetic. It’s hard to have your little pity party when he’s drum-soloing on the steering wheel to Metallica on the way to cut brush in the 100-degree summer heat.&nbsp;

They say kids these days don’t want to work. Yet every summer I watch 19 and 20-year-old interns show up diligently at 6 a.m. and bust their butts for 10 hours bucking brush, building trail bridges, and keeping our parks looking top-notch.&nbsp;

Not because Pat demands it. Pat, for the most part, doesn’t demand anything from anybody. He inspires it. He models it. You simply try to keep up with him.&nbsp;

Despite his innate aversion to technology, Pat has taken a liking to the video camera on his phone. He regularly shoots “Ranger Rogge” videos of things he does with the team in the park.&nbsp;

On our social media, he’s become a bit of a celebrity. These videos, thankfully, chronicle some of Pat’s energy, maybe for future sociologists to study and learn to replicate.&nbsp;

From dancing across bridges to tripping over his words to simply showing his enthusiasm for a job well done, those videos are a tiny snapshot of what makes the “Rock-n-Roll Ranger” the source of energy he is to this department.&nbsp;

I know I will enjoy looking back at those videos in the years to come.&nbsp;

In a few weeks, Pat Rogge will retire from Des Moines County Conservation after 33 years. In so doing, he will leave a hole in both the organization and my heart.

&nbsp;Next month I will bid farewell to the longest-serving employee in my department’s 61-year history. At 33 years of service, Pat Rogge has worked here longer than most of the other employees have been alive.&nbsp;

Next month, I will say goodbye to one of my longest-known colleagues, one of my first mentors, and one of the best friends a conservation guy could have ever asked for.&nbsp;

If he reads this, it will be about here that he’ll say, “Oh c’mon, I’m just retiring. I’m not dying,” and then go on to underplay the impact he’s had on this community and its people over the past three decades. But as I’ve told him in many of our friendly debates over the years (and there have been many), “You’re entitled to your opinion, even if it is wrong.”

I’m happy for whatever community gets to benefit from the walking ball of energy that is Pat “Rock-n-Roll Ranger” Rogge after he leaves here. And while these won’t be the last bittersweet tears I shed before he goes, I also know that change is as natural as phototropism and species only adapt through struggle.&nbsp;

There will never be another Pat Rogge. But we’ll do our best to carry his energy, his legacy, forward into the next generation of parks and conservation here in Des Moines County.&nbsp;

If you’re one of the many people that Pat Rogge has energized over the past three decades, join us for his retirement celebration on Aug. 12 at noon at Starr’s Cave Nature Center.

<figure>
 <img src="https://d2eftiauov6o73.cloudfront.net/public/2023/7/1690730364745.jpeg" alt="" />
 <figcaption></figcaption>
 </figure>By Chris LeeThere’s a concept in ecology called phototropism. It’s where a plant bends toward the light.&nbsp;In the natural world, it’s common for organisms to gravitate toward energy. Plants lean toward the light. Animals are drawn to food sources.&nbsp;People, as it turns out, aren’t so different. Energy attracts.Sometime before I could drive, I remember going ice fishing with my dad and a couple friends of his. One of them was named Pat, and he had an infectious energy. I was drawn to him. Turns out, most people were. And still are.Years later, I find myself serving an internship with the very county conservation department I now lead.&nbsp;That’s where I first got to work with Pat the “Rock-n-Roll Ranger” Rogge (pronounced with a hard-O and hard-G), and truly experience phototropism in the workplace.It didn’t matter how hard or crappy the work was (and I mean that literally, we cleaned a lot of latrines). You couldn’t help but want to show up and do your best work when you worked with Pat.&nbsp;Pat was energetic in work boots and Carhartts. Phototropism incarnate.You couldn’t have a bad day when you worked with Pat. You could – and would — have hard days. In fact, he liked making sure you did. You’d go home completely spent, dirty from head to toe, but you couldn’t help but look forward to coming back the next day, as long as Pat was going to be there.Pat thrived on hard work and helping those around him live up to their potential. He would never admit to being a mentor, but dozens of past employees will undoubtedly label him one — as would I.&nbsp;That first internship was over 20 years ago. Pat and I have been friends ever since. Almost 15 years ago, I got the honor of joining the conservation department full-time. He and I became coworkers then, but I will forever see him first as my friend.&nbsp;In the two decades I’ve known Pat professionally, I’ve seen countless other people drawn to Pat’s energy. Interns. Volunteers. Campers. Untold numbers of park visitors. Full-time staff. Part-time staff. Even people he arrested (he is a Park Ranger, after all).&nbsp;I don’t know exactly how he does it. And I’ve tried to figure it out. It’s just who he is. He’s endlessly (sometimes infuriatingly) optimistic and energetic. It’s hard to have your little pity party when he’s drum-soloing on the steering wheel to Metallica on the way to cut brush in the 100-degree summer heat.&nbsp;PhototropismThey say kids these days don’t want to work. Yet every summer I watch 19 and 20-year-old interns show up diligently at 6 a.m. and bust their butts for 10 hours bucking brush, building trail bridges, and keeping our parks looking top-notch.&nbsp;Not because Pat demands it. Pat, for the most part, doesn’t demand anything from anybody. He inspires it. He models it. You simply try to keep up with him.&nbsp;Despite his innate aversion to technology, Pat has taken a liking to the video camera on his phone. He regularly shoots “Ranger Rogge” videos of things he does with the team in the park.&nbsp;On our social media, he’s become a bit of a celebrity. These videos, thankfully, chronicle some of Pat’s energy, maybe for future sociologists to study and learn to replicate.&nbsp;From dancing across bridges to tripping over his words to simply showing his enthusiasm for a job well done, those videos are a tiny snapshot of what makes the “Rock-n-Roll Ranger” the source of energy he is to this department.&nbsp;I know I will enjoy looking back at those videos in the years to come.&nbsp;In a few weeks, Pat Rogge will retire from Des Moines County Conservation after 33 years. In so doing, he will leave a hole in both the organization and my heart.&nbsp;Next month I will bid farewell to the longest-serving employee in my department’s 61-year history. At 33 years of service, Pat Rogge has worked here longer than most of the other employees have been alive.&nbsp;Next month, I will say goodbye to one of my longest-known colleagues, one of my first mentors, and one of the best friends a conservation guy could have ever asked for.&nbsp;If he reads this, it will be about here that he’ll say, “Oh c’mon, I’m just retiring. I’m not dying,” and then go on to underplay the impact he’s had on this community and its people over the past three decades. But as I’ve told him in many of our friendly debates over the years (and there have been many), “You’re entitled to your opinion, even if it is wrong.”I’m happy for whatever community gets to benefit from the walking ball of energy that is Pat “Rock-n-Roll Ranger” Rogge after he leaves here. And while these won’t be the last bittersweet tears I shed before he goes, I also know that change is as natural as phototropism and species only adapt through struggle.&nbsp;There will never be another Pat Rogge. But we’ll do our best to carry his energy, his legacy, forward into the next generation of parks and conservation here in Des Moines County.&nbsp;If you’re one of the many people that Pat Rogge has energized over the past three decades, join us for his retirement celebration on Aug. 12 at noon at Starr’s Cave Nature Center.

Column: Energy in work boots that nobody can fill

Troy Mitchell started his gun and bait store in Muscatine, but he is a hometown Burlington boy.

That is why he expanded into the former AIM Credit Union on Roosevelt Avenue with Mitchell Arms and Outdoors Store. The local competition for firearms and live bait is light, Mitchell said, and he wanted to bring his business back home.

“We do everything. Fishing, hunting, shooting, ammo accessories, holsters,” Mitchell said. “I wanted to duplicate what we have in Muscatine.”

Mitchell opened Mitchell Arms and Ammo in Muscatine in 2010, starting in a tiny, 12-foot-by-12-foot office. It has since expanded into a much larger building, with every kind of bait — live and synthetic.

“We have minnows, sucker fish, wax worms, earthworms, leeches,” Mitchell said.

And, of course, lots and lots of guns. Many firearms are on display at the shop, ranging from semi-automatic rifles to revolvers the size of a small dog. You can even buy a silencer after applying through the proper paperwork. That is something Mitchell and his crew can help with as well.

“Gun-wise, we have probably every major manufacturer in here. We do trade-ins, we do consignment, we do layaway. You can see the inventory for both stores online. We don’t charge any transfer fees or anything when you buy from us,” Mitchell said.

Mitchell is an agent for Farm Bureau Financial Services and started Mitchell Arm and Ammo as a side business. It has evolved into his main business, and Mitchell attributes that to customer service.

“We’re not gun snobs. Nobody is going to look down their nose at you here,” Mitchell said.

It may sound like a simple concession, but hobby shops can be intimidating to the uninitiated. Mitchell wants to expand interest in firearms — not run off customers because they’ve never bought or fired a gun before.

“We have generations that are missing out on firearms. And if gun store owners keep doing that (acting arrogant), then we’re gonna lose them,” Mitchell said.

Firearms were a divisive topic long before Mitchell got into the business, which makes it one of the few businesses affected by the party of the President of the United States. When Trump was in office, sales slumped a bit, Mitchell said. Gun owners weren’t worried about gun control legislation. When a Democrat is in office, the opposite happens.

Mitchell said the sales bumps are nice, but he would rather firearms move beyond politics and become a hobby again. Shooting ranges are rising in popularity. And hunting will always be a prime pastime in Iowa.

“We stayed open during the pandemic, and a couple of years ago, we had our best year ever,” Mitchell said. “Honestly, we were just as busy during the pandemic.”

Handguns are one of Mitchell’s most popular items and can be taken right out of the store after purchase. No permit is needed to buy a handgun or a long rifle in Iowa, and no permit is needed to carry concealed, either. You must be 21 to buy a handgun, and 18 to buy a rifle.

Everyone who buys a firearm must register, however. It’s the law and a law Mitchell takes very seriously.

“I don’t want our guns in the hands of the wrong people,” Mitchell said. “It’s very strict. We have to provide instant background checks for everyone who has not been pre-qualified by the state.”

The Mitchell Arms and Outdoor Store in Burlington opened about a month ago, and it only took Mitchell and his crew a month to renovate the building from a credit union to a gun store. Most locals are in the discovery phase with the store, learning about the store via word of mouth.

Mitchell wants to get the word out to law enforcement and first responders. The store is well-protected through gates and other security measures, but that is not why Mitchell wants them to know about the store.

“All first responders get a 10 percent discount,” Mitchell said. “Not just law enforcement, but firefighters, judges, EMTs, retired and active military.”

<figure>
 <img src="https://d2eftiauov6o73.cloudfront.net/public/2023/7/1690490105532.jpeg" alt="Left: Troy Mitchell, owner of Mitchell Arms and Outdoors, Thursday, July 6 at the Burlington business located at 3001 Sylvania Drive. The store offers a mix of firearms and fishing supplies. Photos/John Lovretta" />
 <figcaption>Left: Troy Mitchell, owner of Mitchell Arms and Outdoors, Thursday, July 6 at the Burlington business located at 3001 Sylvania Drive. The store offers a mix of firearms and fishing supplies. Photos/John Lovretta</figcaption>
 </figure>By William SmithTroy Mitchell started his gun and bait store in Muscatine, but he is a hometown Burlington boy.That is why he expanded into the former AIM Credit Union on Roosevelt Avenue with Mitchell Arms and Outdoors Store. The local competition for firearms and live bait is light, Mitchell said, and he wanted to bring his business back home.“We do everything. Fishing, hunting, shooting, ammo accessories, holsters,” Mitchell said. “I wanted to duplicate what we have in Muscatine.”Mitchell opened Mitchell Arms and Ammo in Muscatine in 2010, starting in a tiny, 12-foot-by-12-foot office. It has since expanded into a much larger building, with every kind of bait — live and synthetic.“We have minnows, sucker fish, wax worms, earthworms, leeches,” Mitchell said.And, of course, lots and lots of guns. Many firearms are on display at the shop, ranging from semi-automatic rifles to revolvers the size of a small dog. You can even buy a silencer after applying through the proper paperwork. That is something Mitchell and his crew can help with as well.“Gun-wise, we have probably every major manufacturer in here. We do trade-ins, we do consignment, we do layaway. You can see the inventory for both stores online. We don’t charge any transfer fees or anything when you buy from us,” Mitchell said.Mitchell is an agent for Farm Bureau Financial Services and started Mitchell Arm and Ammo as a side business. It has evolved into his main business, and Mitchell attributes that to customer service.“We’re not gun snobs. Nobody is going to look down their nose at you here,” Mitchell said.<figure>
 <img src="https://d2eftiauov6o73.cloudfront.net/public/2023/7/1690490314576.jpeg" alt="" />
 <figcaption></figcaption>
 </figure>It may sound like a simple concession, but hobby shops can be intimidating to the uninitiated. Mitchell wants to expand interest in firearms — not run off customers because they’ve never bought or fired a gun before.“We have generations that are missing out on firearms. And if gun store owners keep doing that (acting arrogant), then we’re gonna lose them,” Mitchell said.Firearms were a divisive topic long before Mitchell got into the business, which makes it one of the few businesses affected by the party of the President of the United States. When Trump was in office, sales slumped a bit, Mitchell said. Gun owners weren’t worried about gun control legislation. When a Democrat is in office, the opposite happens.Mitchell said the sales bumps are nice, but he would rather firearms move beyond politics and become a hobby again. Shooting ranges are rising in popularity. And hunting will always be a prime pastime in Iowa.“We stayed open during the pandemic, and a couple of years ago, we had our best year ever,” Mitchell said. “Honestly, we were just as busy during the pandemic.”Handguns are one of Mitchell’s most popular items and can be taken right out of the store after purchase. No permit is needed to buy a handgun or a long rifle in Iowa, and no permit is needed to carry concealed, either. You must be 21 to buy a handgun, and 18 to buy a rifle.Everyone who buys a firearm must register, however. It’s the law and a law Mitchell takes very seriously.“I don’t want our guns in the hands of the wrong people,” Mitchell said. “It’s very strict. We have to provide instant background checks for everyone who has not been pre-qualified by the state.”The Mitchell Arms and Outdoor Store in Burlington opened about a month ago, and it only took Mitchell and his crew a month to renovate the building from a credit union to a gun store. Most locals are in the discovery phase with the store, learning about the store via word of mouth.Mitchell wants to get the word out to law enforcement and first responders. The store is well-protected through gates and other security measures, but that is not why Mitchell wants them to know about the store.“All first responders get a 10 percent discount,” Mitchell said. “Not just law enforcement, but firefighters, judges, EMTs, retired and active military.”<figure>
 <img src="https://d2eftiauov6o73.cloudfront.net/public/2023/7/1690490357696.jpeg" alt="" />
 <figcaption></figcaption>
 </figure>

Business offers guns, ammo, and more

After a year-and-a-half wait from the initial planning stage, Fort Madison has opened up six pickleball courts at Victory Park at the corner of 24th Street and Avenue H.

That was the site of the former tennis courts, the surface of which began buckling years ago to the point of being unplayable.

Those courts were removed, and the playing area was expanded to accommodate the new pickleball courts.

The Fort Madison Pickleball Association, formed to secure funding for the courts, will have a grand opening Sunday, July 16, at 2 p.m.

There is no cost to play, and paddle holders are in place to reserve a spot when the courts are full.

For those without equipment, the Fort Madison Public Library can check out paddle sets, up to 20 available.

“We’re just really glad that the project has come to fruition,” said Donna Amandus, chairperson of the Pickleball Association. “We have a little more left to do. But all in all, we’re extremely happy with how the courts turned out.”

The Fort Madison YMCA has indoor courts where 25-30 individuals play at varying frequencies.

The outdoor courts became available in mid-June, and lights were recently installed as a donation by Mohrfeld Electric. Still to come are wind slats to reduce the impact on the wiffle-like balls used in play.

“We believe they are by far the nicest courts around,” Amandus said. “Proof of that is the number of players we’re seeing come from out of town.”

She said the courts have been busy, given that school is out, and it is now an option for people who work during the day.

The project to put in pickleball courts began in the fall of 2021 when the Fort Madison Parks Board approved the design by the pickleball committee.

The city was assured by then co-chair Bev Brockman that the Fort Madison High School and Holy Trinity Catholic tennis courts would be available to the public because the Victory Parks would be removed.

Ten months after that decision, the courts, fencing, and light posts were removed. A shelter house had to be taken down, as well as some trees to make room for the new complex.

The project was on hold over the winter because the NOVA-play surface needed a certain temperature to be installed.

The city gave the organization $50,000 toward the estimated cost, and Amandus said the final cost was more than $320,000.

The Association used donations from individuals, businesses, and grants to finance the new courts.

<figure>
 <img src="https://d2eftiauov6o73.cloudfront.net/public/2023/7/1690049299681.jpeg" alt="With usually four players competing on a court, up to 24 people can play at the new six-court pickleball complex at Victory Park, 24th Street and Avenue H, Fort Madison. On the far side of the court, Rita Holtkamp returns the ball while her partner Jaivonei Brock looks on. Awaiting the return are Art Santiago and Karen Wages. The courts opened in mid-June, and lights were soon added for night-time play. Photo/Chris Faulkner" />
 <figcaption>With usually four players competing on a court, up to 24 people can play at the new six-court pickleball complex at Victory Park, 24th Street and Avenue H, Fort Madison. On the far side of the court, Rita Holtkamp returns the ball while her partner Jaivonei Brock looks on. Awaiting the return are Art Santiago and Karen Wages. The courts opened in mid-June, and lights were soon added for night-time play. Photo/Chris Faulkner</figcaption>
 </figure>By Chris FaulknerAfter a year-and-a-half wait from the initial planning stage, Fort Madison has opened up six pickleball courts at Victory Park at the corner of 24th Street and Avenue H.That was the site of the former tennis courts, the surface of which began buckling years ago to the point of being unplayable.Those courts were removed, and the playing area was expanded to accommodate the new pickleball courts.The Fort Madison Pickleball Association, formed to secure funding for the courts, will have a grand opening Sunday, July 16, at 2 p.m.There is no cost to play, and paddle holders are in place to reserve a spot when the courts are full.For those without equipment, the Fort Madison Public Library can check out paddle sets, up to 20 available.“We’re just really glad that the project has come to fruition,” said Donna Amandus, chairperson of the Pickleball Association. “We have a little more left to do. But all in all, we’re extremely happy with how the courts turned out.”The Fort Madison YMCA has indoor courts where 25-30 individuals play at varying frequencies.The outdoor courts became available in mid-June, and lights were recently installed as a donation by Mohrfeld Electric. Still to come are wind slats to reduce the impact on the wiffle-like balls used in play.“We believe they are by far the nicest courts around,” Amandus said. “Proof of that is the number of players we’re seeing come from out of town.”She said the courts have been busy, given that school is out, and it is now an option for people who work during the day.The project to put in pickleball courts began in the fall of 2021 when the Fort Madison Parks Board approved the design by the pickleball committee.The city was assured by then co-chair Bev Brockman that the Fort Madison High School and Holy Trinity Catholic tennis courts would be available to the public because the Victory Parks would be removed.Ten months after that decision, the courts, fencing, and light posts were removed. A shelter house had to be taken down, as well as some trees to make room for the new complex.The project was on hold over the winter because the NOVA-play surface needed a certain temperature to be installed.The city gave the organization $50,000 toward the estimated cost, and Amandus said the final cost was more than $320,000.The Association used donations from individuals, businesses, and grants to finance the new courts.The city is responsible for maintenance.

FM pickleball courts become a reality

Every year, young ladies who exemplify the qualities of the Des Moines County Fair compete to become the fair queen.

This year, there are five contestants, each worthy of wearing the crown. Their hard work and robust spirit will be on display at the annual Des Moines County Fair Queen contest at 7 p.m. Sunday at SCC’s Loren Walker Arena, and everyone is invited.

These are the contestants for the 2023 Des Moines County Fair Queen.

Bailey Minster, of Sperry, is the 16-year-old daughter of Andrew and Julie Minster.&nbsp;

She will be a junior in Mediapolis this fall and is an active 4-H and FFA member.

Minster is an officer, current secretary, and reporter for the Mediapolis FFA.&nbsp;

Minster is also an active member of the Hilltop Helpers 4-H club, where she is currently president. She is also an active member of the Des Moines County Teen Council.

Minster has several jobs. She works at Myers Potting Shed, Myers Wedding Barn, and the Prairie Ridge Nursing Home, and babysitting.

She plans on becoming a CNA while still in high school, and plans to become a NICU nurse and a Realtor after high school.

Caroline Nealey, of Danville, is the 17-year-old daughter of Pat Nealey and Jill Mutchler. She shows horses, rabbits, and static exhibits and rides in the Jim Nealy Memorial Rodeo in honor of her grandfather, Jim Nealey.

Outside of the fair, she participates in the Danville Cornhuskers 4-H, Danville FFA and chapter secretary, Leo Club, and treasurer, Danville trap-shooting, and BHS Swim Team.

Hailey Parrott, 17, is the daughter of Jennifer and Luke Parrott of Danville, and she will be a senior at Mount Pleasant High School this fall.&nbsp;

Parrott participates in choir, show choir crew, 4-H, dairy club, and speech. She is also involved in cross country, basketball, soccer, and softball, and played football during her freshman year.

Parrott also participates in several community services outside school, including the Sweet 16 pageant, the Midwest Old Threshers Reunion, and the Thrashers House of Terror. Parrott is a member of the Udder Chaos Dairy Club and the current vice president of the Danville Cornhuskers.&nbsp;

Tayler Schnedler is the daughter of Nate and Erin Schnedler. She is currently the chapter president of her FFA club and serves as the Southeast District reporter.

Schnedler is also involved in 4-H, the National Honor Society, the yearbook committee, the student council, and the school board representative, and plays soccer. You can find her working at Menards, in the cattle barn, or at a cattle show in her spare time.

Hailey Wick, 16, is the daughter of Jeremy and Heather Wick. In the fall, she will be a senior at Mediapolis High School and is involved in 4-H, FFA, choir, Des Moines County Dairy Club, Des Moines County Fair Dairy Committee, student council, theatre, musicals, and speech.

Wick already works two jobs — one as a dietary aide at Azria Health Prairie Ridge in Mediapolis, and another milking cows at Blue Knoll Dairy Farm.

Wick shows and raises dairy and meat goats, as well as market beef and dairy cattle.&nbsp;

She enjoys riding horses, working with livestock, and spending time with her friends and family.

<figure>
 <img src="https://d2eftiauov6o73.cloudfront.net/public/2023/7/1690047407868.jpeg" alt="" />
 <figcaption></figcaption>
 </figure>Beacon StaffEvery year, young ladies who exemplify the qualities of the Des Moines County Fair compete to become the fair queen.This year, there are five contestants, each worthy of wearing the crown. Their hard work and robust spirit will be on display at the annual Des Moines County Fair Queen contest at 7 p.m. Sunday at SCC’s Loren Walker Arena, and everyone is invited.These are the contestants for the 2023 Des Moines County Fair Queen.Bailey MinsterBailey Minster, of Sperry, is the 16-year-old daughter of Andrew and Julie Minster.&nbsp;She will be a junior in Mediapolis this fall and is an active 4-H and FFA member.Minster is an officer, current secretary, and reporter for the Mediapolis FFA.&nbsp;Minster is also an active member of the Hilltop Helpers 4-H club, where she is currently president. She is also an active member of the Des Moines County Teen Council.Minster has several jobs. She works at Myers Potting Shed, Myers Wedding Barn, and the Prairie Ridge Nursing Home, and babysitting.She plans on becoming a CNA while still in high school, and plans to become a NICU nurse and a Realtor after high school.Caroline NealeyCaroline Nealey, of Danville, is the 17-year-old daughter of Pat Nealey and Jill Mutchler. She shows horses, rabbits, and static exhibits and rides in the Jim Nealy Memorial Rodeo in honor of her grandfather, Jim Nealey.Outside of the fair, she participates in the Danville Cornhuskers 4-H, Danville FFA and chapter secretary, Leo Club, and treasurer, Danville trap-shooting, and BHS Swim Team.Hailey ParrottHailey Parrott, 17, is the daughter of Jennifer and Luke Parrott of Danville, and she will be a senior at Mount Pleasant High School this fall.&nbsp;Parrott participates in choir, show choir crew, 4-H, dairy club, and speech. She is also involved in cross country, basketball, soccer, and softball, and played football during her freshman year.Parrott also participates in several community services outside school, including the Sweet 16 pageant, the Midwest Old Threshers Reunion, and the Thrashers House of Terror. Parrott is a member of the Udder Chaos Dairy Club and the current vice president of the Danville Cornhuskers.&nbsp;&nbsp;Tayler SchnedlerTayler Schnedler is the daughter of Nate and Erin Schnedler. She is currently the chapter president of her FFA club and serves as the Southeast District reporter.Schnedler is also involved in 4-H, the National Honor Society, the yearbook committee, the student council, and the school board representative, and plays soccer. You can find her working at Menards, in the cattle barn, or at a cattle show in her spare time.Hailey WickHailey Wick, 16, is the daughter of Jeremy and Heather Wick. In the fall, she will be a senior at Mediapolis High School and is involved in 4-H, FFA, choir, Des Moines County Dairy Club, Des Moines County Fair Dairy Committee, student council, theatre, musicals, and speech.Wick already works two jobs — one as a dietary aide at Azria Health Prairie Ridge in Mediapolis, and another milking cows at Blue Knoll Dairy Farm.Wick shows and raises dairy and meat goats, as well as market beef and dairy cattle.&nbsp;She enjoys riding horses, working with livestock, and spending time with her friends and family.

2023 Des Moines County Fair Queen Contest

From spectator to organizer, Good keeps bringing award-winning films to Burlington.

Tadd Good was 25 when Snake Alley Festival of Film founder Lonnie Schuyler handed him the reins to the annual event.

A film buff his entire life, Good submerged himself in the festival atmosphere, doing anything to help. But he never considered running the entire show.

“I met Lonnie through the film festival. And he was like, ‘This is a lot of work. I’m getting ready to start a family. Would you like to take it over?’ ” Good said.

Good had never organized anything beyond a preview of independent feature films. But he knew if he didn’t, the film festival would likely go away.

“I had always been the quiet guy who just attended things,” Good said.&nbsp;

Good is now 37 and has assembled a team of regular volunteers who make the massive event happen, including his wife, Nikki Good. The event is still four days long, but the way the festival works behind the scenes has changed drastically.

“Lonnie was still doing physical media. So when you submitted your film, you would send in a physical DVD or Blu-ray in the mail,” Good said. “Lonnie would find a group of 10 people and sit them down at the theater, or he would package the DVDs up and bring them to somebody’s house. And they would sit and put it in the DVD player one at a time, watch them physically, and add up the scores.”

All the movies are available online now through verified access, which has streamlined the judging process considerably. Good typically gets about 200 short film submissions and watches all of them — twice.

“I’ve created a flagging system with a spreadsheet,” he said.&nbsp;

The process is simple. Good grades each film with a green flag, a yellow flag, or a red flag. Anything good enough to earn a green flag passes with flying colors. Anything with a yellow flag might not be the best movie but is worthy of consideration.

Anything with a red flag isn’t making the festival. It’s not a responsibility he takes lightly.

“I don’t give any red flags after the first viewing,” Good said.

But he still has to eliminate 100 films, which means downgrading many of those yellow flags to red. Good meets many of the filmmakers in person and knows how emotional the experience is for them.

“Just getting a film to the finish line is an accomplishment. For some of the filmmakers, this is the only chance they will get to see their work on a big screen,” Good said.

While Good is a horror-film buff, he is obsessed with all genres of film. He’s a regular on “Attack of the Killer Podcast,” discussing classic movies with hosts as knowledgeable as he is.

He is one of those people who could accurately vote at the Oscars because he has seen all the movies up for nomination.

“I have an older brother and an older sister, and I’m the youngest sibling. I always got to watch movies that were probably not meant for me to be watching,” he said.

Good recalls his first theater experience clearly — a screening of “The Lion King” — without parental supervision.

After former council member Becky Anderson led a capital campaign to restore the Capitol Theater, Good was wedging his foot into the door. He wanted to help the theater show films when it wasn’t hosting performances.

“I would email the theater, and be like, ‘You know, the theater is dark tonight when it could be showing a movie,’” Good said.

“Tina Salamone, director of the theater at the time, reached out to me and said, ‘Here’s the October schedule, here’s all that the nights you can fill. We have no money. Good luck,’” Good said.

No money was no problem. The public-domain films didn’t attract a lot of attention, but it was a start.

A Burlington native, Good moved to Macomb, Ill., for a few years to get his degree in graphic communications (with a minor in fine art) from Western Illinois University. He moved back and started working at Craftsman Press during his senior year of college. Good stayed there until this year, when he took a job as a publicist for Southeastern Community College.

“It’s hard to transition for 14 years of one position into a completely new role, but it’s going well,” Good said.

Good has his own podcast in addition to appearing on others, where he challenges someone to watch a classic film they have never seen before. Then they discuss.

Good takes the challenge as well, which is how he recently watched “Seven” and “Gangs of New York.”

This year is the 11th annual Snake Alley Festival of Film, but it would be the 12th annual if COVID-19 hadn’t caused a cancellation

Bringing the festival back was harder than Good expected. He even questioned if he should keep the film festival going.

After talking over the future of the festival with his wife, those questions didn’t seem so important. If he didn’t keep it going, Burlington would be missing one of the things that had made it unique over the past decade.

“You know, I think Lonnie’s dream eventually made it (film festival director) a full-time thing, for whoever takes it over,” he said.

That didn’t happen — and Good isn’t sure he wants it to. There’s no beating the passion of dedicated volunteers.

“I don’t know if I’d want that because it sort of takes what you love and turns it into a job. I don’t want it to become that,” he said.

From spectator to organizer, Good keeps bringing award-winning films to Burlington.<figure>
 <img src="https://d2eftiauov6o73.cloudfront.net/public/2023/7/1690046464763.jpeg" alt="Tadd Good, director of the Snake Alley Festival of Film, on Saturday, July 8 at the Capitol Theater. The four-day independent short film festival&nbsp; which was last week at the Capitol Theater in Burlington. Photos/John Lovretta" />
 <figcaption>Tadd Good, director of the Snake Alley Festival of Film, on Saturday, July 8 at the Capitol Theater. The four-day independent short film festival&nbsp; which was last week at the Capitol Theater in Burlington. Photos/John Lovretta</figcaption>
 </figure>By William SmithTadd Good was 25 when Snake Alley Festival of Film founder Lonnie Schuyler handed him the reins to the annual event.A film buff his entire life, Good submerged himself in the festival atmosphere, doing anything to help. But he never considered running the entire show.“I met Lonnie through the film festival. And he was like, ‘This is a lot of work. I’m getting ready to start a family. Would you like to take it over?’ ” Good said.Good had never organized anything beyond a preview of independent feature films. But he knew if he didn’t, the film festival would likely go away.“I had always been the quiet guy who just attended things,” Good said.&nbsp;Updating the festivalGood is now 37 and has assembled a team of regular volunteers who make the massive event happen, including his wife, Nikki Good. The event is still four days long, but the way the festival works behind the scenes has changed drastically.Especially the judging process.“Lonnie was still doing physical media. So when you submitted your film, you would send in a physical DVD or Blu-ray in the mail,” Good said. “Lonnie would find a group of 10 people and sit them down at the theater, or he would package the DVDs up and bring them to somebody’s house. And they would sit and put it in the DVD player one at a time, watch them physically, and add up the scores.”All the movies are available online now through verified access, which has streamlined the judging process considerably. Good typically gets about 200 short film submissions and watches all of them — twice.“I’ve created a flagging system with a spreadsheet,” he said.&nbsp;The process is simple. Good grades each film with a green flag, a yellow flag, or a red flag. Anything good enough to earn a green flag passes with flying colors. Anything with a yellow flag might not be the best movie but is worthy of consideration.Anything with a red flag isn’t making the festival. It’s not a responsibility he takes lightly.“I don’t give any red flags after the first viewing,” Good said.But he still has to eliminate 100 films, which means downgrading many of those yellow flags to red. Good meets many of the filmmakers in person and knows how emotional the experience is for them.“Just getting a film to the finish line is an accomplishment. For some of the filmmakers, this is the only chance they will get to see their work on a big screen,” Good said.<figure>
 <img src="https://d2eftiauov6o73.cloudfront.net/public/2023/7/1690046619534.jpeg" alt="" />
 <figcaption></figcaption>
 </figure>A life of horror filmsWhile Good is a horror-film buff, he is obsessed with all genres of film. He’s a regular on “Attack of the Killer Podcast,” discussing classic movies with hosts as knowledgeable as he is.He is one of those people who could accurately vote at the Oscars because he has seen all the movies up for nomination.“I have an older brother and an older sister, and I’m the youngest sibling. I always got to watch movies that were probably not meant for me to be watching,” he said.Good recalls his first theater experience clearly — a screening of “The Lion King” — without parental supervision.After former council member Becky Anderson led a capital campaign to restore the Capitol Theater, Good was wedging his foot into the door. He wanted to help the theater show films when it wasn’t hosting performances.“I would email the theater, and be like, ‘You know, the theater is dark tonight when it could be showing a movie,’” Good said.That persistence paid off.“Tina Salamone, director of the theater at the time, reached out to me and said, ‘Here’s the October schedule, here’s all that the nights you can fill. We have no money. Good luck,’” Good said.No money was no problem. The public-domain films didn’t attract a lot of attention, but it was a start.Before the CapitolA Burlington native, Good moved to Macomb, Ill., for a few years to get his degree in graphic communications (with a minor in fine art) from Western Illinois University. He moved back and started working at Craftsman Press during his senior year of college. Good stayed there until this year, when he took a job as a publicist for Southeastern Community College.“It’s hard to transition for 14 years of one position into a completely new role, but it’s going well,” Good said.Good has his own podcast in addition to appearing on others, where he challenges someone to watch a classic film they have never seen before. Then they discuss.Good takes the challenge as well, which is how he recently watched “Seven” and “Gangs of New York.”Keeping the Fest AliveThis year is the 11th annual Snake Alley Festival of Film, but it would be the 12th annual if COVID-19 hadn’t caused a cancellationBringing the festival back was harder than Good expected. He even questioned if he should keep the film festival going.After talking over the future of the festival with his wife, those questions didn’t seem so important. If he didn’t keep it going, Burlington would be missing one of the things that had made it unique over the past decade.“You know, I think Lonnie’s dream eventually made it (film festival director) a full-time thing, for whoever takes it over,” he said.That didn’t happen — and Good isn’t sure he wants it to. There’s no beating the passion of dedicated volunteers.“I don’t know if I’d want that because it sort of takes what you love and turns it into a job. I don’t want it to become that,” he said.

52 Faces: Mr. Movie

Burlington resident Glenn Olomon, 93, is a full-service throwback. A man from a gentler time, back when gas station attendants filled up cars and apple pie had yet to become an American cliché.

For the past 27 years, Olomon has been sitting outside the Jet Stop gas station at the corner of Mount Pleasant Street and Roosevelt Avenue. Winter or summer.

“It (the heat) doesn’t bother me. Same with the cold weather. I’m out here in the heat and cold,” he said.

Usually clad in a loose, yellow safety vest and trademark green baseball cap, Olomon does a little of everything at the gas station. He gently sprays down vehicles before they enter the automated car wash. He makes impromptu repairs inside and out of the station.

“I don’t sit around. I get to talk to everybody,” he said.

Olomon has made quite a few friends with his gab and has been known to lend money to total strangers.

He hates seeing someone stuck at a gas station unable to get home.

“I’ve given people a few dollars for gas sometimes,” he said.

Olomon recalled when he recently lent money to a young man who wanted to use the car wash. Given the transient nature of gas station clientele, Olomon never expected to recoup that loan.

He was pleasantly surprised when the young man returned days later with cash in hand.

“He said, ‘How much do I owe?’ And I said, ‘Let’s just say $5 and call it even,” Olomon said, grinning.

Olomon will be turning 94 in a few months. He never plans on retiring from his retirement career.

“It keeps my mind active,” Olomon said.&nbsp;

One of his regular customers asked his wife, a doctor, to make a check-up call on Olomon while he was working at the gas station. He just wanted to make sure Olomon was staying healthy.

Olomon already knew what the results would be.

“She (the doctor) came to see me for about 20 minutes. She said this (the gas station) is the best place for me. It keeps me healthy,” Olomon said.

&nbsp;But there’s one aspect of the service station industry Olomon won’t touch.

“I don’t do anything with the cash registers,” he said.

Olomon’s memories of serving the U.S. Army during the Korean War have never faded.

Olomon doesn’t reflect back on those days often. However, when he recently discovered newspaper articles detailing parts of his military service, the memories of that time came back.

“It was an experience you would never forget,” he said.

Olomon has been a native and resident of Southeast Iowa his entire life. He grew up with 11 siblings, several of them served in prior wars — including three brothers in World War II, another brother in the Korean War, and a brother in the Vietnam War.

Olomon didn’t enlist. He was drafted a few months after getting married. He served in the Army from 1951 to 1953, then spent another six years in the Army Reserve.

Olomon’s wife was pregnant when he left for boot camp, and he likely would have been back home in time to watch her give birth after basic training. But he forgot to salute a few military brass and had to stay through the Christmas break because of it.

His wife gave birth, but they lost the baby. Olomon was allowed to come home to his family, but then it was off to war.

Olomon served on the front lines in the 23rd Infantry in 1952 and was a trucker for artillery pieces moved around Korea.

“I was assistant gunner when I was on the truck,” he said. “We would set up and fire anyplace — wherever they told us to set up.”

They were shelled by enemy mortars and artillery — to the point where it became routine but never comfortable.&nbsp;

“We always lived in a bunker,” he said.

There were no buildings to speak of at all, Olomon said.&nbsp;

“I was gone (from America) for three Christmases. Back then, if it rained (in Korea), you had to stay in the rain. We didn’t have shelters. We didn’t have buildings. There were no such things as buildings.” he said.

Olomon came out of the war uninjured and considers himself lucky. It wasn’t just the bullets putting his life at risk.&nbsp;

He remembers the chaotic trip to Incheon&nbsp; — the western coast of South Korea.&nbsp;

“We went to Pier 81 in Seattle and shipped out. The seas got so rough going over, it blew the motors out of the ship,” he said.

Olomon’s ship was caught in a storm that nearly proved deadly.

“They had to shut all the hatches. The ship would dip down in the front, and the tail would come up and shake the ship,” he said. “Before it was over with, they came over the loudspeaker and said we were going to abandon ship.”

The men ended up not having to abandon the ship, but the damage was immense.

“We had to anchor there for two weeks,” Olomon said.

From there they went to Yokohama, Japan, around Pusan, South Korea, and into Incheon.

“They docked the ships way out in the ocean, and we climbed off the ropes and dropped into these little, bitty boats,” he said.

The bond Olomon made with his fellow service personnel lasted a lifetime. They would visit each other on occasion after the war.

“We used to call back and forth all the time. The one in Minneapolis, he came down to see me,” Olomon said.&nbsp;

Olomon even traveled to Baltimore, M.D., to visit one of his war buddies.

“That was a great experience. I’m a country feller who went to Baltimore,” Olomon said with a smile.

Though Olomon and his wife never had any biological children, they did adopt a daughter who lives near Fargo, N.D. After returning home, Olomon went to work for a Keokuk steel mill.&nbsp;

He retired from farm work 30 years ago, then started his second career as a Jet Stop attendant, where he does everything but run the cash register.

Like World War II veterans, Korean War veterans are becoming increasingly rare.&nbsp;

Olomon said he was the last of his war buddies. He found that out when he called his war friend in Baltimore.

“His wife said he had passed away. The one in Minnesota passed away too,” he said.

Olomon is also the last of his veteran siblings and likes to joke about how little time he has left on Earth — even as he displays the energy of a much younger man. He’s not rushing for an exit any time soon.

“It’s been quite an experience,” he said.

<figure>
 <img src="https://d2eftiauov6o73.cloudfront.net/public/2023/7/1689347013562.jpeg" alt="Glenn Olomon, who is 93, takes a break on Monday, July 3 from his job at the Jet Stop Gas Station Car Wash to pose for a photograph. Olomon will mark 27 years of working at the Burlington gas station in October and credits his 40-hour work week and interaction with customers as keeping his mind and body mentally and physically fit. Photo/John Lovretta" />
 <figcaption>Glenn Olomon, who is 93, takes a break on Monday, July 3 from his job at the Jet Stop Gas Station Car Wash to pose for a photograph. Olomon will mark 27 years of working at the Burlington gas station in October and credits his 40-hour work week and interaction with customers as keeping his mind and body mentally and physically fit. Photo/John Lovretta</figcaption>
 </figure>By William SmithBurlington resident Glenn Olomon, 93, is a full-service throwback. A man from a gentler time, back when gas station attendants filled up cars and apple pie had yet to become an American cliché.For the past 27 years, Olomon has been sitting outside the Jet Stop gas station at the corner of Mount Pleasant Street and Roosevelt Avenue. Winter or summer.“It (the heat) doesn’t bother me. Same with the cold weather. I’m out here in the heat and cold,” he said.Usually clad in a loose, yellow safety vest and trademark green baseball cap, Olomon does a little of everything at the gas station. He gently sprays down vehicles before they enter the automated car wash. He makes impromptu repairs inside and out of the station.“I don’t sit around. I get to talk to everybody,” he said.Olomon has made quite a few friends with his gab and has been known to lend money to total strangers.He hates seeing someone stuck at a gas station unable to get home.“I’ve given people a few dollars for gas sometimes,” he said.Olomon recalled when he recently lent money to a young man who wanted to use the car wash. Given the transient nature of gas station clientele, Olomon never expected to recoup that loan.He was pleasantly surprised when the young man returned days later with cash in hand.“He said, ‘How much do I owe?’ And I said, ‘Let’s just say $5 and call it even,” Olomon said, grinning.Olomon will be turning 94 in a few months. He never plans on retiring from his retirement career.“It keeps my mind active,” Olomon said.&nbsp;One of his regular customers asked his wife, a doctor, to make a check-up call on Olomon while he was working at the gas station. He just wanted to make sure Olomon was staying healthy.Olomon already knew what the results would be.“She (the doctor) came to see me for about 20 minutes. She said this (the gas station) is the best place for me. It keeps me healthy,” Olomon said.&nbsp;But there’s one aspect of the service station industry Olomon won’t touch.“I don’t do anything with the cash registers,” he said.A respected war veteranOlomon’s memories of serving the U.S. Army during the Korean War have never faded.Olomon doesn’t reflect back on those days often. However, when he recently discovered newspaper articles detailing parts of his military service, the memories of that time came back.“It was an experience you would never forget,” he said.Olomon has been a native and resident of Southeast Iowa his entire life. He grew up with 11 siblings, several of them served in prior wars — including three brothers in World War II, another brother in the Korean War, and a brother in the Vietnam War.Olomon didn’t enlist. He was drafted a few months after getting married. He served in the Army from 1951 to 1953, then spent another six years in the Army Reserve.Olomon’s wife was pregnant when he left for boot camp, and he likely would have been back home in time to watch her give birth after basic training. But he forgot to salute a few military brass and had to stay through the Christmas break because of it.His wife gave birth, but they lost the baby. Olomon was allowed to come home to his family, but then it was off to war.“I had to go,” he said.In KoreaOlomon served on the front lines in the 23rd Infantry in 1952 and was a trucker for artillery pieces moved around Korea.“I was assistant gunner when I was on the truck,” he said. “We would set up and fire anyplace — wherever they told us to set up.”They were shelled by enemy mortars and artillery — to the point where it became routine but never comfortable.&nbsp;“We always lived in a bunker,” he said.There were no buildings to speak of at all, Olomon said.&nbsp;“I was gone (from America) for three Christmases. Back then, if it rained (in Korea), you had to stay in the rain. We didn’t have shelters. We didn’t have buildings. There were no such things as buildings.” he said.Olomon came out of the war uninjured and considers himself lucky. It wasn’t just the bullets putting his life at risk.&nbsp;He remembers the chaotic trip to Incheon&nbsp; — the western coast of South Korea.&nbsp;“We went to Pier 81 in Seattle and shipped out. The seas got so rough going over, it blew the motors out of the ship,” he said.Olomon’s ship was caught in a storm that nearly proved deadly.“They had to shut all the hatches. The ship would dip down in the front, and the tail would come up and shake the ship,” he said. “Before it was over with, they came over the loudspeaker and said we were going to abandon ship.”The men ended up not having to abandon the ship, but the damage was immense.“We had to anchor there for two weeks,” Olomon said.From there they went to Yokohama, Japan, around Pusan, South Korea, and into Incheon.“They docked the ships way out in the ocean, and we climbed off the ropes and dropped into these little, bitty boats,” he said.One of the lastThe bond Olomon made with his fellow service personnel lasted a lifetime. They would visit each other on occasion after the war.“We used to call back and forth all the time. The one in Minneapolis, he came down to see me,” Olomon said.&nbsp;Olomon even traveled to Baltimore, M.D., to visit one of his war buddies.“That was a great experience. I’m a country feller who went to Baltimore,” Olomon said with a smile.Though Olomon and his wife never had any biological children, they did adopt a daughter who lives near Fargo, N.D. After returning home, Olomon went to work for a Keokuk steel mill.&nbsp;He retired from farm work 30 years ago, then started his second career as a Jet Stop attendant, where he does everything but run the cash register.Like World War II veterans, Korean War veterans are becoming increasingly rare.&nbsp;Olomon said he was the last of his war buddies. He found that out when he called his war friend in Baltimore.“His wife said he had passed away. The one in Minnesota passed away too,” he said.Olomon is also the last of his veteran siblings and likes to joke about how little time he has left on Earth — even as he displays the energy of a much younger man. He’s not rushing for an exit any time soon.“It’s been quite an experience,” he said.<figure>
 <img src="https://d2eftiauov6o73.cloudfront.net/public/2023/7/1689347156379.jpeg" alt="Glenn Olomon, who is 93, takes a break from his job at the Jet Stop Gas Station Car Wash to pose for a photograph, Monday, July 3, in Burlington. Photo/John Lovretta" />
 <figcaption>Glenn Olomon, who is 93, takes a break from his job at the Jet Stop Gas Station Car Wash to pose for a photograph, Monday, July 3, in Burlington. Photo/John Lovretta</figcaption>
 </figure>

52 Faces: Service with a smile

For the past 94 years, Burlington Civic Music has been a source of musical culture for locals. An affordable avenue for everyday people without the time or means to catch a fancy musical production in a major metropolis.

Immediate past Burlington Civic Music President and programmer Barbara McRoberts was around 7 or 8 years old when she saw her first Civic Music show. And the experience stayed with her.

“Up through the 1970s, you dressed up to go to a show,” she said. “When you look at the date of 1929 when it (Civic Music) was founded, it was the flapper era — but it was still dressy.”

It was a different time, and Civic Music was at the cutting edge of entertainment. McRoberts does her best to combat modern stereotypes. She hears the whispers about Civic Music being nothing more than a chamber music experience for the elderly.&nbsp;

“That’s not true,” McRoberts said. Indeed, the Civic Music program is a lot broader than it gets credit for. This season alone, the organization will host Scottish bagpipers with a rowdy sense of humor, a Christmas concert, and the Sofia Philharmonic on Feb. 24. No two shows are the same. Or even similar. “There’s something for everyone,” McRoberts said. The founding Memorial Auditorium has served as the home for Civic Music for decades, but the program started out at a church. “It was actually one of the Methodist churches,” McRoberts said. The Civic Service program — a national program that started in the early 1920s — brought high-end musical performances to 130 cities. Burlington joined in, with the booking handled by the national organization. Burlington Civic Music wasn’t born overnight. A local board was elected and a membership drive was held. The campaign goal was simple – put Burlington on the same cultural wavelength as larger cities. More specifically, Burlington Civic Music wanted to “popularize good music in the community.” The idea was to make high-end concerts accessible. “Too many people regard a concert as a mystical performance requiring special knowledge and a trained ear to make it comprehensible. This is a mistake,” the organization said in its listed objectives.&nbsp; No tickets For decades, Civic Music had a strict policy about ticket sales.

“Civic Music didn’t sell tickets,” McRoberts said.

Instead, the organization sold memberships. Being a member was akin to being a season ticket holder. McRoberts was a catalyst for selling single tickets without the responsibility and price of a membership.

“We want people to come to the shows. If we don’t sell tickets, they can’t see it,” McRoberts said.

The first membership drive was held in April of 1929, and Civic Music hosted its first concert that October featuring pianist Claudio Muzio. The concert was held in the basement of First United Methodist Church.

Ironically enough, the concert was held on Oct. 24, 1929 – the same day as “Black Thursday,” which kick-started the Great Depression. The Burlington Hawk Eye reported that it might have been Black Thursday on Wall Street, but it was “a red-letter day in Burlington.”

Two years later, in the fall of 1931, Civic Music moved the musical performances from the church to the auditorium at Oak Street Junior High. 

In May of 1939, the organization claimed 1,600 members — a thousand more than it started with after the first membership drive a decade earlier. It’s the highest membership in the history of the organization.

Under the direction of the late Hazel Witte — who was listed as the president of Civic Music in 1942 and membership chair in 1937 — Civic Music entertained locals for decades.

“We used to sell over 1,000 season tickets. For a town this size, that’s incredible,” McRoberts said.

McRoberts introduced Civic Music to the Iowa Presenters Network after joining the civic music board. Her new role brought even more high-profile acts to Burlington.

So did Witte. McRoberts said Witte worked tirelessly to book the biggest, most national acts imaginable. Witte would fly to Chicago on her own dime to scout talent.

“She should be given a great deal of credit. She is the one who flew to New York,” McRoberts said.

Witte selected a small group of women who met at her home for the secretarial end of the job. Witte kept only hand-written notes (she didn’t type), and about 20 volunteers would gather in a sunroom overlooking the Mississippi River. The meetings were especially important before membership drives. 

As the Hawk Eye reported in 1975, “Seven or eight typewriters in the room were going lickety-split at one time.”

Hazel had more than 100 volunteer captains, and they got free tickets if they could renew 20 Civic Music memberships or sell five new ones. Witte never afforded herself a free ticket, though.

“She was a force,” McRoberts said.

Witte booked Bob Hope for the auditorium in 1975, selling out every seat in the place. She often invited the performers to her home for refreshments, getting up close and personal with Hope and a litany of other celebrities. When she booked Red Skelton, the famous comedian insisted on arriving five days early so he could meet and talk to people in town.

<figure>
 <img src="https://d2eftiauov6o73.cloudfront.net/public/2023/7/1689013878649.jpeg" alt="Dancers from Tango Argentina entertain the crowd with their captivating choreography at Burlington Memorial Auditorium on Feb. 2.&nbsp;Photo credit: Phil Pool, Omni Photography" />
 <figcaption>Dancers from Tango Argentina entertain the crowd with their captivating choreography at Burlington Memorial Auditorium on Feb. 2.&nbsp;Photo credit: Phil Pool, Omni Photography</figcaption>
 </figure>By William Smith Community Editor For the past 94 years, Burlington Civic Music has been a source of musical culture for locals. An affordable avenue for everyday people without the time or means to catch a fancy musical production in a major metropolis. Immediate past Burlington Civic Music President and programmer Barbara McRoberts was around 7 or 8 years old when she saw her first Civic Music show. And the experience stayed with her. “Up through the 1970s, you dressed up to go to a show,” she said. “When you look at the date of 1929 when it (Civic Music) was founded, it was the flapper era — but it was still dressy.”It was a different time, and Civic Music was at the cutting edge of entertainment. McRoberts does her best to combat modern stereotypes. She hears the whispers about Civic Music being nothing more than a chamber music experience for the elderly.&nbsp; “That’s not true,” McRoberts said. Indeed, the Civic Music program is a lot broader than it gets credit for. This season alone, the organization will host Scottish bagpipers with a rowdy sense of humor, a Christmas concert, and the Sofia Philharmonic on Feb. 24. No two shows are the same. Or even similar. “There’s something for everyone,” McRoberts said. The founding Memorial Auditorium has served as the home for Civic Music for decades, but the program started out at a church. “It was actually one of the Methodist churches,” McRoberts said. The Civic Service program — a national program that started in the early 1920s — brought high-end musical performances to 130 cities. Burlington joined in, with the booking handled by the national organization. Burlington Civic Music wasn’t born overnight. A local board was elected and a membership drive was held. The campaign goal was simple – put Burlington on the same cultural wavelength as larger cities. More specifically, Burlington Civic Music wanted to “popularize good music in the community.” The idea was to make high-end concerts accessible. “Too many people regard a concert as a mystical performance requiring special knowledge and a trained ear to make it comprehensible. This is a mistake,” the organization said in its listed objectives.&nbsp; No tickets For decades, Civic Music had a strict policy about ticket sales. “Civic Music didn’t sell tickets,” McRoberts said. Instead, the organization sold memberships. Being a member was akin to being a season ticket holder. McRoberts was a catalyst for selling single tickets without the responsibility and price of a membership. “We want people to come to the shows. If we don’t sell tickets, they can’t see it,” McRoberts said. The first membership drive was held in April of 1929, and Civic Music hosted its first concert that October featuring pianist Claudio Muzio. The concert was held in the basement of First United Methodist Church. Ironically enough, the concert was held on Oct. 24, 1929 – the same day as “Black Thursday,” which kick-started the Great Depression. The Burlington Hawk Eye reported that it might have been Black Thursday on Wall Street, but it was “a red-letter day in Burlington.” Two years later, in the fall of 1931, Civic Music moved the musical performances from the church to the auditorium at Oak Street Junior High. In May of 1939, the organization claimed 1,600 members — a thousand more than it started with after the first membership drive a decade earlier. It’s the highest membership in the history of the organization. The glory years Under the direction of the late Hazel Witte — who was listed as the president of Civic Music in 1942 and membership chair in 1937 — Civic Music entertained locals for decades. “We used to sell over 1,000 season tickets. For a town this size, that’s incredible,” McRoberts said. McRoberts introduced Civic Music to the Iowa Presenters Network after joining the civic music board. Her new role brought even more high-profile acts to Burlington. So did Witte. McRoberts said Witte worked tirelessly to book the biggest, most national acts imaginable. Witte would fly to Chicago on her own dime to scout talent. “She should be given a great deal of credit. She is the one who flew to New York,” McRoberts said. Witte selected a small group of women who met at her home for the secretarial end of the job. Witte kept only hand-written notes (she didn’t type), and about 20 volunteers would gather in a sunroom overlooking the Mississippi River. The meetings were especially important before membership drives. As the Hawk Eye reported in 1975, “Seven or eight typewriters in the room were going lickety-split at one time.” Hazel had more than 100 volunteer captains, and they got free tickets if they could renew 20 Civic Music memberships or sell five new ones. Witte never afforded herself a free ticket, though. “She was a force,” McRoberts said. Witte booked Bob Hope for the auditorium in 1975, selling out every seat in the place. She often invited the performers to her home for refreshments, getting up close and personal with Hope and a litany of other celebrities. When she booked Red Skelton, the famous comedian insisted on arriving five days early so he could meet and talk to people in town. With the likes of Pat Boone and other famous musicians, Witte had no trouble selling out the auditorium for multiple shows. She usually sold more memberships than the venue could hold, because she knew not everyone would show up. Saving Civic Music Witte retired from Civic Music in 1982. Audiences were shrinking and music bookings were becoming more expensive. Witte told “The Hawk Eye” that as far as she was concerned, the organization was finished as well. “Civic Music was her show for 45 years. The reason that it survived so well is that she did it so well,” the Hawk Eye wrote. The organization had been self-sufficient through membership fees, and there was concern that the program wouldn’t be able to survive without outside help.&nbsp; A group of like-minded Burlington citizens provided that help. Chuck Siekman, a well-known Burlington business owner, approached then Hawk Eye editor Stuart Awbrey about saving Civic Music. Awbrey agreed to finance the first year of Civic Music under the new direction to see if the program could find its legs. Late Hawk Eye journalist Bobby Wilson became heavily involved in the booking of Civic Music in the 1980s and found there was still life to be held in organized music. He served as president from 1986 to 1990 and continued to book for the organization well after that. “Bobby was cantankerous, but we worked together very well,” McRoberts said. Wilson was a force in his own right — a lone wolf who didn’t care to work through committees or keep scrupulous notes. As the turn of the century arrived, though, Wilson’s ways chafed against some of the other board members. “He wanted to do his own thing. And I told him, I said, ‘Bobby, you can’t do that anymore,’ ” McRoberts said. McRoberts recalled visiting Wilson when he was in the hospital, where he expressed his desire to quit the Civic Music board. McRoberts wouldn’t let him. “Bobby took over in the 80s in terms of doing all the programming for Civic Music,” McRoberts said. As Wilson approached the end of his life in 2011, McRoberts made a point of sitting Wilson down and absorbing his years of knowledge — even if she had to squeeze it out of him. “I told him, ‘We don’t know what you do. We don’t have a contract or anything,’” McRoberts said. Wilson relented, and the two spent a lot of time together before his passing. McRoberts was able to take over the programming. “I knew enough because of this (time spent with Wilson),” McRoberts said. Holding it together It’s the passion for community music that keeps the Civic Music organizers tethered to endless seasons of entertainment. Craig Borchard — who used to work for Southeast Iowa Regional Medical Center — still writes the press releases for the group. He moved out of Burlington several years ago. Current president Kay Conrad has also helped the group survive, as has board member and former vice-president Lori Weiss. “We had a good board. We still do,” McRoberts said. “It took us some time to get single ticket sales going. It took us some time to get Bobby convinced that he could work with other people. And it took the community a while to realize this is an asset.” Incorporated as a 501(c)3 in March 1984, Burlington Civic Music hasn’t been self-sufficient in nearly 30 years. But ticket sales — especially season ticket sales — are vital in keeping the organization afloat. The rest of the money comes from grants and donations. “The community has been very supportive. If they weren’t, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” McRoberts said. COVID-19 nearly killed the Civic Music program a few years ago. When the lockdowns started, McRobert’s first instinct was to cancel the season entirely. But that would actually be more expensive than limping through a partial season. McRoberts had practice from the year before when major flooding shut down the auditorium. There was no heat in November, but Civic Music organizers improvised. They held a concert anyway and encouraged attendees to wear their coats. McRoberts thought the booking disasters were over. But she hadn’t seen anything yet. “We got it (2019 shows) done. And then as you’re good into 2020, guess what happened? COVID happened,” McRoberts said. “We didn’t cancel, and we did not shut down.” Some performances were postponed or moved. Venues were improvised. But the show went on. “That (2021) was the year we had our first outdoor show. People didn’t want to go inside because of COVID, so we took them outside,” McRoberts said. The pandemic has had a lasting impact on attendance, though. Before COVID, McRoberts said they usually filled around 750 seats per show. This past year, it’s been around 400 to 450 people. “We’re never going to have people in the thousands again. We’ve lost so many people,” McRoberts said. Civic Music was further hampered by the ongoing TIGER grant-funded redevelopment of downtown. But that’s only been a minor issue compared to what came before. McRoberts said the city was wonderful about providing bus services and extra routes to the shows.&nbsp; falling post-pandemic numbers aren’t just endemic to Burlington. As part of the Iowa Presenters Network, McRoberts has seen the same scenario play out across the county. A lack of volunteers — also a national problem — isn’t helping. &nbsp;“Season concert series in communities the size of Burlington are dying. The ones that are in larger cities are sustaining reasonably okay,” McRoberts said. It’s a classic case of not knowing what you have until it’s gone. There’s nothing in Burlington quite like Civic Music. After 93 years, the organization may seem invincible. But no organization can survive continued apathy. McRoberts hopes the citizens of Burlington will see the program through its 100th anniversary and beyond. “If people don’t buy tickets — well, we won’t be here,” McRoberts said.

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