Hoopeston billed itself as “The Sweetcorn Capital of the World” back in the 60s, and no one challenged that claim. The town had three food packing plants, a company that made cans, and one that designed and produced machinery to pick and package the corn. Stokely Van Camp, and two Joan of Arc food processing plants ran twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week during the corn season; the rest of the time they packed tomatoes, peas, kidney beans, and asparagus. American Can Company on Main Street provided enough cans for the two companies to can thousands of cans of corn. Food Machinery Corporation designed pickers, packers and box machines to help them get their product out to market. Mom and Dad’s Donut Shop was situated on First Avenue right in the middle of all the commotion. Along with these companies, there was a little known bottling company that sat about half a block from the shop at the corner of Penn Street and First Avenue and during packing season, it, too, ran all the time pumping out beverages like grape Nehi and some kind of orange-flavored beverage that rivaled Orange Crush, as well as this drink that was called Howdy Cola, which tasted like Coca Cola, that was served in the shop.
Cornpack seemed to awaken the city and every body in it for the time that it was running. Corn was brought to the factory by wagons pulled by tractors. Farmers would bring their loads into the city and stop first at the “migrant camp” on the south of town to get weighed, then they would come in to town, park along First Avenue and down Washington Street and wait again to dump their loads before going back out. The kids on the block were fascinated by the constant parade of wagons; the smell of freshly cut corn mesmerized us. We would often go down to the plant where they were pushing the corn into a hopper and ask for ears of corn. The workers would give us a few ears each and we would take them home for dinner. Once cooked, nothing was as juicy as the corn that that we got from those folks.
Hoopeston welcomed many families from Texas and Mexico during the planting and harvesting season. The families stayed in the camps south of town and the one north of town on the properties owned by two canning companies. Joan of Arc owned the southern one which they had acquired after World War II from the government when it shut down what was a Prisoner of War camp. Dad had served during the war in a detachment that ferried German prisoners from Morocco to the United States and had brought some of the men to Hoopeston. They were kept in a camp surrounded by armed guard towers. The men were marched into the city during the day to rebuild the brick streets of the city, or signed out to farms. They worked for long hours taking up the paving bricks and putting them back down so the streets were smooth. The prisoners also worked in the fields and the factories. They would work tirelessly on the farms in the area and were fed well and treated well. Once canning season was over in October, the prisoners would be moved to another location to help with that area. After the war, most of them returned to their home country, some returned and settled in the Midwest. The migrant workers then came every spring and summer to help out in the fields and fill the gap that was left by the departure of the prisoners of war. The northern camp, built by Stokely Van Camp inside its compound, was constructed specifically for the families that came from near and south of the Mexican border. Worker’s families stayed in these small apartments and the old prisoner barracks on the south end of town during their time in Hoopeston.
This constant stream of outside help and the help of many working people from Hoopeston and the surrounding communities, helped it earn its title. When all was said and the done, the companies would release the amount of cans that had been packed with the delicous Illini Supersweet. The number of cans was usually equal to at least the number of people on the planet (excluding the Chinese), thereby giving every man, woman, and child of the world a can of corn. At the end of the season, to celebrate Labor Day and the coming end to cornpack, the Hoopeston Junior Chamber of Commerce, or Jaycee’s for short, put on this weeklong celebration out at McFerren Park on the western edge of the city, right off Route One. The people of this organization worked tirelessly all year planning to make sure that the event was one of which the community could be proud. It was a kid’s dream, and everyone looked forward to the weekend, even though they knew that on Tuesday following Labor Day they started school.
The kids of the community were always thrilled because there would be carnival rides to thrill and amaze them. There were no amusement parks outside of Riverview in Chicago, so having a real carnival come through town was a yearlong build up. The Tilt-a-Whirl, Ferris Wheel, Merri-Mixer, and Loop the Loop as well as the Rocket Ride brought high blood pressure and stimulation to kids of all ages. Screams of delight often echoed from mid-day to late evening. The JC’s provided plenty of security, and parents were able to drop their children off with a few dollars for rides and corndogs and leave them alone for an hour or so. People from all over the state and in some cases, the naton, came to the park. As the years went on, more and more attractions were added. In addition to the midway, there were horse shows, car shows, a demolition derby, teen dances, and tents filled with food stands. Of course, the center piece of the festival was corn.
The factories that canned the corn provided the Jaycees with tons of their product, and the group gave the delicious ears away with abandon. The Illini Supersweet which was grown in the fields surrounding the community was unceremoniously dumped into piles on the ground near a giant steam engine. Volunteers then shucked each ear by hand and made sure that it was clean of all “hair” that covered the delicious golden kernels. The ears were then thrown into a large horse tank where they were cooked using steam that was pumped into the water from the steam engine. After boiling for about ten minutes, the ears were taken out in baskets, dumped onto a draining tray and slathered in butter, then coated with salt. Everyone who brought a pail or bucket, or maybe a roaster or just held out their hands, received enough corn to fill whatever they brought as they stood in line. This went on from around to early evening for three days during the festival. I am sure that it put a strain on the sewer system of the community.
The Hoopeston Sweetcorn Festival took on added significance when the Jaycees added a beauty competition. They decided that having a Miss Hoopeston to represent them was not enough. They had to choose someone to be “The National Sweetcorn Sweetheart.” This girl would then carry the banner and represent the community and the Festival around the country. The organizers of the pageant had grandiose plans for it. They did not want just anyone for their competitions, they wanted the first runners up from states Miss America Pageants to come to their small town and vie for the title of National Sweetcorn Sweetheart. And it worked! Beautiful women of model stature from all over the country agreed to come to Hoopeston and compete in a pageant that was a rigorous as the Miss America Pageant itself. These young ladies were put up in homes in the community and given the keys to the city. Beauties visited canneries, factories, civic functions and parties all week leading up to the three days of choreographed competition for the title. And if they were lucky, they might get called away to compete in the Miss America Pageant. By the end of the week, the contestants knew that Hoopeston was truly serious about its corn and its title as Sweetcorn Capital of the World.
Along with the queen competition, the end of summer affair always had a parade. The procession was open to anyone that wanted to display something or just be seen. Companies and civic organizations built floats, scout packs walked, politicians rode in cars, horse drawn carriages rolled down the street, cowboys strutted their stuff with their horses, the queens were on display in convertibles, and high school bands from all over the state came to march in the two mile long event that was viewed by hundreds of folks in lawn chairs and those on top of buildings lining the route. Our family and those of the neighborhood always walked down to the end of the block at Main Street to the north of the shop and set up our lawn chairs early so we could get a glimpse of the festivities. As the parade went by, we would yell at people we knew and applaud the celebrities that might be in the parade. Of course, politicians would often get either booed, or wooed depending on their popularity during election years. Everyone stood and men removed their hats when each flag of a color guard would pass by. The American Legion and the Veterans of Foreign Wars would always lead the parade, but other bands and organizations would show their patriotism by having the American Flag at the front of their organization. Old people got a lot of exercise going up and down.
At the end of the parade would come the old steam engine that would cook the corn followed by a police car or a fire engine to mark the end of procession. Kids near the end would often fall in line and walk along waving mightily to the crowd trying to get into the park free. Sometimes it worked, depending who was manning the entry. Later, they changed the parade route at the end so it would go in a side gate which was always guarded by the auxiliary police.
All in all, the week of the National Sweetcorn Festival brought recognition to the town and those involved. But nothing topped the excitement kids got on the rides. The personal favorite of mine was the Ferris Wheel. I loved the exhilaration of flying into the air and momentarily seeing the surrounding area. If I was lucky, I would get stopped on the top for a while, suspended from the earth in a small car that was gently swinging back and forth. The suspension was so death-defying and the closest I would come to anything remotely like jumping out of an airplane. After all, I was not a bright young man, but who would want to jump out of and airplane with a handkerchief tied to his back and hope that he came gently down from the sky? I remember seeing the types of landings that my army action figures made, and there was no way that was going to happen to me! But the Ferris Wheel offered the opportunity to go about 50 feet up safely and I took the opportunity often. The other rides like the Merri Mixer and the Tilt-a-Whirl tossed me around and made me dizzy; I settled for the mundane and romantic view of the city and the festival. Summer would often end on Monday afternoon with me taking my last ride on the Wheel and thinking of how things might be during the year. Rarely was I disappointed.
(This entry is taken from "As You Ramble On Through Life, Brother" an upcoming creative non-fiction novel due out next year.)
Doughnut
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