The author grew up on Randolph Street in a small Iowa town. Five generations of the author’s family have called it home. The chapters are filled with stories that span over one hundred years. When Carolyn and her brother and sister cleared out the old house at 608 after their father’s death, they were faced with surprises everyday. Their father had an unbelievable memory for details and liked to document things for posterity, for his family and community; their mother saved special sentimental surprises.

Inside the pages you will witness the love story between Carolyn’s parents; the carefree childhood memories of the author and her two siblings, the grandparents that lived next door, the family’s strong faith, the extended family and the caring neighbors that lived on Randolph Street

You will read about the one room school houses on the prairie where Carolyn’s mother was a teacher, the cousins and aunts and uncles who loved to celebrate anything around a gigantic spread of Midwestern food, the day that Carolyn’s father went for a physical to join the military in the spring of 1944, and the family’s adventures on summer vacations. The reader will find stories about the risky adventures shared by the city cousins who visited every summer.

There are stories of Bedford, Iowa, the small town with the big heart, red brick streets, historic buildings, and colorful characters. Moments of nostalgia emerge as the author remembers what it was like growing up before television and air-conditioning, when dances were sock hops in the high school gym, the music was a mix of swing and Elvis, and the jitterbug was catching on. The family’s love of music and animals supply more stories. The special relationship of love and respect between Carolyn and her siblings shows through in every chapter.

With the aging of Carolyn’s parents, the disposition of the old house was in question until a sudden and unexpected decision was made by a family member.


Chapter One…The Old House Has a History

The old house at 608 Randolph Street in Bedford, Iowa, has a history, no doubt about that. It’s been in our family since 1934, the year the house became sixty years old. Shortly after Dad passed away in May of 2003, my brother and sister and I started on the most daunting task I’ve ever experienced--scouring through shelves, closets, and boxes of treasures in the old house.

New surprises greeted us every day. We would be in various locations of the house, upstairs or down, each exploring a new corner, when one of us would break the silence with, “Wow, guess what I just found.” Several days of this routine, in the weeks that followed Dad’s death, brought back loving reminders of things we had almost forgotten. Mom and Dad had preserved memories for us.

Carl and Helen Cummings, my dad and mom, were savers. They knew they were. They didn’t even try to throw things away. They didn’t know how. They were Depression Era survivors. Several times Daddy lamented, “Oh, my, you kids are going to have a big job, someday.” He was right. The forgotten keepsakes brought back pieces of our past, a collection of memories that we decided must be preserved for our children and grandchildren.

Writing and recording these stories is the second most daunting task I’ve ever undertaken.

Perhaps the best place to begin is with the house itself, the dwelling at 608 Randolph Street. Among the treasures we found in the house was a copy of an Enid, Pennsylvania newspaper clipping, probably written around the turn of the twentieth century.

I.W. Scherich, a Civil War veteran from Pennsylvania, was the builder of the house. The article gives his first-hand account of his experiences in the war and his meetings with President Lincoln.

The headline in the Enid, Pennsylvania, newspaper reads:

Enid Soldier Relates Days With Lincoln
I.W.Scherich, 823 West Randolph,
Saw Famous President Five Times
A summary of the article follows here:

Mr. Scherich told of the visits from the President and his habit of leaving his carriage and walking among the soldiers. After defending Washington, Mr. Scherich’s division fought at Gettysburg. From there they saw many heartbreaking campaigns along the Richmond-Washington Road. In the Shenandoah Valley, Mr. Scherich lost an arm. After many weeks in a Philadelphia hospital, he returned to his home in the Pennsylvania hills shortly before the war ended. Within days the news of President Lincoln’s assassination spread quickly. Mr. Scherich wrote the article some sixty-two years after the events he described, but he could never forget the serious and kind face of the President.

Attached to the newspaper copy was an additional page that was added by my father, Carl Cummings. Daddy liked to document things. In the familiar type of his favorite old Underwood manual typewriter, a gift from my mother in 1934, he added this additional page of information. Some of the following information was obtained from Clyde E. Scherich, the son of the builder, I.W. Scherich. These paragraphs are reproduced exactly as Daddy wrote them:

Clyde E. Scherich said that Alva and Bill Baldwin of Pennsylvania and West Virginia came with his father, I.W. Scherich, to Bedford, Iowa and built the house at 608 Randolph Street in 1875.
The building materials were brought up from St. Joseph, Missouri, about 70 miles south of Bedford, and after the house was built in Bedford, the two brothers moved to St. Joseph, where they lived and built houses as long as they were able. The house at 608 Randolph Street is the only house that they built in Bedford.
The tulip tree and the chestnut tree were brought from the old Scherich farm, located part in West Virginia and part in Pennsylvania. The trees were balled and burlaped and he brought them to Iowa with him on the train and set them out in the front yard at 608 Randolph Street.
The tulip tree lived and bloomed each season around Memorial Day and it died in the summer of 1972. It was removed in September of 1972 being 97 years old at that time. The chestnut tree is now in its third generation from the original tree as it sprouts from the roots.
I.W. Scherich died on October 26, 1928.

With a sense of wonder I think of this determined war hero coming west, bringing two friends, perhaps with families.