Once, the Streator Depot Served Food, Coffee and Hospitality to More than One Thousand World War Two Soldiers a Day

Sunday, May 24, 2020 at 7:36 AM

Tall Poppy Estates

Streator, Illinois

I would love to pop into Chicago for an overnight visit and come home to wide open spaces the next day. Cities make wonderful places to visit, but maybe I have lived in cities enough for one lifetime. It frustrates me to be close to Chicago without an easy way to travel downtown. Twenty miles away, the city of Dwight has trains that travel into the heart of the city twice a day. But I would have to drive all the way to Dwight, and that makes a city trip more complicated. 

Streator Illinois has a train depot, but it now serves as a warehouse for goods used by rail crews to repair the tracks. Amtrak trains haven’t stopped to pick up passengers since 1996 and the lack of foot traffic shows. The doors need painting. The pigeon droppings have piled up. I found a pair of good workman boots, leather with steel toes, waiting on the front steps. I had been getting my boots muddy while walking on nature trails recently flooded by rain. I left the boots alone. I have no idea who was living in the traveler trail setup by the depot.

The Streator Depot once thronged with life during World War Two. From 1943 to 1946, trains carrying troops stopped in Streator. Volunteers with sandwiches, snacks and coffee met the soldiers and gave them a smile and a chat. One day, more than five thousand troops arrived and were fed while the trains underwent maintenance. A statue honors the volunteers and the soldiers, a statue of a woman pouring coffee into the cup of a soldier staring off into the distance.

I have found black and white photographs that captured those happy moments on the platform. One shows a group of women from a local Catholic Church, Saint Anthony’s. It must have been taken before opening for the day. The women look rested. A second picture shows a group of women from a nearby prairie town, the Rutland Community. Daughters posed with their mothers. A few soldiers asked for addresses and wrote from the front. I’ve heard of one marriage between two people who met briefly on the platform.

I went shopping at ALDI and picked up the healthy snacks that cost pennies at that beautiful store. I bought apple sauce cups and tiny boxes of raisins, stocking up for the week. A vegan diet doesn’t stick to my ribs, so I break the advice about eating between meal snacks. I found unsalted dry roasted peanuts to be handy, and yet the peanut comes with a touch too much fat.

Snack shopping complete, I wanted an adventure. I had heard of the Sandy Ford Nature Area. A local tourism map hinted that the area awaited northwest of Streator. Five in the afternoon, I felt a drive with the windows open would help me beat the heat. I turned onto Illinois Highway Five and cruised west through plowed fields extending for miles, broken up only by woodlots thickets and drains lined with trees. 

The fields gave way to woods north and south of the road. I passed a small parking lot where hunters could park. I followed the steep grade down to the Sandy Ford Bridge, a metal truss bridge over the Vermilion River. I had heard about the steep sandstone banks, and I caught a glimpse of them. I went back to the parking lot and noticed an aggressive sign. The nature area was closed indefinitely. I noticed a rabbit ignoring the sign and I followed the hare through the gates. I walked into the woods, but was deterred by the muddy trails. I had already scrubbed my shoes with a brush twice this week, so I decided to save the trail down to the river until drier weather.

The maps showed the village of Lenore awaiting a few miles west. The town sign proudly announced the presence of one hundred and fifty souls. The bar doubled as a convenience store, so it was open. One couple had bought cold beers from the store and were sitting at a table at a shelter across the street, enjoying a sip together. I doubted that any officer from the Sheriff’s department would bother them, even though the shelter had to be shut down still.

I tooled around the small village, noting the silo complex owned by the Ruff Brothers and the proud building that served the volunteer fire department. An empty playground awaited children. The playground even offered a climbing wall on the edge of the rolling prairie. I made my way to the main road and headed south.

I saw the spire of Saint Peter and Saint Paul in the distance. I wondered if the church was mothballed, owned by private citizens or still alive as a parish. I noticed a cemetery adjacent to the brick cathedral and the stout Catholic school building. 

The emptiness of these country churches have fascinated me for a long time, a feeling doubled now that the pandemic has closed the doors for the duration. I enjoyed the company of the dead, their tombstones better than nametags at a Chamber of Commerce mixer. I noticed the names of Knecht and Arenz, so I surmised that this parish served farm families with their roots in Germany.

I fielded an email from a friend in California who had returned, ironically, from a visit to the national cemetery at Fort Rosecrans. Her husband and she had paid a visit to the San Diego cemetery overlooking the Pacific Ocean for Memorial Day for many years. She brought her camera and took a beautiful roll of images. 

She reported, feeling shock. Over one hundred thousand tombs awaited American Flags that couldn’t be posted because of the pandemic. She sent me three photographs of the rows on rows of tombstones, not even a flag posted by the Juan Cabrillo Monument. I never post these because she has collectors who would be offended.

I wrote her back, always being prompt in my correspondence. Ironically, I'm taking videos of religious statuary in St Peter and Paul Cemetery, south of Lenore, Illinois. All of the veterans have flags erected in metal holders. Many served during World War Two.

Happy to see you working that camera as only you can.

I'm unsure if a life can be lived on the quiet prairie. The prairie wind makes me forget that fact. The day reached eighty degrees and the prairie wind has kept me cool. No wonder we have wind farms on the eastern side of town."

I remembered my stop at the Streator Depot. I wondered if the World War Two veteran at eternal repose under an American flag waving in the prairie breeze had enjoyed a sandwich, a cup of Joe and a laugh at the canteen? I wondered if the partner who rested beside the soldier served the warrior on the way to the front a cup of coffee?