| Notes |
- At his death, Jonathan’s estate totaled $205,162.23--divided among his eight children at $16,956.03 each.
On October 1, 2000, I attended the Jonathan Schrock Reunion in Carlock, IL. This was the first contact I had with the Joseph Schrock (oldest son of Johannes) family. I received the following information:
“In October and November of 1947, Ada Marie Schrock wrote “Portrait of Father” which pertained to her father, Jonathan Schrock. He passed away shortly after she completed the writing. The following are excerpts from “Portrait of Father.”
I think the reason for Father’s condition is just pure weariness of life--he is tired of it all. At 80, he’d still had his fine dairy herd in which he took a great interest, but he was forced to sell his cows when the war came and took his herdsman away. After that he could not find a reliable man--”What’s the matter with people nowadays!” Father would storm. “Nobody knows how to work, nobody wants to, they’re no good anymore now. When I was young...,” etc. In those days, he still had Mother to listen to him. When she died three years later, he did not shed a tear that we saw. But, he soon began to droop noticeable. He looked lost and defeated and sad. For that reason, I wanted to stay with him, even though he made me feel just about as sad by looking on. But I gained something of lasting value through the experience of walking with him through the lonely years.
“I used to wish he had some absorbing hobby. That he would have learned to knit like Mother, or weave beautiful bedspreads like a dear old departed friend of his had, or make hooked rugs, or carve, or whittle, or anything, so he could keep his mind occupied and feel needed. But Father couldn’t be bothered with “little things.” He had been interested in doing only big things that required strength because he had always been so strong and well. He had not planned for old age, and loneliness for the “old days” gripped him often. He had seen a great many changes in his lifetime of 86 years, but he loved the old days best--the days when he began to farm his mother’s land, with nothing to his name but an old blind mare and a horse with “heaves”--but then, he had been young and confident. He lived with his mother. She was glad to have her too-large house occupied, for she was alone then. A little town had sprung up, rather suddenly, not far from their back door because of the railroad that had just been built through the farm. That was before fences were constructed along the rights of way, so swinging gates were built across the tracks to protect the livestock. Trains were forced to stop and open gates in order to pass through his mother’s property.
Also, in those good days, his mother used to bake loaves of bread in a great brick oven outdoors. She made it of flour from their own wheat, which they had ground at the local mill. They cracked grains for their cereal, too, between large stones. Sugar was “dear” so they used mostly crude molasses for sweetening. Molasses was plentiful and cheap. Their apple pies never saw cinnamon except on rare occasions. Well-to-do people used it more frequently. They “boiled down” apple butter in a large iron pot outdoors, with a fire built underneath it. And then there were days and days of walking behind a plow--those were the days of the walking plow. One had ample time for long and serious thought then. At harvest time, Father was obliged to walk behind the crude reaper and bind the sheaves by hand. He boasted about this ability to keep up with the reaper. Father walked much in his lifetime. He thought nothing of walking several miles to “meetin” on Sundays--come mud or snow. He visited the churches around, and listened earnestly to the preachers who traveled about. They came and went a great deal in those days.
Father did not marry until he was almost thirty, and then he married a frail and delicate little French girl who had come to America with her parents in her early teens--she was a far cry from the typical farm woman. Brought up in a household of servants, she hardly knew how to keep house on a farm, especially in America where everything was so different and rugged. But she was very optimistic and loved life. She managed well, with the hired girl Father insisted upon having.
After Father had accumulated enough money, he bought 40 acres of hilly land and planted almost all of it in apple trees. He grafted and budded many of the trees himself. He had wonderful success in growing fruit, and he loved the work that went with it. His apples were exceptionally fine. It seems he always walked about with the deep pockets of his coat bulging with apples, and he ate them incessantly. He used to hand them out to children he passed along the way. they learned to look at him expectantly as he approached, which always amused him. “Children need apples,” he would say. He thought nothing of taking a bushel of apples to a family with many children because their parents couldn’t afford to buy them. People came from far and wide to buy Father’s apples. Although he asked a good price for them, he always filled the baskets to overflowing, for he loved to give a good measure. He was right when he said folks remember a good measure much longer than the price they paid for a basket of apples. the same people came year after year.
Work came easy with father. He loved to work and was proud of the fact that at quite an age he could outwork any of his boys. His boys were amused at that. Always an early riser, he would often get up before dawn and go about from chore to chore singing his favorite hymn at the top of his voice. The music floated far and wide in the crisp and still morning air. We hoped the neighbors appreciated it! He had a fine voice, and sang a beautiful old-fashioned tenor at sings and when his family sang hymns together.
He seemed immune from petty hurts and never bore a grudge, and no one ever gave sounder advice, or quicker sympathy, help and comfort in distress than he. When any of US looked sad, or down and out, he was quick to ask in kindness, “Is anything troubling you?” This made it easy to confide in him. We learned to be grateful for Father. He made many sacrifices throughout his lifetime to keep his children’s faith in “The Way”--and in the Heavenly Father who had called him into service. No child of his must ever lose faith because he himself had failed to walk straight. He set a good example. He had grievous faults and failures, but his sorrow and remorse over them served only to strengthen and encourage his children. One learned to be tolerant, and to know that no one is perfect.
Sin was a different matter, however. to commit sin after a true conversion, deliberately and intentionally, was in Father’s eyes an abomination--and hardly forgivable. Such a man denied the power to overcome, which God promises to all who turn to Him.
Father had an eye for the beautiful and would stand in awe before a bed of flowers. He often carried flower seeds in his pockets to sow along the road during his long walks. “Flowers look pretty along a road,” he would say.
Living in the age he did, with its many and rapid changes, life was sometimes a problem for Father. He did not adapt himself easily or readily to the new, but then, he even hated new clothes. he sort of grew into his clothes and felt “at home” in them after a time. One had to use the greatest of tact and mental skill to get Father into the notion of needing a new coat, or new shoes, or a hat. After one succeeded in that, there was still the problem of getting him to wear them. He looked fine in good clothes. Six feet tall, broad of shoulders, and straight as a candle, even at eighty odd years. But, that meant nothing to Father. He had always been conservative, and had saved too long throughout his lifetime to spend money for what he termed “unnecessary things.”
But he was sentimental, too. We have three old ramshackle buildings near our house which Father never consented to have torn down. why, one had been his mother’s kitchen! We couldn’t hurt him, so we planted honeysuckle bushes to hide it. Another, he finally decided to give up for the lumber in it that could be used. “But save the roof,” commanded father, “That’s a good roof, and it might come in handy some day. People don’t build good roofs like that anymore.” We wished, with a sort of desperation, that we knew where we could put a good roof in order to save it!
A sadness that i can’t explain steals over me, at times, when now I see Father lying so peacefully--but thin and white and almost lifeless against his pillows. I do not regret so much that he is about to pass away. In fact, I long for the time of his deliverance. I think it is because his going seems more than the death of one weary old man who is my father. He seems to be taking so much with him--a whole long lifetime of experiences--and it seems, in fact, like a whole generation is marching out of the picture, leaving US behind with only shadowy memories of something great and good and genuine that one filled our world.”
--------------------------------------
“The Apostolic Christian Church was built in Farney in the 1870s. It was called the “Mackinaw Dells Church”. It still stands there. It’s cemetery was once called the “Mackinaw Dells Cemetery”. If you go on the road north past Slabtown Cemetery, under the railroad tracks, and another quarter mile, you reach this cemetery which is on the right. It is still in use. Jonathan was a member of the Mackinaw Dells church, which is now called the Congerville Church.”
Found in the family notes compiled by Alta Heiser Detweiler (no date) is the following notation about Jonathan Schrock:
“Joseph’s son Jonathan lived on this Schrock farm until his death. I remember my grandfather John visiting his cousin Jonathan at Congerville a number of times. He was impressed with the large orchards of fruit trees which Jonathan cared for. In fact, on one of these visits Jonathan gave Grandpa a sweet cherry tree which he (Grandpa) planted in my orchard,and we still enjoy sweet cherries every year (of the birds don’t get them).”
--------------------------------------------------
“Dad and Mom lived the early years of their married life in a little house immediately north of the Congerville water tower on the west side of the street. Dad had referred to these as the happiest years of his life. Here, the four oldest children were born: Noah in 1892, Jesse in 1894, Nettie in 1896, Nima in 1900. After Grandpa Joseph SCHROCK died in December of 1901, Dad and Mother moved to the present home known as the SCHROCK homestead where Grandma lived. Grandma had an addition built on the house and reserved two rooms for herself but had her meals with us. I have fond recollections of visiting with Grandma and reading to her out of the Bible storybook. She passed away in 1922 when I was 13 years old.
I also vividly remember her children visiting her; they were a very interesting family, tremendous conversationalists. And when those four SCHROCK girls came to visit, Aunt Katie, Aunt Maggie, Aunt Mary, and Aunt Susan; then you know Uncle John Sutter, they had relatives at Goodfield, the Helderles, and they came more often, and I could just sit and enjoy that night with Uncle John Sutter. They were all good and never lost their tongues. After Naomi, the following children came along: Ada in 1902, Mae 1904, Joseph 1906, and Alvin 1909. Ada was the first death of the children. She passed away December 18, 1955. Noah passed away April 6, 1976.
During the lifetime of our parents, tremendous changes occurred; even during the lifetime of the children of the children for that matter. Father told of keeping up with his station at 12 years of age; binding bundles of grain by hand. About this time he saw the first self-binder that Grandpa bought from George Hacker, an implement dealer in Eureka.
Mother told of the streetcars in Peoria being on tracks but pulled by horses. She worked in Peoria for $3.00 a week and saved money. Instead of buying a new hat she would take some shoe blacken and go over the hat she had and perk it up a little.
They told of the first electric lights they ever seen and automobiles. The first autos. In the horse age, automobiles were kind of a nuisance. The horses became frightened when they met a car and sometimes had to be held by their bridles. Father used to say, "Here comes one of those cars at a gallop." The first practical car for mass distribution was a Model T Ford. I remember when Noah got his first car, a 1915 Ford Model T. It was the first year they had electric lights on them. He sometimes took the children to German school that was held in Goodfield. Mary Nohl was the teacher. Later when Noah got a car, it had quite an innovation, a windshield wiper. A handle came through the windshield. You turned the handle to wipe the windshield.
Jess got a Model T in 1917. He went out to teach our sisters how to drive this car. These cars were open touring cars, which had side curtains for bad weather, and the tops could be put down in nice weather. This was seldom done but it made for a nice breeze. Our first family car was a Nash purchased about 1922. This was the year the hard road was built through Congerville.
7.02-7
Father used to tell about an outside oven Grandma used. These ovens were constructed with a brick floor. A combustible material was placed on the bricks, with a hole situated at one end. This floor was covered with clay. The fire inside would bake the clay so we had a self-contained situation. After the oven was formed, they would burn wood in the oven and then rake the coals out, put the bread in which would bake from the heat in the bricks and clay.
Noah writes in his memoirs of the simplicity of life. He states that our parents were very conservative. Father made his own lye by placing straw on the bottom of a V-shaped box that had a trough at the bottom. Wood ashes were placed in this container. From time to time water was poured over the ashes. This produced a dark brown liquid, which was lye, and from this our soft soap was made.
In October, Father would send someone to Carlock with two and a half bushels of white dried corn to grind into fine white meal. This was our winter supply for corn mush and corn bread. Mother would place a large black iron kettle on the stove about 4 p.m. and heat the water to a boil and begin to add the meal until it was the right consistency. This was served with milk and sugar and was delicious.
What mush was left over was put in bread pans about 3 inches deep. By morning it had set enough so it could be sliced and fried. At noon sometimes we would have corn bread and milk. Sometimes we had fruit dried in the sun or dried in a dryer we had built for this purpose (Jess SCHROCK mentioned that the dryer held 5 bushels of fruit at one time).
Dad, always concerned for our health went to the woods each spring and dug up some sassafras roots. The peelings were used to make tea. We were put on this tea to thin our blood. In the wintertime your blood was supposed to thicken up you know. When nose bleeding began, it was the signal that the thinning was enough. Mother had a large assortment of homeopathic remedies, which she resorted to. Father had a grape vineyard, planted an apple orchard, and he also raised pears and peaches.
I've made some notes during the years regarding father's physical fitness. You remember that late in life he still walked erect. He was taught to do this by a man in Kansas who got after him for slumping. Dad minded him and he thought it was a good investment. The man's name was John Habaker. I must have thought at that time those notes were worth writing down. In the fall of 1931, a few weeks before father's 70th birthday, he picked 12 bushels of Willow Twig apples in 59 minutes using a long ladder, possibly 20 foot.
In the same fall, while picking apples, he very carefully set his ladder. The ladder fell forward... mind you... and he fell backwards; as he fell he reached down and caught the rung of the ladder below his feet. It might have saved his life. Resetting the ladder he resumed his apple picking. It may have taken the kink out that he had in his back. In the fall of 1932 father was picking apples and the ladder turned in such a way that the bottom went up and the top went down. He just turned and walked back up the ladder in the other direction.
7.02-8
Father spent his 75th birthday in the timber working on wood, and on his 80th birthday he helped haul straw. On his 81st birthday it was cold and he worked outside most of the day. He passed away December 3rd, 1947 at age 86. Mother preceded him in death passing away on August 10, 1944 at the age of 76. Pa was never the same after Mother's passing... a lonely man, ready to go home.
There were interesting and humorous things that happened as the family was growing up but time does not permit. I do want to say a few more things. Father had a deep concern for the young people as to the company they closely associated with. The wrong kind of companionship can be disastrous. His advice was to try to associate with decent people. He used to say, "Be somebody or nobody."
While many changes have been mentioned one thing is much the same, little children are about like they were then, innocence, curious, original personalities. Children are still children; parents be of good cheer when children go through changes which we hope are only stages, sometimes we can think this too will pass.
Editor's Note: The tape now reveals that there was some additional story-telling from various people at the reunion. Much to my regret, most of it cannot be understood, as the speakers were too far from the tape recorder. Following are those portions that can be heard.
Jess SCHROCK related that Aunt Minnie as a young girl remembered when she saw her first train go by which was the Big 4 line. Also, Grandma's sister Aunt Anne, who married Joe Sommers had no children. The SCHROCKs became heirs to her farm. They went to look it over; John and Joe from Kansas, Uncle Dave and Father. I drove them in my Model T to Tremont to see the farm. I later told Noah that I took the Big 4 down to Tremont, he said "You took the train?" I told him it was the Big 4 SCHROCKs.
Alvin SCHROCK related that John Zimmerman said that those stiff white collars were so high up the neck that you had to stand on a stump to spit over the top of one.
Someone said that her sister, Barbara, was the only one who inherited Grandma's red hair. Someone else said that they had a lock of Grandma's red hair. Alvin SCHROCK said he had red hair when he was little.
Nina SCHROCK related that her Dad was so disgusted when someone commented that he was still very erect in his old age. He said, "They don't know that I'm so stiff that I can't bend."
Don Schrock related (in 2010) that he never saw his grandfather smile--and there was no idleness, or he’ll have you picking the hairs off grasshoppers. He also said thetwo younger brothers started the seed corn company in abot 1947 and the fertilizer in about 1951. One brother “went like a freight train and the other kept putting on the brakes.”
Don Schrock: “When I was in 7th grade I made a map of every house in Congerville and knew the name of every person who lived there (and some of the dogs?)”
“Jonathan had fruit orchards and made many barrels of wine each year. He sold wine quite widely. He had a wine cellar in his Congerville house with 12-15 barrels full. He also had seven buggies--the last one purchased for 25 cents. Asked why he bought the seventh one, he said he couldn’t pass it up for 25 cents.” --Don Schrock} [4, 5, 6]
|
1861 - 1947 (86 years)
[1, 2] 
