Submitter’s note: This article was found in the Helms Family Bible and was contributed by Helen Jane Helms Strode. The described trip to Brown County took place before 1913, the year William Pittman died.
Ever visit Brown County before the motor car became the common mode of travel? Up with the break of day and to the Union Station, there to catch the “morning train” on the Illinois Central (maybe it was then called the Indianapolis Southern) bound for Helmsburg. Then the chug-a-chug trip paralleling the Three Notch Road to New Bargersville where the road made its way toward the west to strike Morgantown.
Morgantown! Everybody, it seemed, turned out to “see the train come in.” The only experience like seeing the train come in is to live in an out-of-the way place and join in with the other natives in going to the post office twice daily to “meet the mail.”
Morgantown! Who can forget the jerking and switching about as the crew replenished the supply of water and coal! Here we crossed the old Big Four “jerkwater” — made famous for its “combination trains” of freight and passengers. On down the valley of old Indian Creek the train chugged along. Soon the customary blasts announced the approach to the first Brown County Station, Doubling Track. Some say it was so named because there the trains passed. This name — we called it “Dubblin Track” — soon gave way to the more sophisticated title of Pomona. But this did not last long, the next and present name being Fruitdale. Hogs and chickens in crates, wire fence, farm implements and crossties dotted the station platform.
On into the hill country to our getting off place, Helmsburg. The town that grew up like a mushroom when the railroad was built through Brown County always had dreams, but to no avail, of someday being county seat. John Helms, farmer and late liveryman, whose farm homestead stood near where the station was built, gave the town its name.
Off the train a throng of men, like carnival criers, greet us, yelling “Nashville,” all soliciting the business of hauling us and our baggage to the county seat in Peaceful Valley. Three distinct “hack lines” were in competition for our business. We chose the one headed for Pittman’s Inn. The hack, drawn by two trusty steeds, John and Caesar, was driven by Grover Pittman, whom we knew affectionately as “Duck.” This line was owned by Orville Pittman, Grover’s cousin, and was operated in connection with the hotel owned by Orville’s father, Billy. Who can forget Billy with his congenial smile and his mouth full of brightly shinning gold teeth? You perhaps remember a competing hack was dubbed “The Abe Martin Stage.” Ivan (pronounced as though there were two V’s) King was the driver.
With a crack of the whip we were off. Across Bean Blossom Creek, on down the “branch” past John Snider’s and over the “dug” hill and into the Owl Creek valley. Just in front of the old Tomlinson home the road turned abruptly east over the long Watton hill. On the flat and down into the Salt Creek Valley we went. The road swung round the old fairground tract and past Anne Winchester’s. You remember Ann. She is the one who made such delicious pickles.
Then Nashville, swinging through the streets the horses stop short in front of the Pittman “sanatorium.” Broad-faced and rotund Billy met us. “Any room, Bill?” “We’ll make room,” was the quick reply. When the sanatorium was filled Bill rigged up the house next door as an annex. That became inadequate and then he rented every available room in every available house in the whole town.
All settled, we tramped about on the gravel walks of the little hamlet. We saw the old log jail and then toured the county. Somehow I always miss Bill Pittman every time I visit the old village. (W.G.)
Attributed to Wayne Guthrie, date not known.
— Submitted by Pauline Hoover, Brown County Historical Society
