Tammy Goss
English 110
Of Corn and Smells
One’s first impression upon hearing the name "Iowa" tends to be one of corn and pigs. Fortunately, in my hometown of Clinton, this impression is only partly true. While cornfields do surround most towns in Iowa, the only pigs I ever saw were in sterile, neat packages in the grocery store. In the Clinton Country section of Iowa, we have the Mighty Mississippi River, the beautiful Eagle Point Park, fishing, hunting, camping, Riverboat Days, and a wonderfully rich, diverse history. Iowa can be so much more than fields and farming.
I grew up in Clinton, Iowa, or more accurately, a small bedroom community adjoined with Clinton, named Camanche. Clinton is the larger of the two towns, with a population of approximately 23,600 - made up of mostly high school educated, blue-collar, middle-class families (Online Cities). In contrast, Camanche’s population is approximately 4,000 – mostly upper middle-class families who commute daily to Clinton (Online Cities). While Camanche has very little diversity in the population, (less than 1%), Clinton has a larger range of ethnicity, since 15% percent of the town’s population is African-American (Online Cities). Because of Clinton’s important role in the Underground Railroad, the Black population in Clinton has a strong background in shaping the town, the culture and its businesses. The many homes that helped hide the runaway slaves are on the National Historical Homes Foundation and are detailed in books regarding the Underground Railroad (Clinton Public Library). These homes are modest on the outside, but inside the dim passages and small hiding spots, one can feel the fear and hope of former slaves emanating from the walls. This makes a fitting analogy for Clinton; the fear and hope of her people is hidden from those who may want to hurt them, behind modest or even run-down homes.
One aspect of Clinton is visible – at least to a human’s sense of smell. When driving down one of the main thoroughfares, one gets first a hint of a bad odor, causing a person to sniff the air tentatively. Soon it gets stronger and car windows are hurriedly rolled up or down, depending on their initial position. The smell is hard to identify, not being the obvious odor of manure, sewage, sulfur or other such memorable smells. It is a thick, cloying, gagging smell that seems to coat the throat and nose – the smell of Clinton Corn, a corn byproduct plant located in southwest Clinton. Usually the smell seems to come from nowhere and everywhere. However, on the hot, humid, languid days of summer, a noxious gray-blue cloud hangs over the area, rendering the odor visible to all that travel through. On these days, very few people are window-shopping, children tend to prefer video games to the local playgrounds, and no clean clothes hang on droopy clotheslines in the backyard. It is ironic that as long as the source of the smell is invisible, life continues as normal. Nevertheless, let that gray-blue cloud settle over the town and life changes. It is then that the inhabitants of southwest Clinton close their windows or flee to the freshness of Eagle Point Park.
Eagle Point Park would have to be the epitome of family in Clinton and Camanche. It was carved, chiseled and blasted out of the limestone cliffs that overlook the Mississippi River by prisoners, in the1800’s (Clinton Public Library). As part of serving a sentence for hard labor, prisoners built a limestone castle, roads, caves, tunnels and playgrounds, usually paying their debt to society with extremities and lives. There are many folklore legends about the building of Eagle Point Park. There is the story of the large red-streaked rock that crushed several men to death, and the blood-red roses that grow around it sprang up from their blood on the ground. Another is the story of the young bride who, when left at the altar, jumped to her death from the limestone castle, now the site of so many wedding photos. The most popular and enduring tale told to children by their mothers, is the story of the child who wandered off from his parents, only to fall down a cliff and break his legs. He died alone in the cleft of a rock, never to be found. His ghost still wanders the cliffs, calling out "Mommy, Mommy!" This story deterred many a child from venturing too close to the sides of cliffs.
Clinton is a town that is like a strong tea – an acquired taste, steeped in a rich blend of history and fables, fear and family, hopes and dreams. It is not a booming town, but like the smell of Clinton Corn, it will always be there, whether visible or not.
Work Cited
Online Cities. January 25, 2002. <www.onlinecities.net/usa/ia/clinton/index.shtml>
Clinton Public Library. January 25, 2002. <www.cis.net/~danh/