BOX SOCIAL

With World War II finally over, the boys returned from Europe and from the South Pacific, rationing ended, electricity was on its way to the country, and farmers began buying tractors. We looked forward to a brighter future on the farm. The war years—especially the long winters of those dreadful years—had been a dreary, fearful time in our community; many of my cousins were in the service, as were several boys from neighboring farm families. Thankfully, they returned home; many Wild Rose boys did not. Little flags with gold stars in the center hung in the windows of the grieving parents.

Now people were feeling optimistic again, ready to try new things. In early winter 1945, a few months after the end of the war, Pa brought up the idea of starting a 4-H club in our community. At age ten I was eligible to belong, and in a few years my brothers could join as well. A few days later Pa stopped at the courthouse in Wautoma to discuss his idea with county agricultural agent Henry Haferbecker, who agreed to help organize a 4-H club in the Chain O’ Lake community.

On a chilly late November evening, all the Chain O’ Lake students ten and older and their parents gathered at the schoolhouse for an informational meeting with Mr. Haferbecker. He described the 4-H program’s background and told us about some of the activities we could do as members, including forestry, soil conservation, sewing and cooking, and raising crops or calves. By the end of the meeting we had formed our very own Chain O’ Lake 4-H club, complete with officers and a monthly meeting schedule. Clayton Owens, a farmer from east of Wild Rose, would be our leader and direct our activities. We even elected a club treasurer—although our treasury had not a nickel in it.

By our January meeting, we were planning what projects we would take to the Waushara County Fair in Wautoma, held each year in late August. Those of us participating in the calf project would be required to stay overnight on the fairgrounds to feed and care for our calves. Mr. Owens said that if we raised twenty dollars, we could purchase a large army surplus tent to use at the fairgrounds. Of course we were excited about the prospect of sleeping overnight at the fair and being at the center of all the activities. But how would we come up with twenty dollars, not an insignificant amount in 1945? We discussed possible money-raising activities, including asking businesspeople in Wild Rose for donations (not likely to raise the kind of money we needed) and asking our parents to chip in (they were scarcely making ends meet; they had no money to buy a tent that would be used but once a year).

Then one of the parents suggested we hold a box social. Ma explained that to put on a box social, the girls in our 4-H club and their mothers, plus any other women in the community who wanted to attend, would prepare a meal for two people, usually things that could be eaten cold, such as fried chicken, cheese sandwiches, dill pickles, and a piece of apple pie or chocolate cake. The ladies put the meal in a box—a shoe box was just about the right size—and wrapped it with tissue paper of various colors, crepe paper, satin ribbons, anything to make it stand out from the others. The more attractive the box, the higher the price it would fetch at the auction. The maker of each box was supposed to remain anonymous, but sometimes when a young lady wanted her boyfriend to bid on her box lunch, she would tell him ahead of time how she had decorated the box with the hope that he would pony up enough money to buy it.

We selected a Wednesday night in January for our box social, hoping we would be lucky and wouldn’t have a major snowstorm that day. It turned out to be a cold but clear night, the kind where the air is fresh and crisp and it’s pleasant to be out if one is dressed properly.

When we arrived at the school, the building was already half full, and by the time the box social was to begin it was nearly as full as the night of the Christmas program, when there was standing room only. As people arrived, the women and girls secretly added their boxes, usually carried up to this point hidden in a paper bag, to the card tables at the front of the room. It was a beautiful array of decorated boxes, most of them shoe boxes but one or two obviously cylindrical Quaker Oats boxes, all waiting to be auctioned off to the highest bidder. Even our teacher, Maxine Thompson, had made a box for the event. Her boyfriend, Orin Schleicher, was in attendance, no doubt tipped off by Miss Thompson as to which box to bid on.

Clayton Owens stood up and got everybody’s attention. He told the crowd that the Chain O’ Lake 4-H club was sponsoring the event, and that the money taken in would be used to buy a tent for the 4-H kids to sleep in while they were at the county fair. Next he explained the rules for the box social: the highest bidder got the box; if there was a tie bid he’d do the auction over again; the bidding was open only to men and boys; and you couldn’t raise your own bid (I wondered who would want to do that, anyway).

“When a box is sold,” Clayton continued, “the highest bidder should come up here and retrieve his box, and the woman or girl who prepared the box should hold up her hand, so the winner knows who prepared the meal and who he’ll sit with to eat.”

With that, Clayton picked up a box decorated in red, white, and blue. “What am I bid for this patriotic box?” he said in a voice that carried to the back of the room so the big bidders gathered around the woodstove could hear.

“Fifty cents,” somebody near the stove called out.

“I got fifty, got fifty, who’ll make it sixty? Do I hear sixty?”

“Seventy-five cents,” said Bob Dudley.

Clayton looked back at the first bidder. “Make it a dollar—make it a dollar?”

The first bidder shook his head.

“Anybody a dollar, anybody a dollar, do I hear a dollar, do I hear a dollar?”

Silence.

“How about eighty cents? Do I hear eighty cents, eighty cents? I’m gonna sell it for seventy-five cents. Are you all through? Going once, going twice, sold to Bob Dudley for seventy-five cents!”

Bob Dudley came up to retrieve his purchase, looking around the room to see which woman or girl was holding up her hand. Near the front, Barbara Kolka raised her hand.

The auction continued. I won a beautifully decorated box for fifty cents. When I picked it up I learned that it had been made by Mildred Swendrzynski, a seventh grader and the treasurer of our 4-H club. If her mother had helped her with the food preparation, I was in for a treat. Mrs. Swendrzynski had a reputation for being one of the best cooks in the neighborhood.

As the bidding continued, I tried to keep track in my head how much money we were taking in. When about half the boxes had been sold, I had added up only about eight or nine dollars. We had a ways to go to make our goal.

Clayton now picked up the most elaborately decorated box of the night. He lifted it up and held it to his nose.

“Smells like apple pie in here,” he said. “And I think I also caught a whiff of fried chicken.” Everyone chuckled. “So, what am I bid? Who’ll start the bidding at a dollar? Do I hear a dollar, a dollar?”

“A dollar,” said Orin Schleicher. It seemed that the cohort by the woodstove had been waiting for Orin to open his mouth. They immediately knew he was bidding on the teacher’s fancy box.

“Two dollars,” came from the back of the room.

“Three,” bid Orin.

“Four dollars,” said another voice from near the stove.

“Five dollars,” said Orin, beginning to look a little nervous.

Silence.

“Do I hear another bid, or are you through? Everybody done? I’m gonna sell it. Once, twice, three times. Sold to Mr. Schleicher!” As Orin came up to the front of the room, Miss Thompson held up her hand. Everyone laughed.

By the end of the night we had made twenty-four dollars, enough for our tent and a bit more as well. We ended up needing the extra money to buy ropes and tent pegs. Luckily the teacher’s boyfriend’s bid had put us over the top.

With the bidding ended, everyone who’d purchased a box sat with the person who had prepared it. I sat with Mildred and enjoyed cold chicken and a big, delicious piece of apple pie. Of course everyone knew everyone else, so the box social was a wonderful time for chatting, catching up on family activities, and seeing how people were surviving the winter. When people filed out of the school late that evening into the cold January air, they had smiles on their faces and some new stories to tell—including a good one about how a few guys had gotten the schoolteacher’s boyfriend to pay dearly for the right to eat a box lunch with his girlfriend.