Pike County Lincoln Days

Pike County Lincoln Days Pike County's Lincoln Days sponsored by
Abe Lincoln Project/Looking for Lincoln in Pike County

05/02/2026

Someone has been posting in my name. I resigned as Executive Director of the Abe Lincoln Project & Lincoln Days Civil War Reenactment in December 2024. I am no longer associated with those groups.

02/23/2026

May 25, 1986. Some of you reading this remember exactly where you were standing.

On that warm Sunday afternoon, Americans stepped out of their homes and into history. At three o clock Eastern time, people reached for the hands beside them and tried to form an unbroken human chain from New York to California. From Battery Park in New York City to the shores of Long Beach, the plan was bold and almost unbelievable. More than four thousand miles across a nation that often struggles to agree on anything, millions stood shoulder to shoulder for one reason. To fight hunger and homelessness in the United States.

It was called Hands Across America.

For fifteen minutes, highways, small towns, city streets, and dusty back roads became part of something bigger than politics, bigger than headlines, bigger than any one person. Farmers held hands with office workers. Grandmothers squeezed the fingers of teenagers they had never met. Children stood on tiptoe, determined not to let the chain break. Some areas filled in perfectly. In other stretches, people used ropes or ribbons to bridge the gaps. Nobody pretended it was flawless. That was not the point.

The faces in the crowd told the real story. Families who had known hard times themselves. Veterans who had seen the country at war now standing for peace and dignity at home. Church groups, factory workers, students, retirees. Yes, there were celebrities lending their names and drawing cameras, but when the music faded and the speeches ended, it was ordinary Americans who kept the line alive.

The goal was simple and urgent. Raise money for food banks and shelters. Shine a bright, unavoidable light on the millions of men, women, and children who went to bed hungry in one of the wealthiest nations on earth. It stirred pride, but it also stirred anger. How could this be happening here? How could families be sleeping in cars while others lived in comfort? That question burned in many hearts that day.

People paid to take part. Many gave more than was asked. The effort raised millions of dollars for charities serving the hungry and the homeless. It did not solve the problem overnight. No single event could. But it forced America to look at itself in the mirror.

If you were there, you remember the feeling. The heat of the sun on your neck. The awkward shuffle as strangers adjusted their grip. The quiet moment when everyone realized this was not just a publicity stunt. It was a statement. We see each other. We will not pretend this suffering does not exist.

In a time when division feels loud and constant, it is worth remembering that afternoon in 1986. For fifteen minutes, people proved that compassion could stretch across deserts, mountains, and crowded streets. They proved that hope is not an abstract idea. It is something you build, hand in hand.

Do you remember where you stood that day?

02/23/2026

When TV executives told him to treat children like customers, this former Marine looked them in the eye and said: "Absolutely not."
His name was Bob Keeshan. And for thirty years, he did something television had never seen before—he put children's souls before shareholders' profits.
Before the red coat and the keys that jingled their way into millions of hearts, Bob had enlisted in the Marine Corps Reserve at eighteen in 1945. The war ended before he shipped overseas, but the discipline stayed with him. So did something deeper: a bone-deep belief that protecting the vulnerable wasn't just a duty—it was sacred.
When television was young and wild, Bob found work as Clarabell the Clown on The Howdy Doody Show. He honked horns, squirted seltzer, made children laugh—and never spoke a single word. Behind the greasepaint, though, he was watching. And what he saw troubled him.
The noise. The chaos. The relentless pressure to sell, sell, sell to children who trusted everything they saw on that glowing screen.
"Children deserve better," he thought. And he meant it.
When CBS offered him his own show in 1955, Bob didn't just create a program. He created a promise.
Captain Kangaroo began not with fanfare but with quiet. The slow swing of a door. The soft jingle of keys. And a voice as warm as a grandfather's hug: "Good morning."
No shouting. No gimmicks. No treating children like tiny consumers waiting to be manipulated.
For nearly thirty years and over 6,000 episodes, Bob Keeshan built something radical: a Treasure House where kindness mattered more than ratings, where stories moved at a child's pace instead of a sponsor's schedule, where every moment said, "You are worth my full attention."
He filled his world with friends who felt real—Mr. Green Jeans, Bunny Rabbit, Mr. Moose. Each taught without lecturing. Each respected the intelligence of the small person watching.
And when executives pushed him to do more commercials, to speed up the show, to manipulate young viewers into wanting more toys? Bob pushed back. Hard.
He fought for limits on advertising to children. He rejected scripts that treated kids like walking wallets. He stood firm, his Marine-trained spine straight, his voice calm but immovable.
"We're not raising little buyers," he told them. "We're raising human beings."
Six Emmys. Three Peabodys. The longest-running children's network show of its time. But his real prize arrived in letters from parents across America: "You're the only person I trust with my child."
Years later, someone asked why he never raised his voice on camera.
He smiled that gentle smile. "The world already teaches children to shout," he said. "I wanted to teach them to listen."
Bob Keeshan never saw combat, but he spent thirty years protecting something just as precious: childhood itself.
In a world that keeps getting louder, faster, and more desperate to sell us something, maybe we need to remember Captain Kangaroo's quiet revolution.
The most powerful thing you can give a child isn't a product. It's your presence. Your patience. Your respect.
And the belief that they're worth slowing down for.

02/23/2026

For National Invasive Species Awareness week, we're spreading the word about these threats and how we can all stop their spread. The northern snakehead is one of Missouri’s newest invasive species threats. They eat and outcompete native fish. They look like native bowfin fish, but these freaky fish can breathe air and survive out of water for several days if their skin stays moist. They can also slither across land to return to water.

02/23/2026

If you walked into a kindergarten classroom in America in the 1950s, you would not have found children rushing from one task to the next. You would have found something that feels almost radical now.

Stillness.

After lunch, the room changed. Little wooden chairs were pushed aside. Small folding cots or woven mats were set out in neat rows. The blinds were lowered just enough to soften the afternoon sun. The teacher’s voice dropped to a whisper. Outside, maybe a screen door creaked or a lawn mower hummed in the distance.

Then the music began.

In many schools, a record player would turn slowly at the front of the room. You might hear Clair de Lune float gently through the air, or the steady notes of Moonlight Sonata. Some afternoons it was Brahms' Lullaby, a melody that had soothed generations. And sometimes, from the popular side of the record shelf, the warm voice of Nat King Cole singing Mona Lisa would drift across the room.

No one called it mindfulness. No one spoke about emotional regulation. It was simply called naptime.

And it was serious business.

Teachers did not use that hour to catch up on paperwork. They walked quietly between the rows. A blanket was tucked around small shoulders. A child who missed his mother felt a gentle hand on his back. A whisper said, “You’re all right.” No gold stars. No grades. No pressure to achieve anything at all.

Just rest.

This was a generation shaped by parents who had lived through the Great Depression and a world war. They understood exhaustion. They understood strain. And whether they said it out loud or not, they knew children needed a pause in the day. A child was not a tiny worker. A child was a growing human being.

Think about that for a moment.

Today, even five year olds move through packed schedules. Early academics. Activities. Screens that glow long after sunset. We measure progress in reading levels and test scores. We rarely measure peace.

Back then, peace was built into the day.

Many who were those sleepy kindergarteners are now in their seventies and eighties. Ask them what they remember, and their faces soften. They remember the hum of the record player. The dim light. The feeling of safety. They remember that for one quiet hour, the world did not demand anything from them.

It did not ask them to prove themselves.

It simply let them be children.

There is something almost heartbreaking about that memory now. Not because it is sad, but because it feels rare. Blood pressure rises when we think about how hurried life has become. Even retirement can feel scheduled. Even rest feels earned.

But once upon a time, in a small classroom with the curtains half drawn and music playing softly, rest was not a reward.

It was a right.

And perhaps the reason those afternoons remain so vivid is simple. Part of us, even now, still longs for a dim room, gentle music, and someone nearby who says without words, “It’s all right. Close your eyes. I’ve got you.”

02/23/2026

———- INCIDENT REPORT————-

Date: 02/22/2026
Ref: Fugitive Apprehension / Harboring a Fugitive / Drug Investigation / Hindering
Contact: Chief Christopher Walter
[email protected]

Tonight, Elsberry Police Officers received credible information regarding the location of wanted fugitive Sarah Goodman. Based on that information, Elsberry Officers, along with Deputies from the Lincoln County Sheriff’s Office and the MDET Street Crimes & Apprehension Unit, coordinated a response to the 300 block of South 5th Street.

Upon arrival, officers made contact with the property owner and confirmed that Goodman was inside the residence, barricaded in a rear bedroom. After multiple verbal call-out attempts were made without compliance, K9 Units from the Lincoln County Sheriff’s Office were requested to assist.

K9 Ace was deployed and successfully tracked and located Goodman inside the residence, where she was taken into custody.

While securing the scene, officers located two additional fugitives inside the residence, along with suspected methamphetamine and drug paraphernalia.

Goodman was transported to the Lincoln County Jail, where she was booked on outstanding felony warrants. Additional charges are being prepared and will be submitted to the Lincoln County Prosecutor’s Office for review.

The Elsberry Police Department extends its sincere appreciation to the Lincoln County Sheriff’s Office, the MDET Street Crimes & Apprehension Unit, and the Missouri State Highway Patrol for their professionalism and assistance in apprehending Goodman and the additional fugitives located inside the residence.

As always, all subjects are presumed innocent until proven guilty in a court of law.

06/08/2025

Thank you to all who came out today for our little event. With a total count of almost 40 in attendance today.

The fire is going
06/07/2025

The fire is going

White smoke is rising. You know what that means. A new baker has been elected. Come see emily bake an amazing 1 2 3 4 ca...
06/07/2025

White smoke is rising. You know what that means. A new baker has been elected. Come see emily bake an amazing 1 2 3 4 cake at shastid house today.

Come see some authentic weapons from the era and up today. We are open till around 3 pm.
06/07/2025

Come see some authentic weapons from the era and up today.

We are open till around 3 pm.

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26438 Lake Pittsfield Drive
Pittsfield, IL
62363

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