Life and Fantasy - New World Rhapsody

The previous superintendent had left in a huff, or had been let go by the State Board of Control. About half a mile from the hospital, there lay a somewhat neglected tract of land, planted with infinite varieties of trees, bushes, plants of all sorts, part of an extensive botanical garden, that had been the hobby of that or some other prior medical hospital head.

We discovered it by chance, and were fascinated by the beauty of the place. It seemed absolutely virgin territory, isolated, and nobody ever seemed to get there, hardly a person even knew of its existence.

In the midst of the estate there stood a vast mansion, with huge, beautiful rooms, generous salons, spacious kitchens, baths. Multiple windows provided adequate lighting.

I don't know who built it in the first place; it looked like the sprawling results of the megalomaniac dream of some millionaire. The previous superintendent had begun renovating it, wanting funds from the

State to modernize it, to furnish and equip it. The hospital employees' union got into the act and finally the gtandiose Plan petered out.

The State Agency declared itself against the intended restauration and the medical chief, who had made the issue a condition to his remaining in his position and continuing to lead the institution, had to leave.

Now it stood alone, deserted, empty, abandoned. We had at least one, and possibly several parties there, with drinks and bridge‑tables. Still it was ghostly, because it did not belong in the landscape.

In the middle of the Nebraska prairie, not far from the Western grass deserts, there stood that English‑style mansion, apparently ashamed of its pretentiousness, and its rejected aspirations. I wonder what finally became of that property, with its rare plantations and its seigneurial residence.

We went to a barn‑auction in the country once, near the Rhyner farm, some miles from our house. There, old benches were lined up in front of a large table upon which the items to be sold were displayed. There stood also a few rows of rickety and disparate chairs. It was warm and muggy on that particular day, flies were buzzing. Mr Rhyner, a tall skinny bespectacled farmer type, called the objects out one by one commencing the bidding at a quarter, which is where it also frequently ended!

His wife would rearrange things on the crookedly standing tables every so often.  A red‑haired girl, possibly a daughter‑in‑law, or else a lanky youngster, would bring the just adjudicated items to the lucky bidder and collect their quarter or half dollar, putting the cash in a sort of apron like pocket.

The acquirer would shove his loot under the bench and then continue his participation in the proceedings. Outside there stood a Hamburger wagon, selling beer, lemonade and eats. A slight breeze came up right at the hottest time, invigorating the group of the buyers.

There would be maybe 40‑50 persons in the barn, with a few more outside. The cars were parked on the nearby dirt road, cows mooed around the bend, a cat would walk over to inspect the place. To me it was a unique experience to sit there, taking part in that selling game as it unfolded by strict rules. It gave me the impression of being in a casino, waiting for the roulette wheel to hit my number.

For sale stood glassware, pressed glass, carnival pieces, art glass, tools, knickknacks, old guns, quilts, laces, ancient trunks, old books, rocking chairs, silverware. The first time we were there we mostly watched. I only bought a couple of Royal