The People of Harpers Slough Series: Happy Knipper

His given name was Elvis, but I don't think I ever heard anyone call him that; I don't think anyone would have dared to. He answered to Happy and his prevailing mood was just that, happy.

He was a big man in every sense of the word. Big in stature and larger than life in personality. He stood over six feet tall and must have weighed 230-240 pounds and none of it was fat. His many business ventures were too physically demanding to allow fat to accumulate. He had a hearty laugh and his booming voice could often be heard belting out some catchy tune. "If I Had Wings Like an Angel" is one I heard him sing many times.

Happy's hair was black and curly, his complexion florid. He was known to have a sharp temper. A proud man, he was quick to take offense and slow to forgive. My parents insisted we always be respectful to him and not make nuisances of ourselves.

His business place was a fish camp, located on a piece of land called "The Island." It might have been a true island at one time, but at the time I knew it, a narrow road accessed it from the gravel highway. Our family became summer residents after he sold three waterfront lots to my dad, my uncle Bill and to our friends, Len and Florence. We built at the far northern end of the island and Happy's camp was at the south end.

Happy came to Waukon Junction in about 1919 to string telegraph wire for the Milwaukee Railroad. Their main north-south line ran along the Iowa side of the Mississippi. It shared the space between the bluffs and the river with the road connecting the Junction to Harpers Ferry. Happy came from Cedar Rapids, where he had worked as a street car conductor. He lived at the hotel boarding house, and it was there he met and courted John Attall's daughter, Cora.

She was the Postmistress and worked out of the hotel. After their marriage they moved to Cedar Rapids. Cora was a gentle, softspoken woman who was very homesick living away from her parents. Happy agreed to move back to the Junction, provided he could find a means to support his family.

Like most other year-round residents, Happy worked at whatever he could to earn some cash or put food on the table. At the time they returned to the Junction to live, Cora's parents had sold the hotel and were farming a small piece of land. They supplied their daughter's family with butter, milk, eggs and garden produce.

The most obvious source of income was Happy's commercial fishing. Hoop nets were set on the banks of Harpers Slough, and large seines were spread at night when fishing was at its best. Large, flat-bottomed boats transported the nets and hauled the catch. They were driven by powerful motors. Carp and buffalo fish found a ready market in eastern cities. The fish were packed in ice and transported by train. It was illegal to sell game fish like catfish and pickerel, but many of these found their way to the dinner table. Vivian, the eldest child, remembers that they ate a lot of fish in those days. Rough fish, such as gar and dogfish, were thrown back into the

river or given to the local Indian family, who seemed to relish them.

The river also afforded an opportunity for clamming, and the clam cooker and sorting table were located at the fish camp. The ice house was the largest structure of Happy's camp and each winter it was filled to the top with cakes of river ice, packed in sawdust. A crew of seven or eight men was involved in making the ice. Happy owned the large gasoline-powered saw, and horses were used to move the chunks to shore. They were wrestled up the loading ramp by man power and expertly stacked to remain buried until needed to pack fish or cool ice boxes.

Making ice was a dangerous business. A single lane dirt road bisected the island, winding for about a half mile through a dense stand of hardwood trees. If you needed ice, you drove to the ice house to buy it. Happy didn't deliver ice!

The least obvious (in fact it was invisible) and by far the most lucrative of his ventures was the making of moonshine. It was during the heart of prohibition, and as in many out of the way settlements across the United States, bootlegging was a way of life. There were many illegal

stills in the Junction area. The sugar, used in the process, arrived by the boxcar and was sold

through the grocery store.

My parents speculated on the probable location of the still. A source of good water was a necessity so somewhere near the fish camp well seemed a likely site. Another possibility was in the woods, near the spring used by the Indians. We children were warned to never, ever mention moonshining to anyone. We didn't know if Happy's children were aware of it. As it turned out, they knew, at least part of it.

The still was located on one of the wooded islands in the middle of the river. A hand dug well provided the water. The places we had guessed at were much too obvious. If we could think of them, so could the revenue officers. Happy was never caught.

The raw whiskey must have been good because many prominent Waukon businessmen were among his regular customers. Gallon jugs were filled at the still and transported home, where they were lowered to the bottom of the back-yard cistern. A long pole with a hook on the end was used to pull the jugs back to the surface. Sometimes people came to buy it; on other occasions it was delivered.

One such delivery almost went awry. My uncle Bill worked for the county as a deputy sheriff. A federal revenue officer had come into town, and he and Uncle Bill were seated at the counter of Lee's Cafe. My dad and a crony were also seated at the counter, but nearer the entrance. Happy had just come in and slipped a jug to Frank Lee, and left again. Frank must have realized Bill's companion was a revenue officer, and was sliding the jug along under the counter with his foot. Uncle Bill was a great story teller and was really laying one on the officer, hoping, no doubt, to keep him distracted long enough for Frank to shove the jug into hiding. Dad was hard put to keep from laughing.

Shine sold for $1 a gallon. Vivian had a bill of sale for a new 1937 Chevrolet which sold for 550 gallons of whiskey. I would imagine the car dealer made a handsome profit reselling the booze.

Sometimes someone would ask to be allowed to go along with Happy and his crew as they pulled their big fishing seines. This was a night activity, carried on by light of Coleman gasoline lanterns. If Happy was in a good mood and the person was in his good graces, he might consent. Between the time when the nets were lowered into the water and raised again, hopefully full of fish, there was a waiting time. It was then that the jug of liquor was brought out from under the seat of the boat and passed around. There is a real art to sipping from a heavy jug, and usually the visitor didn't have a clue as to how to go about it. This was Happy's famous White Lightening and they'd eagerly chug it down. The inevitable happened, and before long they'd pass out. Concerned that his guest might topple into the river, Happy would say, "You take his hands, Johnny, and I'll take his feet and we'll sling him over on top of the fish." The erstwhile observer rode back to shore amid the catch and was unloaded from the boat in the same manner, to sleep it off.

The revenue officer was not the only one keeping an eye on Happy's activities. The state game and fish warden also showed up regularly. Sometimes he would perch high on a bluff and watch with high-powered binoculars as the fish were removed from the hoop nets. Game fish were supposed to be thrown back into the river to swim another day. The same network of protection offered to the moonshiners, was extended to the commercial fishermen. The locals were all members of the " survive the depression" fellowship, and they alerted each other to the presence of the law. If Happy spotted the warden spying from the bluff, he would stand up in his boat, wave both arms and boom out, "Halloooo, George, have a nice day." The sound of voices carried far on the river.

In 1936 Happy had prospered enough to build his family a new home. It was a large frame structure located at the fish camp. When it was enclosed, but not yet partitioned off, some

of the river folk asked to use it for a community potluck get-together. This proved to be a

rousing success, and soon Cora and Vivian were making sandwiches and Happy was dispensing

drinks to all manner of patrons. Thus was born "Happy's Hop House." He added an addition in

which his family lived. Cora didn't survive many years after this move.

Happy sold out and moved back to Cedar Rapids. Waukon Junction had lost one of its most

unique residents. The best part of the whole story is that Happy's full name was Happy Nipper and his faithful sidekick was Charlie Spiker.