A Montier Windfall

Last week, as I was searching my mind for an article to write, I had a series of thoughts, which in a way felt connected, but with no obvious causal link between them. Were these nudges by a muse?

 

Facebook posts about Montier. Ozark giraffe houses. Singer Jerry Jeff Walker’s song “Getting’ By,” expressing his concern it was record time again, but he wouldn’t worry because something was sure to come up. The motivational kicker was an online post by a newspaper maven: “Take a deep breath, say a prayer, and get to work.” It was time to arrange the pieces and see what happens. Sometimes, there’s serendipity—discovering something unexpected.

 

Recently, a couple Facebook groups posted the photo of a church, with a query asking where in Shannon County it was located. Apparently, the original poster had searched but could not find it. A series of speculative responses followed. Most were wrong. 

 

I knew exactly where it was located. I have passed it hundreds of times and attended services in the sanctuary and Halloween party in the basement. It is the old Methodist Church in Montier, directly across a gravel road from the cemetery. Montier, which this column has mentioned numerous times, is an unincorporated community south of Highway 60 between Mountain View and Birch Tree. 

 

I am generally cautious about moving to the head of the class with online posts, but I made an exception and submitted a response identifying the church and location. However, “Mr. Know It All” did not know when the church was built. The architectural style suggested it was built in the 1920s or 30s, but to be more exact, I did some research and discovered that a tornado struck Montier on Thursday evening, February 11, 1939. 

 

The Mountain View Standard and the West Plains Weekly Quill both reported, “The Methodist Church, a large frame building, was demolished.” The picture was becoming clearer, but I still didn’t have a date for the construction of the present church.

 

With some more research, I found the answer. Under the heading Montier News, the Friday, September 13, 1940, edition of the Mountain View Standard reported, “The new Methodist Church will be dedicated next Sunday afternoon, Sept. 15.” It is safe to infer that between the tornado on February 11, 1939, and September 15, 1940, a new church was built.

 

The church is now a private residence, and I contacted the owner to see if she was aware the original church had been destroyed by a tornado and that the present building replaced it. Interestingly, she was quite aware of that fact. The same tornado had destroyed her parents’ house when her older brother was only one-month old. Her mother told her that she had bunkered down in a closet with her baby son before the tornado blew the roof off the house. 

 

The church is interesting for another reason. The exterior of the new church is constructed with multicolored, flat sandstone slabs in a style often referred to as Ozark Giraffe Rock Architecture, because the colorful orange, brown, and tan stones resemble the spots of a giraffe. 

 

Most likely, readers have seen many of these buildings in the Ozarks, but may not be familiar with the architectural description. I was familiar with the term, but was surprised to discover the amount of interest in numerous articles on the topic. 

 

It turns out there is an expert in Howell County. An online article published May 22, 2024, by Andrew Sheeley in the Pulaski County Weekly, profiled Professor Barbara Williams of Missouri State University—West Plains, who “. . . has devoted the past twenty years of her life to documenting and studying the Ozarks’ giraffe rock architecture.” The informative article quotes Professor Williams as saying, “Giraffe rock is the Ozarks contribution to architecture, and it’s something to be proud of.”

 

The use of rocks in building construction is not surprising. For sure, the Ozarks has plenty of rocks, and old-time Ozarkers were resourceful and pretty good engineers. I recall seeing corner posts for fences made with rocks. But not all Ozark rock buildings fit the colorful uniqueness of giraffe rock architecture.

 

In the Society of Architectural Historians (Missouri Valley Chapter) Newsletter, Summer 2006, author Debbie Sheals describes the general use of local rocks in construction: “Ozark rock masonry tends to utilize rocks that were found much closer to the surface, either loose in the soil, or as part of an exposed outcropping.” 

 

In distinguishing giraffe rock, Sheals says, “By the late 1930s, builders started using large thin slabs of sandstone instead of the smaller, thicker fieldstone ….” She cites the Wells Motel in Cabool, Missouri, an example.

 

Serendipity, fortunate discoveries by accident, or windfall, if you will, is often a collateral benefit of research. Learning the tornado that demolished the old Methodist Church also wrecked the house of the new church owner’s parents is an example. Another, is learning that my great grandfather, William Casey, was the elected constable of Montier Township for twenty years. While researching old newspapers for coverage of the Montier tornado, I kept seeing his name.

 

As a child, I heard about my grandfather Riley Casey’s father, William “Bill” Casey, and of all my ancestors I was most curious about him, but my information was sparce. I do recall my grandmother kept an old purse that held the coins he had in his pocket when he died. 

 

A lengthy article in the December 15, 1932, issue of the Current Wave (Eminence, Missouri), confirmed some of my information and provided more about the man my grandparents spoke of reverently.

Bill Casey, born near Birch Tree on June 16, 1870, lived his entire life in Shannon County until his death on December 10, 1932. According to the article, his father Isaac died when Bill “was a mere child,” but as an adult he was “well known” for his civic involvement.  

 

The article continued its praise: “Mr. Casey has always been active in school affairs and law enforcement.” In addition to being the township constable, he served as Shannon County Deputy Sheriff for twelve years, under two different sheriffs. He was a member of the Turkey Oak and Montier School Boards for “some twenty-five or thirty years.”  

 

A different headline in the Current Wave of January 14, 1926, grabbed my attention by the shirt collar: “Shannon Co. Girl Killed in Texas.” Subhead: “Bullet Wound Proves Fatal to Miss Lilly Casey, Daughter of Mr. and Mrs. W.M. (“Bill”) Casey.” My great aunt Lilly was killed “almost instantly . . . when a pistol in the hands of her fiancé was discharged, accidentally, he claims.”

 

I heard about this tragedy from my grandparents, and for certain, my grandfather never believed it was an accident. They viewed the man as a ne’er-do-well and unworthy of the benefit of doubt. 

 

Lilly’s body was shipped from Texas for burial, and her fiancé was to arrive in Montier by train with the casket. My grandfather waited for the train at Silas Nicholson’s general store, located across the road from the train station. He was there to confront the man who had killed his youngest sister. The train arrived, but the man had gotten off farther up the line. As the story was told to me, someone had informed him of the reception that awaited.

 

It is, perhaps, fortunate the man got off the train early and avoided my grandfather. Riley Henderson Casey, a stout blacksmith, angry, with a frontier sense of justice, would possibly have had more than words for the man. Likely, a good thrashing—or worse—which would have put Great Grandpa Bill in the position of having to arrest his only son.

 

My grandparents, great grandparents, and Great Aunt Lilly are all buried in the Montier Cemetery, which I visit on Memorial Weekends to put flowers on their graves and those of other relatives. At Lilly’s grave, although I never met her, I always feel an odd sense of melancholy. Maybe, the Current Wave article from 1926 captures it. “She was laid to rest on Sunday in the little cemetery in Montier amid the surroundings of her childhood and young girlhood days. She was young, in her early twenties, and her death is a distinct shock . . ..”