Photo from Table Rock Bluff, 1940s. Still no dam.
In a recent post, we promised more details on Lake of the Ozarks’ own Lover’s Leap and one account of the legend that gave it its name
J.W. Vincent, owner, editor and publisher of the Linn Creek Reveille, published the story of Lover’s Leap more than once in his newspaper. It was a popular tale—one he reprinted in his newspaper twice – “in 1879 and again, by oft repeated request in 1886.” His author’s note to his booklet, Tales of the Ozarks (1913) his tone is almost apologetic:
It was written on a regular assignment in the course of the author’s early newspaper work and bears many marks of the writer’s youth, which fortunately for himself if not for his readers, he has never entirely outgrown. The migration of the Delaware Indians and their subsequent contact with the Osages and other tribes is historical though little known—the local incidents are mainly fictitious.
This particular Lover’s Leap legend strayed somewhat from the standard issue tale of an overbearing patriarch preventing the marriage of a beautiful daughter to the handsome brave she loved. In J. W. Vincent’s tale, the maiden herself rejected a powerful suitor for her own true love. No father is mentioned. The unwelcome suitor is a friend of her brother.
In the picturesque and salubrious valley, where “dwelt a powerful branch of the Osages, one of the great nations of the aboriginal inhabitants of our country,” came a band of weary Lenapes, or Delaware, who had been forced westward from their home on the eastern seaboard. The Osages welcomed them and the two groups lived as congenial neighbors in the valley of Linn Creek.
The Chief of the Osage, Okema, was young and handsome, giant in stature. He and the Lenape chief, Marabo, were close friends—and Marabo had a beautiful sister, Winona. Unfortunately for Okema, Winona’s heart belonged to another, Minetas. The players are named; the stage is set.
The denouement takes place at night on the high bluff above the valley, overlooking the junction of the Osage and Niangua rivers far below. Winona leapt from the cliff to escape Okema. An intense fight ensued between the contending suitors and Okema’s braves. Both braves went over the cliff, as well as another of Okema’s braves. It was a dolorous end to unrequited love, but the dramatic tale has left its mark on the spot.
Netflix’s Marty Byrde undoubtedly did not understand the hallowed and bloody ground on which he stood as he launched his own desperate enterprise in Ozark. He should know, though, the fall today mercifully is forty feet less and ends in water.
Leland bought this book, Looking for Lenin, intrigued at the possibility that it would shed some light on the recent controversy over statues of Confederate soldiers. The book did indeed provide insight, if not solutions, to the violent disagreements over what to do with these relics, which opponents claim are racist and defenders claim are historical artifacts.
Not all Confederate statues have the same esthetic merits. Many are hollow zinc, off-the-shelf items which contrast with one-of-a-kind bronzes by academically trained sculptors. Springfield has a one of the latter in a Civil War cemetery surrounded by headstones of rebel soldiers killed at the battle of Wilson’s Creek in 1861. A young man in a non-militaristic pose tops the monument. A bas relief bust image of portly General Sterling Price is on the side of the marble plinth. The total effect is not militaristic, yet red paint was splashed on it last week. This in spite of guards hired from the Springfield Police by the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs, National Cemetery Administration. They say they were there, but didn’t see a thing.
We used this image in Mystery of the Irish Wilderness, our book about Father John Joseph Hogan’s colony of Irish immigrants in Oregon and Ripley counties in the deep Ozarks. The settlement failed because of the disruption and violence the Civil War. This particular monument seems appropriately placed, in an elegiac setting. Some apparently do not agree.
This modestly priced, smartly written, and beautifully photographed and designed book on the purge of Communist symbols has given me some insight into the assault on Confederate statues and monuments. The toppling of Vladimir Lenin’s statues in the Ukraine is admittedly dissimilar to the campaign to get rid of Confederate Generals, principally in the southern United States. One difference is the enemies of Lenin monuments are far right, not far left as they are in America. Both groups however fulfill Yeats’ prophecy in “The Second Coming”: “The best lack all conviction, while the worst / are full of passionate intensity.”
Another similarity is that there doesn’t appear to be any consensus among Ukrainians as to what it all means. A difference is that Lenin has been much more brutalized than our now discredited icons. With one exception that I know about, our Confederate monuments are merely moved or in some cases splashed with paint. Many times, the Ukrainians chop them up and leave their parts scattered about a very disheveled landscape. Artists incorporate parts into bizarre sculptures. To keep large bronze examples from scrap metal pillagers they must be hidden. There is a collector trade in smaller Lenin statues and busts.
Our tributes to rebel generals are a bit better-crafted and more individual than the dull, repetitive, uninspired sculptures of Comrade Lenin. American Beaux Arts works may not be trendy, but they are esthetically superior to the products of the communist propaganda workshops.
Niels Ackermann’s sharp photographs imaginatively juxtapose these cast-off symbols of tyranny in a disordered environment. The running transcriptions of the overall puzzlement of Ukrainian citizens written by Sebastien Gobert are at times hilarious and parallel American puzzlement. A few Ukrainians, like Yevgenia Moliar, curator of art projects of Kyiv Foundation, thoughtfully point out the unanticipated consequences of statue toppling. Officials in favor of statue destruction censor discussion of the subject: “They’ve tried to create a state ideology that condemns any form of criticism.” This, ironically, has caused a renaissance of support for these relics: “In my opinion, nothing did more for the popularity of Soviet symbolism than the current process of decommunisation.”
What I got most of all out of this was a similarity in the diversity of responses to both decommunisation in the Ukraine and purging the memory of slavery in the U.S. Whatever the justification, both campaigns will leave an empty public space with nothing to replace the banished statuary. “The Second Coming” wrote in the beginning essay, “Leninfall is not just an act of violence against history. The empty plinths that litter the towns and villages of Ukraine today, much like the stumps of felled trees, attest to its destructiveness. They become points of convergence for contending visions of national representation, posing the question: What’s next?”
Congratulations to the publisher, Fuel. Last Christmas I gave copies of their provocative book, Soviet Bus Stops, to my wife and two sons. It was well received by this generally critical group. I’ll be purchasing multiple copies of this intriguing book for next Christmas.
The book is available on amazon.com
Netflix series, Ozark, has a simple plot with big challenges for a deceptively mild-mannered accountant. “With wife Wendy and their two kids in tow, Marty (Byrne) is on the move after a money-laundering scheme goes wrong, forcing him to pay off a substantial debt to a Mexican drug lord in order to keep his family safe.” Marty’s new money-laundering theater of operations is Missouri’s vacation destination, Lake of the Ozarks.
As is often pointed out in the script, this dragon-shaped reservoir has “more shoreline than the state of California.” The floodgates of Bagnell Dam closed on the Osage River in 1931, creating the lake, as detailed in our book Damming the Osage. Its real-life creation does indeed have something in common with the Netflix show.
As our subtitle, The Conflicted Story of Lake of the Ozarks and Truman Dam, indicates, often there are nefarious and hidden motives for building dams. The dam and the lake that piled up behind it were the products of two schemes that could be considered money laundering. The motive for building Lake of the Ozarks had to do with the benefits of financial manipulations—not the production of hydroelectric power. Researching the origins of Lake of the Ozarks, we found subterfuge was integral to the whole scheme to dam the Osage.
A tale of Mexican drug cartels invading the lake’s shores is perhaps not too far-fetched. There is a long tradition of the Ozarks as a homeland of crime and refuge for outlaws. In the nineteenth century, it was known for the brutal irregulars of the Civil War, the James Gang, Younger Brothers, Alf Landon, bushwhackers and later Bald Knobbers. Meth dealers and dopers portrayed in Daniel Woodrell’s Winter’s Bone updated the Ozarks’ outlaw reputation to the twenty-first century.
Lake of the Ozarks, on the other hand, didn’t come from backwoods outlaws. It was the brainchild of the president of a Kansas City Land Bank, Walter Cravens, and his partner, Ralph Street. Catastrophic loss of value of farm property and product began soon after World War 1. Long before 1929, farm price values were punctured. Cravens faced bankruptcy having financed hundreds of Kansas farms that were now in foreclosure. Kansas City lawyer Ralph Street had an obsession with building a dam on the Osage. Together they cooked up a scheme to ”launder” the bank’s “underwater” Kansas farms, for Osage River farms that would literally go under water if the dam were built. When Guy Huston, his principal financier went under (bankrupt) Cravens turned to Dillon Read, a New York financial institution, which then hooked into Union Electric.
Union Electric (UE) had no need for hydropower, but—as later revealed in federal charges—UE was running an extensive kickback operation to fund lobbying. This was proven long after the lake was built. We suspect UE went ahead with the lake project to rake off slush funds and probably enrich the management. It was a complicated scheme that we covered in Damming the Osage. Louis Egan, Union Electric’s “moose-tall aristocratic president,” regarded the Lake of the Ozarks as his own private pond where he wined and dined politicians, family, and friends at his twenty-nine room Adirondacks-style log lodge—now called Willmore Lodge, a venue for group or corporate events and home to the Lake Area Chamber of Commerce. Undoubtedly, it was the site of bribes and kickbacks that would ultimately lead to his downfall.
Both Cravens and Egan did time in federal prison: Cravens for his Lake of the Ozarks land-laundering scheme; Egan for his subsequent slush fund conviction.
Walter Cravens appealed his 1928 conviction on 88 counts, but the appeal was denied and in 1933 he began serving a six-year sentence in the federal penitentiary at Leavenworth Kansas. “He paid his $25,000 fine in installments. No. 43517 was discharged on February 7, 1937, having served three years and nine months of his six year sentence.” (page 126, Damming the Osage)
“Egan was convicted of violation of the Corrupt Practices Section of the Holding Company Act of 1935. UE paid an $80,000 file. Egan paid $10,000 and was sentenced to two years. His appeals failed and on December 31, 1943, the $68,000—year former executive entered the federal penitentiary at St. Petersburg, Florida.” (p. 127)
We didn’t have this photo when Damming the Osage went to press or we would have used it.
Lake of the Ozarks has always been rumored to be a vacation destination for the St. Louis underworld (mob). We’ve written extensively about tourism in the Ozarks. It would be an exaggeration to call the Lake Sodom and Gomorrah. Branson, founded on Harold Bell Wright’s moralistic, bucolic novel (Shepherd of the Hills), is a stark contrast to Lake of the Ozarks and its Party Cove and cigarette boat races. And now Netflix’s series tags it with Chicago money laundering and drug cartels from Mexico. In Ozark, the ultra violent local criminals are apparently trying to avenge the loss of their land to the lake Cravens started and Egan completed.
We don’t detect much realism in the series but there is a certain poetic resonance. The image of crime in the Ozarks has now entered the twenty-first century. No longer is it just the subject of yellowing newspaper articles, fading sepia photos or local legend. Now, it is the homeland of a mass media mythology.
NOTE – We now have a special running. You can buy Damming the Osage and our new book, James Fork of the White: Transformation of an Ozark River for $52.50, postage paid (a $17.50 savings for the two books).
With great anticipation we began to binge watch Netflix’s 10-part series titled, Ozark. The promos for this turgid story of money laundering and murder set at Missouri’s Lake of the Ozarks set the scene: “A financial adviser drags his family from Chicago to the Missouri Ozarks, where he must launder $500 million to appease a drug boss.” (Starring: Jason Bateman, Laura Linney, Sofia Hublitz).
A few establishing shots were grabbed at Lake of the Ozarks, but the series itself was filmed in Georgia thanks to that state’s generous tax credits for filmmakers. The first episode, set primarily in Chicago, made us ambivalent – not fully engaged. Should we finish the episode? Should we even go on to Episode 2? To our utter amazement, the last scene of that first episode showed Marty Byrde’s (Jason Bateman) first sight of the Lake at a spot we recognized as Lover’s Leap, a precipitous bluff near the drowned town of Linn Creek.
In Damming the Osage, we used a vivid linen postcard of that scene. Chrome sunset colors aside, some changes to the landscape have occurred since this 1940s image was printed. The distinctive rock has lost one upright piece; a small tree is growing through the cracks; and the tree where the postcard model leaned is gone, the grounds charred by a recent campfire. A modern condo building marks the confluence of the Osage (straight ahead) and the Niangua rivers (coming in from the left). Run your jet ski up the Niangua arm of the Lake and you’ll find the remains of Ha Ha Tonka’s trout lake at the base of the bluff where the ruins of the castle are.
Neither of us had ever been to Lover’s Leap (it is not easy to find and is on private land), but this seemed an opportune time to plan a road trip and seek it out – especially since we were headed to Jefferson City to participate in the total solar eclipse and Lake of the Ozarks is right on the way.
Next post will be extensive passages from J. W. Vincent’s Lover’s Leap Legend in Tales of the Ozarks. Vincent was the owner and editor of the Linn Creek Reveille newspaper from 1880 to 1933. Bagnell Dam was built during his tenure and his opposition to the dam is well documented in his paper. Before that controversy, he published a modest booklet of stories that included one account of how the precipice Marty Byrde stood on got its name.
The Ozarks we know and love is not the dark and sordid region portrayed in the new Netflix series, Ozark. For our first foray into publishing, Leland wrote and designed a photo essay, THE BEAUTIFUL AND ENDURING OZARKS. As Leland has told me many times, the Ozarks is an uplifted plateau where the meandering streams are wearing deep, winding trenches into that long-ago plain. Look out on a distant vista and notice the concurrent summits of the surrounding hills–evidence of that once level plain.
The word “glade” evokes Old English. Visiting one through the year is a poetic experience. In spring, the glades are strewn with wildflowers. Collared lizards dash for cracks in the rocks in summer. Blazing star and purple coneflower color the slopes in fall. Winter reveals the structure of the hills the best. The largest and purest complex of glades is in the Hercules Glades Wilderness in southwest Missouri.
This semi-mountainous region covers southern Missouri, most of northern Arkansas and small pieces of Kansas and Oklahoma touching Missouri.
Following the gravel road east from today’s crossroads known as McDowell, we found the remnants of a mill that once took its power from Flat Creek. Footings and foundations still resist the work of water, but the building has been gone for a while.
Milldam of the McDowell water mill on Flat Creek. This stream has an average fall of seven feet per mile and with good water can be floated as high up as McDowell – noting obstacles like this milldam.
Water mills were not unique to the Ozarks, but they flowered in the region due to isolation imposed by the deep river-cut terrain and the abundance of spring-fed streams. There were five water mills on Flat Creek alone.
Mills powered by running water were constructed soon after settlement. Overshot wheels drove most, but turbines were common after 1880. Some even employed steam power at the close of the local milling era. The handsome building (below) was the McDowell Roller Mills, which unlike many could produce flour from wheat. Most early mills used stone burrs to grind corn into meal.
Vintage photograph shows a mill at McDowell. This one utilized rollers designed to process wheat. Photograph is courtesy of the Barry County Museum.
James Fork of the White, page 80