Texaco station was a beacon in the night

John Robinson’s Residence

Between the Robinson’s Bar and Cafe and the Texaco was John Robinson’s house, set back quite a way back from the street. 

John was an elderly man who spent many a summer day sitting on a bench near the sidewalk in front of his house, ready to converse with any passersby, including the kids who lived in town.

The Texaco

Bigfork had three downtown gas stations (the Standard at the Bigfork Hotel; the Mobile next to the Mountain Lake; and the Texaco, across the street from our bar. This is where we gassed up our Studebaker, and later our 1954 Ford. In addition to selling gas, they also serviced cars, and sold maps and candy.

Bill Sears owned the Texaco in my earliest years, then sold it to John Nelson and his wife, Kay. That year, their son, Roger, was in my third-grade class in school. 

My favorite part of the station was the big banjo sign in the front, with a light on each side that lit up the sign at night. It was my anchor when I was exploring the village and got lost; it was my comfort on nights when my Mom was out drinking and I was worried she wouldn’t come home; and it was my joy when the first snow of the season arrived, because I could watch the snow fall in its light (This was long before Bigfork got street lights).

Three Residences

Across the street from the Mize place and Huston’s Grocery at the end of the main street were three residential houses belonging to Kitty Barton, Ted and Martha Gigrich, and Jim and Effie Dockstader. There were two more houses on the lower part of Electric Avenue overlooking the river, but I didn’t know the people who lived in them.

Kitty Barton was the school’s secretary. Her house was next to the Texaco, across from the Lake Cafe. The Gigriches sold real estate from their home, and were friends of my parents. Although I visited them in their home a few times, I don’t remember much of those visits. They moved away before I started school; but when they returned several years later and moved into the cottage next to our bar, I got to know them much better, often spending my after-school hours at their house, helping with a jigsaw puzzle.

The Dockstaders’ property had several buildings, including their grand old-fashioned house, garage, barn, pig pen attached to the back of the barn, an out-house, and an old two-room homestead overlooking the bay that was rented to Harry Arder’s invalid brother. Effie Dockstader was the town’s nurse and took care of their tenant. After he died, that building became the playhouse for all the kids in the town.

There were three Dockstader children. Mike was the oldest and I didn’t know him very well. Mary was two years older than me and was best friends with Nora Jo Boyer who lived nearby. Maureen was two years younger than me and became my favorite playmate when I was five and she was three. 

Jim Dockstader ran the family farm on the Holt road, where they mainly raised Christmas trees, but also had a large vegetable garden. In the summer, Maureen and I helped Effie shell peas and trim green beans for canning.

Although Effie was very much a modern woman, her lifestyle was very old-fashioned. She collected rain water in a big barrel. In the summer she washed and rinsed her waist-long hair with the rainwater, then sat on the bench to let her hair dry. Reenie and I combed out her hair, which was quite wavy, and then helped her braid and twist it around her head.

She collected antiques — clothing, shoes, toys, furniture and household goods — that she stored in the barn and later in the playhouse. One of our favorite toys was a three-wheel bike. It was more than a tricycle because it had a chain like a bike. The front wheel was as big as a bicycle wheel; the back two wheels were much smaller, like on a trike. There was a place behind the seat where a second kid could stand while the first kid pedaled, and we used to ride up and down their block like this.

We also had a real baby buggy and several porcelain dolls to play with - as long as we were careful. Or we watched the large goldfish swim around a small pond in their yard, or played on the dual swing that was part teeter-totter, part swing.

Sometimes on Sunday after they returned from Mass, Effie would say, “Cathy, would you like to join us for dinner later?”

“Oh boy!” I sang; Reenie and I exchanged big smiles. I hoped it would be fried chicken, but was happy with whatever Effie served, as she was a very good cook.