Volume Thirty-Eight

No. 4


January, 1997




Forty-three Years at Batavia Body Company Recollections of Gunnar Wiberg


Batavia had a long history of building wagons and automotive bodies. First there was the New­ton Wagon Company, started in 1854 and sold to the Emerson Brantingham Company in 1912. The latter company, in turn, was taken over about 1930 by the Batavia Body Company, which continued in operations until 1973.vol38_11jpg.jpg


Gunnar Wiberg was with Batavia Body during most of its 45 years of operations, beginning in the pattern department in 1930, superintending factory operations from 1934 and, for many years af­ter 1947, heading both factory op­erations and purchasing. Elliott Lundberg and your editor inter­viewed him recently, and the fol­lowing, told in his own words, are interesting excerpts from his rec­ollections.


We first asked how he got started with the company.


I was born in Sweden on August 1, 1909, and came to the United States in eariy 1928.1 came to Chicago and was promised a job as an apprentice carpenter but unfortunately the de-iression hit. The owner was in the process of building a 22-apartment building, but it wasn't ready so he let rne work there as a laborer to clean up.


After that he was able to get re­pair jobs, but I didn't have a steady job, working just enough to be able to make ten dollars a week to pay my room and board. Then he had an iron work shop, and he let me work there. However, his son, when he collected, spent the money on booze so the place shut down. So, in the fall of 1929, I was out of a job.


In 1930, about the first of March, I went out to visit a friend in Batavia. We were sitting around and in the af­ternoon the man who owned the house said that they were hiring at the Batavia Body Company. So the next morning I went straight down there and asked a man if they needed help, and he hired me.


I went back to Chicago and picked up my suitcase and came back and started work on Monday morning. Well, Chicago had its advantages because it had excellent night schools for language - two hours a night, five nights a week and nine months out of the year. After two years I could spell and knew the language as well as the average American.


Who was running the company then?


In the early days AT. Jackson was there. I was actually hired by the Emerson Brantingham Corporation, and Mr. Jackson worked for them. He was able to take over the management of a chunk that was called the Batavia Body Company and formed a stock company. So he was running it when I came there.


What kind of work did you do?


I started in the pattern department at the Batavia Body Company, and we patterns for the canopy tops of panel bodies. That job lasted maybe two years, but as soon as they got through with the patterns, they sent me over to the production line. It was interesting, and I enjoyed the work there. I did my best, and I got pro­moted; they first let me take charge of certain operations like the marking and servicing of the trucks. Then in 1934 I was promoted to factory su­perintendent.


Mr. Forest came to the company about that time. I remember so well when he came. He came down and talked to me. I was superintendent then, and he asked, "How old are you?"! said I was 24, I think it was. He said, "My God, we've got a kid here." Anyhow we got along fine. He told me, "There's only one reason for us being here and that's to make money for the com­pany. If you do that, we don't need you." He'd come in and ask, "How did we do today, how did we do today?" I'd tell him we did all right, and he'd say, "OK, OK."


He took me on like a father to a son. He told me that, if you were able to save money, you ought to invest in stocks, and he was always telling me what was best to do. He was always very strict and told me not to do any­thing out of the way. Any time I wanted to buy a piece of equipment for the shop, I had to prove it and double prove it before he'd let me go ahead and buy it. But that was all right.



Who were some of the others in the office?


Bill Roberts was also a very good man. He was a salesman for the com­pany. He was a real nice guy to get along with. Somehow in the end there was something between him and Mr. Jackson. I don't know what it was, but they weren't getting along and he had to leave. Later on he opened up a res­taurant in Geneva. It was too bad it worked out that way.


John J. Tyndal was a different kind, strictly a book man. He was a Scotchman, and he knew his work. He knew bookkeeping but from there on he didn't always understand too well. One Sunday morning I was home, and Mr. Tyndal phoned me, asking if I could come down to the office right away!  I went down to the office, and he said there was a funny racket going on that he couldn't understand. I could see  what it was. He had a unit on his desk he used to buzz his secre­tary, and he had opened a book and the cover rested on the unit and set the buzzer off. I took the cover off the unit, and the noise stopped. He said, "I don't know how you can be so smart." 


Who were some of the other people?


George Engstrom was in charge of the drafting department. He was good. Albert Kraft was a super craftsman. Everything he did had to be just right. And in the final analysis he completely rebuilt the office. He was the father of Everett and Karl, the plumber. Everett worked at the company for many years. He began as a draftsman and was a good one. Then he worked as a salesman with Dutch Clarno, and traveled and had his own territory.  Dutch was a salesman at the Body Company for many years.


He was good at his job, and he was the old-time worker who never minded doing extra work, like during the war. He got a lot of wood in every day, and sometimes by the end of the week he would get behind, so Martin and I would corne in on Sun­day morning and work four hours to fill all the racks up. He got nothing for it, and neither did I, but he was com­pany-minded like that. Yes, we got along fine. He finally retired and bought a place down in the Ozarks, but he never got to enjoy it before he died.


Mildred Kisser had started at the Body Company when she got out of high school. She was my secre­tary when I came up to work in the office. I came in one day and remarked that I heard from my brother in Argentina; he wanted rne to send him the name and address of some­one to write to to practice his English. Mildred gave me her address to send to Helrner. So I sent him her address, and about eight days later Mildred came in and said, "Gosh, your brother's a fast worker, isn't he? I got a letter from him already," So they corresponded for some time, and when he came up in 1955 it seemed that they had known each other for­ever. They got married not too long afterwards.


How many people were em­ployed at the Body Company?


The most people the Body Com­pany employed was 135, and that was during the war. We were making truck bodies for the army, 35 truck bodies a day. We worked twelve hour shifts except for the mill room where they worked two shifts, ten hours.


The bodies made during the war were cargo bodies -- twelve feet long and eight feet wide, with heavy duty platforms and staves on the side. The seats folded down so men could be seated all around, and staves went up and over so a tarpaulin could be put up for protection from rain.


We were allowed to do a little civil­ian work in the South plant at the southwest corner oi First Street and what is now Shumway Drive. We had a small plant, probably five men there, since we couldn't do any new work, only repairs.


Didn't ownership change after the war?


Mr. Jackson had more stock in the company than anyone else. I remem­ber one time, not too far from the time we sold, Mr. Forest called me in and told me that somebody was trying to buy up too much of the loose stock in the company. If they would get too much, we would lose control, and we didn't want that to happen. He said we had received an offer to sell us 4,000 shares, but the person selling was robbing us because he wanted $15 per share. Mr. Forest asked me how I was fixed because we should really have that stock. Well, I had just sold a piece of land so I told him I would take 1,000 shares. He said he would also take 1,000 shares and that he would call Mr. Jackson in Florida to take the 2,000 shares. Well, we bought it at $15 and sold it at $23, which wasn't too bad. Before that I was picking up 100 shares at a time at $12.50 and $13 per share.


In 1955 we were taken over by the American Gauge and Machinery Company. They bought out the stock­holders. And later on they were taken over by Katy Industries.


Were the workers unionized?


They organized a union in the late 1940s. They were going on strike once. Back in those days it was only a question of whether it was 2 1/2 cents or 3 cents. We were close, but they went on strike. Morris Anderson was a bookkeeper, and his son worked in the shop. I went down in the mill room to do a little work, and Carroll Jackson came in and turned off the switch, saying that Wallace Carroll from Katy Industries had called and said they wouldn't meet the union's terms so we were to shut down. Morris Anderson heard what Wallace Carroll had said, and he quickly ran down and told his son they were going to shut down.


Carroll Jackson and I went to the shop office and talked a while. Harold Coleman was at the head of the union then, and he came in and said they had just had a meeting and decided they were going to accept the last pro­posal and would go back to work the next day. Carroll said that he would have to check with the boss. He called Wallace Carroll, who told him it was OK to go back to work. So, if it hadn't been for the relationship between Morris Anderson and his son, they would have shut us down then.


Who were some of Batavia Body's big customers?


The Beatrice Company, Meadow Gold and Kraft Foods were big cus­tomers for refrigerator bodies.


Did management change much over the years?


After 1947 I had charge of the fac­tory operations and purchases. AT. Jackson stayed at the company until he was quite old. The last few years he would go to Florida for the winter. When he retired, Bill Forest took over as president.


About 1971 we had a new fellow come to the front office, and Carroll Jackson was bumped out of there. The new fellow leaned more toward college-educated people than he did to those that did the practical work. So he hired an efficiency expert, and he studied the shop for a couple of months, looking around and doing whatever he wanted to do. And one day he came up to me and asked, "Which do you like best, the factory management or the purchasing?" I told him that there were probably less headaches with the purchasing and I liked that best. He replied, "I'm glad you said that because I'm taking over the factory tomorrow morning."


Well, he took us over. Previous to that we were making a fair profit ev­ery year, but after he took it over labor costs doubled. The fellow in charge wanted to be buddy-buddy with everybody, so people did what - they wanted to do. They had one job that took four men, so they gathered up four men and, well, one of the guys had to finish his king-size first and that took time as four men waited. Zoom went the labor costs. People drank coffee whenever they wanted. I had my suspicions when he came because he had worked so many places. If you're good, you don't usually work in so many places.


As soon as he saw what was hap­pening, he quit the place. They tried to get me to go back and take the su­perintendent job, but I didn't want to do that, and I wasn't in a shape that I had to.


How did it all end?


We hobbled along for a little while, and we were unable to pay bills. That was miserable. You ordered some­thing, and it didn't come. When you checked on it, they said they hadn't been paid for so and so. Under those conditions, Mr. Wallace decided to shut it, and so in 1973 we were all to get out of there.


The last day of August was my last day of working there - after forty three and a half years. For many years now we have had a Batavia Body Com­pany employees get-together on the east side of Aurora, with a dinner, cof­fee, and what not. I think they are down to eighteen that come.



When Baseball Was King

 ABOUT 1908 - top (left to right): Philip Elfstrom, Ray Crowthers, Fred Anderson,

Walter Carlson, Dave Anderson, Carl Redborg, ?; middle: Oscar Johnson,

Axel Wallman, Claude Hanson, Emil Benson; front: Harry Johnson, "Hooley" Wallman

Persons born after World War II can hardly sense what baseball meant to earlier generations of Americans. True, baseball continued to reign as the national sport, especially for the next two or three decades. The impact of other fast-growing professional sports, however, together with league expansions, free agency,1 strikes, and skyrocketing salaries, was already eroding the position baseball had long held in the hearts of most of our coun­trymen.


Back in the 1930s, professional foot-ball was a relatively minor sideshow, and professional basketball was vir­tually nonexistent. There was no com­mercial television. and the country was in the depths of the Great Depres­sion, so money for entertainment was scarce.


People loved to play baseball or watch their favorite teams. Tickets for even occasional major league baseball games were within the finan­cial reach of most people, and a mi­nor league team flourished in any city worthy of the name. Even the small­est of towns boasted teams that were part of amateur or semipro leagues, and their enthusiastic fans turned out to cheer them on.


Almost by accident, we discovered that Cliff Anderson has a treasure trove of baseball memorabilia. The first thing that caught our eye was a scorecard Cliff had kept for Game Four of the 1932 World Series be­tween the Chicago Cubs and the New York Yankees. (Yes, the Cubs used to play occasionally in a World Series,} The names on that scorecard are high­lights of baseball history - Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig, Bill Dickey, Billy Herman, Charley Grimm, Gabby Hartnett, to cite a few. It was in the previous game of that series that an irate Babe Ruth, who was being heckled by the Chi­cago fans, allegedly stepped out of the batter's box and pointed toward the center field fence before blasting the longest home run in Wrigley Field's history. The gesture may be debat­able, but no one questions the home run.


And then we came across the scorecard of the first Ail Star Game, played at the old Comiskey Park on July 6, 1933. The starting pitchers were baseball immortals, Lefty Grove for the American League and Carl Hubbell for the National League. The American League won bya4-2score. But what captured our interest most was the scorecard for a May 6,1936, game between Anderson Hardware Co. and the Knights of Pythias. We looked at the names, many familiar, of the Anderson Hardware players, whom Cliff identified more fully as Richie Markuson, Ken Peddy, Jim Anderson, Earl and Bussy Nelson, "Skeezer" Turre Larson, Gunnar Bergman, Harry ?, Coyle Anderson, Red Johnson, and Howy Nelson. Ac­cording to Bussy Nelson, these teams played 12-inch fast pitch, a game closely akin to baseball (or hardball).


Bussy got more information for us from Wally Freedlund, whose records for one year showed that the league included, besides Anderson Hardware and the Knights of Pythias, the Ameri­can Legion, Miller's Tap, West Side Transfer, Kresser's Builders, Barckley Hardware, Batavia Recreation, Lindgren's Foundry, the Blue Streaks, and the Unemployed Workers (re­member: this was the Depression). They played at the old athletic field and at a field off Hamlet Avenue. Wally's records for one year, possibly 1936, showed that Kresser's Builders led the league with an 8-0 record, while the Blue Streaks, despite their name, brought up the rear, 0-8.


All this led us to a search of the Society's archives at the Depot Mu­seum, where we found a wealth of material on earlier Batavia baseball. Oliver Swanson's 1916 "Ledger," marked "Hands Off Please," is filled with clippings of various sports events of that year. One tells of the Batavia Blues' 9-4 defeat of the Aurora Grey­hounds. Players for the Blues included four Nelsons (R., A., another R., and E.) and others identified only by the last names of Carlson, Redborg, Anderson, McDermott, Seals, and Swanson. From the various clippings, one must conclude that the Batavia Blues3 were a powerful team, winning games against the Kane Streets, the Chicago Lawndales, ateam identified only as DeKalb, the South Ends, and the Oak Parks of Aurora, although we find that an Aurora team finalfy took the Central Association county title by defeating the "speedy Batavia Blues" 2-0.


A few years earlier in an undated picture (shown above), which Jim Hanson believes was taken around

1908, we have what appears to be a team of high school-aged players. We are not sure what the "BJ" on the shirts stands for; possibly, someone has speculated, it was for Batavia Juniors.

: least two of those pictured are fa­thers of present Society members: Philip Elfstrom and Claude Hanson, Jim's father. There is no explanation why three of those pictured on the back row, one of whom is Phifip Elfstrom, are wearing coats, ties and hats rather than baseball uniforms.


The most intriguing find in the ar­chives search was a scorecard, com­pleted in handwriting that would put most of us today to shame, of an Au­gust 30,1877, game played in Aurora between Batavia and Aurora -- a game that Batavia won by a score of 15 to 9 - and a picture (shown above) of that same Batavia team. The amaz­ing thing is that someone took the trouble to identify all the players in that picture in the margin. When Bill Wood saw this picture, he observed that one of the players, identified as Ira Noaks, was probably related, despite a dif­ference in spelling, to the Bill Noakes who was injured leading an attempted lynching of Barney Vermiiyer (see Bill's story in the January 1996 issue).


A clipping from an unidentified newspaper, probably from Elgin, de­scribed a game at Batavia between the Elgin Quicksteps and that same Batavia team: "The Quicksteps went down to Batavia yesterday and amid the wildest noises ever heard in a civi­lized country, were taken in by the nine of that burg known as the 'Batavias.' An audience of about three hundred of the 'loudest mouthed' people of wind(rnill) city, were on the premises, and from the time the playing began, until its close, every man, woman and child yelled their loudest, except when a commendable play was made by the Quicksteps, when every one was as mum as an oyster. Although the Batavians were loud in their applause of the playing of its ball tossers, it was not all unmerited, for we are informed by the members of the Quicksteps, that their opponents out-played them both at the bat and in the field."


This game took place not many years after baseball was invented, ac­cording to some questionable claims, by General Abner Doubleday of Civil War fame. So, it can be seen, Batavia was a part of the national sport from almost its beginning.



By binding players permanently to a team, the reserve clause as it existed was manifestly unfair to players; however, its elimination cre­ated continuous player turnover and destroyed much of the loyalty both players and fans felt
for their teams.



Bussy Nelson recalls a hardball team named the Batavia Blues that played in the 1930s. This team well may have been a continuation of the one in 1916.

This team well may have been a continuation of the one in 1916.







Lindbergh Crashes - Near Here


When Kally Klose, one of our mem­bers, read accounts in recent local newspapers that Charles Lindbergh, on August 18,1927, dropped a pouch intended for Mooseheart in Batavia (see the Windmill Herald, August 1, 1997), she was reminded of his crash, a year earlier, on one of her family's farms near Ottawa. Although she was too young to remember it, the recount­ing by her family is vivid in her mind.


As recounted in the September 24, 1990, "Paging Back" section of the Ottawa Daily Times, "the crash oc­curred on the foggy night of Septem­ber 16, 1926 -- not long after Lindbergh had contracted with the U.S. Postal Service to fly mail from St. Louis to Maywood near Chicago by way of Springfield. Lindbergh . . . lost his way in a low fog over Marseilles. Then, the main and auxil­iary fuel tanks ran dry. So, Lindbergh pointed the nose up, climbed from the cockpit and parachuted off the wing. He landed unharmed, in a cornfield." When Kally's great aunt saw him walk­ing out of the field, she asked, "You weren't in the plane, were you?" "I sure was," he replied.


Flying was far more dangerous then, and navigational aids were very primitive. It is ironic, though, that the man who was to become the world's most famous flyer following the first solo flight from New York to Paris, got lost and ran out of gas, crashing in Illinois the year before, and then, a year later, could not distinguish be­tween Mooseheart and Batavia when he had a pouch to drop.

We are deeply grateful to the Pinnacle Bank of Batavia, which has gener­ously paid for the cost of printing this issue of the Historian.


A Time to Give Thanks

by Helen Bartelt Anderson





Each year as mornings grow chilly and dewy, my thoughts return to the farm where I was born and grew up. Memories of corn harvesting come to mind. Corn was the largest of the grain crops and marked the end of the har­vest season. The harvesting of it stretched from September through November. Papa's goal was always to finish by Thanksgiving Day.


About the time we started school in the fall, Papa would "open" the fields of corn by cutting each stalk of corn in the first outside row with his big, very sharp corn knife. He would load the stalks in the wagon, drive along the fence line of the cow pasture, and throw the stalks over the fence to the waiting, mooing herd of cattle. Each cow seemed to try to out-moo the others in an­ticipation of the daily treat. Papa did this every morning until about three rows had been cut and he could easily maneuver the big corn binder into the field.


It was hard work for both the men and the horses. Corn stalks are big and tough. I remember Papa hitching three horses to the binder when he went to the field, but my brother, Roger, toid me that occasionally, if the ground was soft, it was necessary to use four. The corn binder cut the corn, tied it into bundles, and dropped them on the ground. They could be shocked or loaded on wagons to be used for silo filling.


Silo filling, unlike grain harvesting, was a slower process and required fewer men. A wagon load of bundles would be brought up to the silo-filler, where it was chopped and blown up into the silo through long metal pipes similar to stove pipes. Roger and I used to hurry home from school when the silo fillers came. It was fascinat­ing to watch the corn bundles disap­pear and listen to the shredded stalks as they were blown up through the pipes. Marna still had to cook meals for the extra workers, but there were only four or five, compared to the threshers for whom it was like cook­ing for a banquet.


After the silo was filled, it was nec­essary to let the siiage rest for sev­eral days to settle, then it was refilled. Then there was a time of fermenta­tion before it could be used for feed. Mama warned Roger and me not to enter the silo at the time because it gave off poisonous fumes. One time Roger climbed up to "check." He was met by a swarm of angry hornets and made a hasty retreat. He told me about this daring deed shortly before he died; I'll bet he never mentioned it to Mama or Papa -- a well-kept secret.


After silo-filling came corn husking and the end of the harvest season. When Uncle Charlie lived with us, he and Papa would each hitch a team of horses to a box wagon. They went up and down the rows, the patient horses walking slowly so the pickers could keep up. I remember hearing ear af­ter ear as they hit the bangboards at­tached to the box wagons. Papa di­vided the fields into sections. Uncle Charlie would work in one and Papa in another. I don't remember that hired men ever picked corn. Some years Papa worked alone, which took him several weeks.


Corn husking was hard work and extremely uncomfortable and painful. Heavy mittens would get soaked from snow, sleet, and rain, which caused cracked fingers and chapped hands. I remember Mama rubbing Papa's and Charlie's sore muscles and ban­daging their fingers. It was a happy day when the last row of corn was picked and piled safety in the corn crib. The bright yellow ears showedf with all their beauty in now dark, drabr surroundings.




Membership and Other Matter


Since the last issue, three life mem­bers have been added to our rolls:

Rosalie Jones

and Robert and Marilyn Phelps.


Other new members (from Batavia unless otherwise noted) in­clude:


Gary Anderson (Northfield, Illi­nois)

Mr. and Mrs. John Flodstrom (Big Rock, Illinois)

Helen Hill (Waterman, Illinois)

Alma Karas

Judith Morrigan (Lansing, Michigan)

Estelle M. Neltis

Frank and Bernice Nelson

Avis Nordstrom (Annawan, Illinois)

Ralph Soderholm (Peru, Illi­nois)

Dave and Ramona Tudor (Dixon, Illinois)

and Robert J. and Nancy B. Von De Bur.


The geographic distribution of these new members indicates that interest in Batavia's his­tory spreads far beyond our city lim­its.


Since the last issue, the Society has received two donations of $100 or more:


The Furnas Foundation



and the Batavia High School Class ot '57


$100, after meeting with Bill Wood at the Depot Museum during the Class Reunion.


We certainly appreciate these gifts. The Society will be sending issues of the Historian to each of Batavia's third grade teachers.


Twenty-five Years Ago in Batavia


This is an excerpt from John Gustafson's HISTORIC BATAVIA written by Marilyn Robinson and Jeffery Schielke and published by the Historical Society. The book should be available about the be­ginning of December. See end of article for ordering instruction.


The start of 1972 marked the open­ing of new road leading to and from Batavia. Kirk Road, a sprawling four-lane limited access freeway/highway, was extended south from Wilson Street to Butterfield Road, where it connected with Farnsworth Avenue, coming north out of Aurora. With the extension and widening of Kirk Road to four lanes, Batavia was to get its first real taste of what can best be de­scribed as a small town version of a super-highway. Kirk Road, as it ran along the far eastern corporate and township limits of Batavia, was to be­come an accident prone, almost cursed, section of roadway. Time and again in the years following the open-ng of Kirk Road, emergency units sped out Wilson Street to yet another serious Kirk Road accident.


Between January 1976 and De­cember 1978, there would be 103 vehicle mishaps along Batavia's seg­ment of Kirk Road, many of these in­volving personal injuries and even deaths. Lower speed limits, more lighting, additional stoplights - noth­ing seemed to provide the answer for the curse of Kirk Road. As the years passed, the road continued to experi­ence a high accident rate.


In another highway improvement project, Fabyan Parkway was opened as a four-lane highway running east from Kirk Road to the DuPage County line. Meanwhile, county officials final­ized plans for the construction of the new Fabyan Parkway bridge which would connect Rts. 31 and 25 at the north end of town.


The trend of growth begun in the 1960s was moving at full force by 1972. The impact of massive growth really struck town in February when Holiday Estates of America appeared before the plan commission with plans to build over 700 single-family units and a shopping center on the land south, west, and north of the Colonial Village/Carlisle Road area. Whiie his­tory would show that actual develop­ment of this southwest side area was still nearly a decade away, the pro­posal of someone wanting to drop 700 new houses in town in one subdivi­sion quickly became the talk of the town. When growth finally did occur in this part of town, housing density was significantly reduced by actions of the plan commission and city coun­cil.


A business note to come before the city council this year was a request by sixth grade students of J.B. Nelson School for the city to name a block-long stretch of roadway in front of their school William Wood Lane in honor of the man who had served as teacher and principal at the school since its opening. The city complied.

Another city tradition drew to a close in March when the long-held practice of blowing the city's fire whistle for two blasts at the stroke of noon was ended by a vote of the city council. Reason given for ending the practice was the expansion of city offices to the sec­ond floor council chambers of the city hall where the loud whistle was within earshot of workers. The news brought about some good natured complain­ing from residents who said that with the whistle no longer marking the noon hour, no one would know when it was lunch time.


As the summer of '72 rolled into its final weeks, ground fill was dumped into the last remaining holes along West Wilson Street where the pond property, site of the second river chan­nel of the Fox River, had once ap­peared. Thus, there came to an end the last reminder of the days when Batavia was "a two channel town."

Anew main entrance off Kirk Road to the NAL site was under construc­tion and was to open in 1973 with Mayor Brown cutting the ribbon. The entrance was an extension of Pine Street, a long-time familiar street to Batavians.


The cost of John Gustafson's HIS­TORIC BATAVIA will be $24.95 for hardback and $19.95 for softcover. However, there is a dis­counted rate until January 1, 1998. Anyone reserving copies before January 1, 1998, will receive the 570 page book, (indexed) hard­back for $20.95 and the softcover for $15.95. This is a saving of $4.00 per book.

To reserve copies of the book, send a postcard to the Batavia Historical Society, Box 14, Batavia, IL 60510. Be sure to in­clude your name, address, phone number, and the number of cop­ies (which ones) you wish to re­serve.


If the books need to be mailed to you, please enclose a check with your reservation, particularly if you wish the book before Christ­mas.