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For about a hundred years the Coonville School in the Pike Run Hills north of Bonne Terre was the community center as well as the seat of learning for numerous families of the surrounding area. One former resident tells us that at one time there were as many as 75 farm houses and cabins in and around the Coonville Creek valley.
The school district was dissolved several years ago to become part of the Bonne Terre system and the frame schoolhouse was sold. All has been quiet in the beautiful valley for some time now. The picture is to change again in the near future, for this section of the Pike Run Hills will be part of the picturesque land comprising the new state park.
Close by the schoolhouse is a flowing spring which cascades into a four foot waterfall. More than a hundred other springs are to be found in the valley and if the searcher ranges across the highway into the Silver Springs vicinity he can count up to some 240 springs in the whole area.
Bill Forchee, who now lives off Highway 67 between Bonne Terre and Flat River, was born and spent his boyhood in the Pike Run community. He defines the area as extending from Bee Run to Hazel Run, down to Big River and the dividing bridge between the Plattin Hills and Pike Run Hills. Where the Southwestern Bell Telephone Company's microwave tower now stands was a country store and post office designated as Halifax. A favorite hunting spot was the old cedar field which became known as "Rabbitville." Men supported their families by farming in the spring and summer and cutting timber in the colder months.
Bill was one of the five children of John T. and Maggie Forchee. The family lived within a quarter of a mile of the Sam Hilderbrand cave overlooking Big River. The children went to the Coonville School and the teacher best remembered by Bill was a gentleman named Pearl Keay who now lives on Elvins Route 1.
Other teachers in the school's early history included Dr. "Wes" Shannon, G. I. Northcutt, Miss Emma Owens, Mr. Robinson, Mr. Lashley and Mr. Garrett.
Heads of families whose children attended school at Coonville included, Jim Appleberry (father of Reuben and Daily Appleberry), Warren Thurman, Henry Thurman, Will Roberts, Henry Grimshaw, Jeff Hammack, Fenton Mellon, Alf Rowe, Frank Eaton, the four Ketcherside brothers--Woodson, Green, Preston and Nixon, Bill "Daddy" Lawson, Dave Easter, Neal Deweese, Riley Nash, "Aunt Peggy" Nash and "Aunt Mandy" Nash, the midwife whose husband froze to death after falling in a heavy snow.
Well remembered, too, by many old-timers was Brother R. G. Ramsey (father of S. H. Ramsey of Flat River) who preached at the Coonville Church. A nearby water hole was the scene of some 300 baptisms performed by Preacher Ramsey during his ministry in the Pike Run Hills.
Bill Forchee tells us that the Coonville School was the setting for many types of gatherings. Box suppers were popular in the early days and always attracted big crowds. One of the largest gatherings ever assembled at the schoolhouse, however, was in 1914 when the place overflowed with 1030 persons attending a basket dinner. Then as now, parking presented its problems and on that occasion the school-ground and surrounding woods were overrun with horses, wagons and buggies.
A real "blow-out" characterized one of the box suppers. John Forchee (Bill's older brother) decided to create a little excitement. He "borrowed" five sticks of dynamite his father had on hand for blasting stumps and tied them to the branches of a tree near the schoolhouse where the party was in progress. He lighted the fuse and hurried to watch through the window to observe the crowd's reaction--not realizing how powerful the discharge would be. The dynamite exploded with a deafening blast which shook the building and grounds. People were excited, but unhurt, and probably disconcerted at having to go look for their horses, which had unhitched themselves and fled into the woods.
Bill also remembers an unusual wedding ceremony in the Pike Run Hills. Pearl Keay, a justice of the peace as well as schoolteacher, was officiating at the nuptials. At that point of the ceremony where the couple being wed were asked to join hands, the bride suddenly bolted from the room. As the stunned guests watched her run toward a field, Mr. Keay calmly said, "One of you long-legged hillbillies go catch that girl." The escaping bride was forthwith overtaken and returned and the marriage vows were exchanged without further incident. The couple enjoyed a long and happy wedded life.
An era has passed. The historic Coonville School valley will soon lose its identity as it is merged into the general plot of the proposed state park. The setting will bring pleasure to thousands of people in years to come, but intimate memories associated with this lovely area of verdant hillsides and bubbling springs will belong exclusively to the remaining few who once knew the Pike Run Hills as home.
It was a delight to read Martha DeClue's memories of Pike Run hills which provided some colorful lore we didn't know of, and there is still more. At one time there was a grist mill there grinding grain and I could never gather any information on that. That would have been the area's only industry outside of railroad tie hacking and a few illicit moonshine Stills back in the hollows.
One-room Coonville school, located in an isolated nowhere, on the very upper reaches of Pike Run, was a gem in the wilderness. Among those attending over 50 years ago, was my brother Roy and sister Ethel who came over the long ridge daily from Hazel Run. I attended just once, not of age and in rompers, I always cried when they left. One day mother gave in and let me go. My first day in school and made a "pet" of by everyone, at noon the teacher gave me her slice of cake from her lunch box. I was next to heaven. And cried even more to go back again!
Somehow, on the one trip to school I recall seeing that grist mill in operation, a very flimsy affair but all the more dramatic. At least for evidence there is a millstone up there above Falling Spring.
Pike Run is the most rugged and beautiful area I know of, or have seen in my jaunts around the country. Offers a vast array of scenic marvels important to preserve. It is wishful the State Park enhances all this for easier access without destroying the major points of a scenic wonderland.
There is a vale east of the Bisch Farm that contains amazing rock formations, like entering a museum. There's a Lincoln's head, a bear, oblisques like tombstones, a balanced rock. A spot to let your imagination run amuck. Sheltered in paw-paw and tropical appearing butternut trees, you feel as if on some Eden of the distant past.
It has always been my keen desire that more persons could see and enjoy this region as I had. In youth I brought many St. Louis boys down to camp on the many bends of Big River as it wraps around Bonne Terre. Got flooded out many a time. We were boys interested in nature, not vandals nor delinquents. All have matured into fine men.
All those of Pike Run remember my step-dad Howard Richardson, as those were HIS hills, HIS heaven upon earth. He wanted no other, and did not want to die and leave his beloved hills. Altho near the end he'd have to pause on a 45 degree hill and say his heart can't climb 'em no more.
We went fox hunting under the moon, the music of hounds baying. Each man thinking his dog had the best voice or was in the lead. Uncles or friends came in from town, we went coon and possum hunting. All this was very conservative as we never brought a fox, coon nor possum back with us; one time we did bring the loot of a skunk. His perfume that is!
Rabbits were a lowly sport, dad Howard's forte was squirrels. His dog Queen, slick as a greyhound, would go silently thru the forest and point out the squirrels to Howard; altho near blind he brought home so many squirrels for the table I think I would be sick of them yet. We fried them, stewed them, made with dumplings and mushrooms, etc.
Lo! The many memories. Springtime of wildflowers bursting out all over. The Forshee's, the last residents down in the valley who made artificial flowers in the long gone log cabin.
There are spots there, maybe just an old apple tree standing, or a clearing, a reminder of some human habitation. As one strolls along.
But forever pours forth peppermint lined Falling Springs, it was there before all of us, and possibly will continue to pour after we are gone, important to the thirst of civilization.
After a walk thru Pike Run, the soul is calmed to face anything. And I miss being so far away.
L. L. Richardson,
433 N. Boston St.
Tulsa, Oklahoma - 74103