There’s something I want to share with you about a lady I don’t want forgotten, Frances B. Savell. Many of you remember her wit and joy in life and her love of people. She adopted me after the death of her sister, Florence Van deWater.

During World War I she served with the American Red Cross in Paris, France as director of the Y.M.C.A. When she came home she settled down in New York City with one of New York’s largest law firms.

Years later she asked us to look around the Midwest for available position since she and her husband wanted to get away from the city. The mob wanted money to "protect" his business. When told "no thanks", the night watchman was nearly killed and everything was taken and removed, leaving four bare walls.

Art and I bought the East Prairie Eagle from Dave Bright and contacted the Savells to come manage it. In among family papers I found a bit of history. It is a poem written in 1918 by Frances Bronson (Savell), entitled "IF" . She was quite a gal who loved this country and East Prairie.

If you can keep your head when other women

Have soared sky-high because of men galore;

If you accept the men’s beaucoup attentions

And act like you were used to them before;

If you can dance with colonels, majors, captains,

And promenade with first lieutenants, too,

And realize you represent their sweethearts,

And not because they’re smitten over you;

If you’ll remember that most men in service

Have left a wife or sweetheart "over there",

And just because they flirt and seem quite happy,

It doesn’t mean that they’re not acting square;

If you can give an evening to a doughboy

When you might with a captain to dine,

And listen patiently till almost midnight,

While the doughboy raves about his time so fine;

If you can don your uniform so sombre,

And go to dinner in a gay cafe,

And watch the other women smoking "Cigs" and drinking -

And admit you do not want to act that way;

If you can wander forth to do some shopping,

And shrug your shoulders with a lordly air

Because the shop girl, seeing you’re a Yankee,

Doubles the price, then murmurs C’est la guerre";

If, hungry, you can go into a lunchroom,

And wrestle with a menu strange and new,

And have them bring you food you’ve never ordered,

And eat it tho it’s horse they’ve served to you;

If over home you’ve had in your profession

The luck to mount the ladder’s highest round,

While over here you’re one among a thousand,

And the job that’s handed you is on the ground;

If you can do all this and yet keep smiling

And grab the good times as they come your way;

But still remember that you’re here for service,

And that you have to mix work with your play;

If all these things can’t make you feel unhappy,

And you still feel you’d like to take a chance,

Then hustle up and come across the ocean,

We need your type of woman here in France!