Bellevue is a clean, quaint little town in eastern Iowa nestled between two large cliffs on the banks of the Mississippi River. It boasts a population of about 3,000 people. If you’re coming from the tri-state area of Iowa, Illinois, and Wisconsin and heading south on Interstate 52, you can’t miss it.
The drive on Highway 52 is pleasant, passing well-kept farms with herds of cattle grazing or horses frolicking in the pastures. The scenery of distant hills hints that the closer you get to Bellevue, the closer you get to discovering just how spectacular the natural beauty of this part of Iowa can be. As the highway begins its final descent into town about four miles away, the change is abrupt and magnificent. In the blink of an eye, you get a stunning bird’s-eye view of the great Mississippi River. Surrounded by tree-lined cliffs, the clearly flowing river sings with promises of green scenery and good fishing in the spring. In the summer, the river proudly hosts a local water-skiing club and pleasure boats amidst the constant traffic of barges and kayaks coming and going. During the fall months, the river plays a supporting role as the colored whips on the Midwest make the trees along the river banks and in nearby valleys roar with bright, red, yellow and orange enthusiasm. Only after the trees are bare and devoid of all foliage the following winter season will the white glacial carpet of ice push the river back into the spotlight.
At the end of the descent there is a road on the left that passes a small cluster of different businesses. Eventually the road passes the town’s golf course and new homes mixed in with a few old houses that have stood here since anyone can remember.
After Highway 52 meanders a bit and crosses a bridge, you’ll see a farmhouse on your right, the access to which crosses the railroad tracks and climbs a hill to the farmhouse. The thicket of trees behind the house, stretching to the horizon, is full of deer and wild turkeys.
You will soon arrive in town, and when you do, you must be mindful of your manners, even while driving. Oncoming drivers wave at you and wait for the waves. It doesn’t matter if they don’t know you, you’re in their town, aren’t you, and they shouldn’t ignore you.
The road goes past Hammond’s gas station and a convenience store on the right, just before the bowling alley and power station. At Hammond’s you can fill up your car with gas, get a loaf of bread, some chips and a bucket of live worms, all at once. It’s the local sheriff pulling up to say hello, make sure everything is okay, have a cup of coffee, and discuss the latest happenings in town.
As you drive down the street into town, you’ll notice that the Mississippi is in one of its broader parts here and that the town takes good care of the banks of the river. Benches are anchored here and there, next to a continuous and gently curving brick walkway. The road offers a direct view of the river lock and dam. If you’re lucky, you can catch a barge taking turns passing through the lock. City banners hanging from street posts proudly carry the slogan, “Where the Eagles Soar,” because they soar here. They dive gracefully to the surface of the water near the lock and dam, grabbing fish prey. Often they settle in for the night in a tree near Riverview, the city’s main street, perched majestically on the upper branches. The national bird is a favorite for sightseers who come by bus to see them in their natural habitat. Depending on the time of year, you may also see white pelicans that stop and rest on a small island above the dam during their southward migration.
Riverview continues to stretch lazily along the river, with most of Bellevue on your right. The street is dotted with various small stores: antiques, craft stores, a hardware store, an ice cream parlor that is only open in the summer, and several bait and fishing tackle stores. There are no traffic lights here, so your driving on the river will be smooth and uninterrupted.
The pharmacy is just around one corner and down the block halfway to the railroad tracks. It still has a wooden floor that creaks when you walk on it. People greet you with a warm smile as soon as you poke your head through their door, even if you are a stranger. They ask if they can help and then let you browse through several rows of cards, small gifts, and medicines at your leisure. No one is in a hurry to force you to buy anything. They’re fine if you just want to come in and relax a little or chat with the pharmacist.
Across the street on the corner is a flower and gift store. The flower store is the one I use when I want to order flowers. The first time I called, I had a credit card in my hand and asked if they were ready to take my number. The pretty woman on the other end of the line seemed a little shocked by my question and said: “Oh, no! Just send us a check when you can.” The other part of the store, which extends to the corner of the block, sells cookies and greeting cards when you’re tired of floral products or want to nibble and browse while they wrap your flowers. I caught them once as they were taking a fresh batch of cookies out of the oven. These chocolate chip creations tasted as good as they smelled, and they weren’t the small size you find in grocery store packages. Every now and then, when I go back,
The best sandwiches are the “ready-made” ones at Richmans, on Riverview and a few more blocks away. Ground beef, fried and sliced until it’s nice and crumbly, mixed with a little onion and some other ingredients I can’t figure out, wrapped in smooth paper. Add some mustard and ketchup, pour in some homemade malt, and you have discovered heaven. You can enjoy your meal at one of the metal tables and chairs or sit on a stool at the counter and watch it get fixed right away. Quite regularly, two cute little girls show up and plop down at the counter or neighboring table with their dolls, their dressy shoes, and someone else’s discarded purse. The girls are quite used to being part of the midday crowd. Their parents own the diner and not only the workers, but their neighbors who stop by for a snack, keep an eye on the girls to make sure they don’t get hurt during the game. If you are a stranger, the girls will come up to your table, introduce themselves and say hello. This is so they can find out who you are or who you know, to find out what you are doing in their town.
Opposite Richman, the riverbank is open and free of obstructions, which blesses you with the opportunity to see for yourself why the Mississippi is called mighty. If you park your car to take a closer look, you’ll notice that there are no meters here or anywhere else in town. Since you don’t have to worry about a ticket, you can walk right up to the bench and sit for a spell, taking as much time as you need to slow your mind down a bit. There’s not a lot of traffic, so you’ll notice it more. You’ll turn to see every car, SUV or truck that wriggles through Riverview.
Outside, a door slams and a low voice yells, “Thanks, Jim! I think I got the right bait now.” You turn to look and see a fisherman heading toward his truck with a fishing boat behind him. The door you heard slamming was the front door of the bait store. A couple of other fishermen and a boy come out behind the first man, continuing a conversation about where there is the best chance of a fish biting. The lively discussion is friendly and lively. The twelve-year-old with them is a one-year-old son. He was quite adamant that he was old enough to choose his own fishing reel, so his proud father let him. The boy glowed and carried his reel as if it were the Holy Grail itself.
“Thank you, Harriet! I’ll check it out at another store.” You turn your head a little more and see a middle-aged woman waving from her antique store. She has just informed her customer – and friend – friend the name of another store that sells what she is looking for. That bit of information was exchanged along with news about the owner’s father, who had just had surgery, and the customer’s husband, who had finally started his yard work.
That child you hear laughing is a little girl riding her tricycle down the sidewalk a few houses away. She just turned four years old, and she loves the outdoors. Her tricycle has a tiny bell on it that she rings to signal people on the sidewalk that she is coming. But you see that no one is walking on the sidewalk, only the little girl’s mother is following her. The little girl is delightfully happy, and the mother has a peaceful expression on her face. They pass a small house from which two groups of couples are coming out.
The community enjoys home baseball games played on one of the two diamonds in the community park. Some homes around the park put nets in front of their windows during baseball season to catch the balls before they break the window panes. The nets didn’t always work. When a ball does damage one of the windows, someone courtesy can always rush to the person’s house and let them know what happened, just in case the noise doesn’t alert them first. Sometimes, however, the game has to be stopped for reasons other than broken windows – or because of the weather. Like then, a few years ago.
The game was going great. The weather was comfortable, no one overheated or tired at the beginning of the inning. The teams were evenly matched, and the fans enjoyed themselves immensely. Then, without warning, someone shouted loudly from the field: “Halt! Halt!” Frightened and curious, all eyes turned in the direction of the shout. After only a few seconds, everyone saw what had caused the glitch in the game. Satisfied, they all settled back into their benches or loungers, and the teams were silent in their seats. The possum, who had caused the alarm by suddenly appearing out of nowhere, wandered slowly, determinedly, and possum-like around the field and the ballpark, and was not disturbed by any young teammate or fan. As soon as the possum cleared the field, “Batter-rrrrrr UP!” sounded, and the game and cheering of the fans resumed.
Local news is covered in the hometown Herald-Leader newspaper and on the city’s own public access television station, which is on the other side of the paper. People in Bellevue are very proud of both. The newspaper covers high school sports events and gives both high schools space for news articles. Physically it’s a small newspaper, 11 x 17, but it contains a wealth of information, including pictures of one-year-olds on their first birthday, lots of school news about what kids are doing, and announcements about community breakfasts and dinners. . Newspaper also gets news from nearby towns that are too small to have their own publication. “The Herald-Leader” will also print “this day in” paragraphs from 100 years ago. Little has changed in the paper since then, which is both gratifying and comforting.
Bellevue TV isn’t a snob either. If you have a video and send it in, they’ll show it for you. When Austin bought his tractor, his excitement led him to videotape it and the view from the driver’s seat moving down the road. It was broadcast a few days after it was received and broadcast for a week or so for everyone in the community to enjoy. Austin’s father sells farm equipment, so if the video inspires any farmer to buy such a tractor, he could easily oblige.
There’s a train that passes through Bellevue occasionally during the day or passes through around 3 a.m. But other than that, motorized traffic is not heavy. Oh, sure, high school kids will get together and go to Wagoner’s to watch a video or play a little pool, to Hammond’s for a soda and back, or to Theisen’s car wash to wash their cars. Sometimes they stop at 2nd Street Station Pizzeria for a bite to eat or to wander outside. That’s to be expected. But so is a curfew. The children’s parents always know where they are and why, and wait for them at home on time, and they’re here.
People in Bellevue don’t usually lock all the doors. I guess once it gets over a certain limit, they have to. But for now, the door is open to friends and neighbors who might want to leave a plate of cookies, a note to say hello, or mail that was delivered to them by mistake. Neighbors keep an eye on each other’s houses and cars, investigating anything that looks wrong and checking to see if you’re okay. They’ll also make you take an hour to walk your dog around the block, because people sitting out on a warm summer night don’t mind having a friendly chat with you at the end of their long day. There are still sausage and egg breakfasts in the firehouse and regulars who eat lunch and/or dinner (called dinner there) in their favorite booth or table at the Hotel.
Bellevue has never left the era of family values, church attendance on Sundays and children taking care of their parents. It is a small town with strong roots, solid values and lifelong friendships that often originated in kindergarten.