Tablecloth Gave Birth to G.I. Bill of Rights: The Unusual Marks of Men

By Grover Brinkman
 Since civilization was first accredited, man has made his mark, turning a symbol, logo or caricature into a statistic. Our first Americans, the Indian, scrawled his pictographs on cliff walls; our first explorers, the breed of trappers called Mountain Men, scrawled names and dates on stone or wood, attesting he had been here. The American hobo of the Depression era was never without a piece of chalk in his pocket to mark individual homes or towns as good or bad; Western ranchers had their individual brands to prove ownership of their cattle on the open range.
 And Eugene Field, the children’s poet of St. Louis, Missouri, who often visited in southern Illinois, “made his mark” on the starched cuff of his white dress shirt. When the idea for a poem dawned, he immediately jotted down notes on his shirt cuff before he forgot, despite the lament of the woman who did his laundry. For some reason, he never carried a notebook.
The late Herman A. Kretchmar of Okawville, close friend of Field, stated that he saw this “cuff marking” many times. When an idea popped into Fields’ head, out came the pencil, and the cuff of his shirt was the slate. Field will always be remembered for his poem, “Little Boy Blue,” known worldwide.
 And if you concede these statements are odd, here’s one even more unique: the G.I. Bill of Rights was first conceived in a hotel at Salem, Illinois, when the premiere notes for the bill were jotted down on a tablecloth.
 When a group of men, all of executive level, lingered over coffee in the dining room of the American Legion Home at Salem, they jotted down the basic notes of a treatise that later developed into the G.I. Bill of Rights, using a large white tablecloth as their notepad.
 Today the G.I. Bill of Rights is law, but what became of the famous tablecloth is a mystery. Wherever it is, its value as a collectible should be high.
 This famous bill benefits all people in the military service today. On a downtown building in Salem today is a bronze plaque, showing where the famous bill was born. Here, in brief, is the intriguing story of its birth.
 According to the local media, it was routine to hold an annual dinner at the Salem Legion Post, commemorating the fact that the post had a 100% membership, an enviable record among Legion posts.
 Following this dinner, held on Nov. 4, 1943, several men lingered, seated at a round table, reminiscing. One of the men was the former Governor of Illinois, John Stelle of McLeansboro.
 Stelle mentioned that in a letter from his son, then servicing overseas, the boy had mentioned that most of the men serving in his regiment were sorely concerned about their lifestyle when they returned home. For one thing, would they have a job?
Stelle, with seven other men, all World War I veterans, lingered after the others had left, talking about veteran rehabilitation, college costs, and other subsistence the returning vets would need upon returning home.
 Stelle started jotting down notes the other men made. No one had a notebook at the moment, so the best alternative was the white linen tablecloth atop the round banquet table.
 Long hours later, when the men were ready to disburse, it was suggested that Stelle take the tablecloth home, and decipher their notes.
 It was also suggested that he formulate the notes into a plan, and present it at the coming American Legion National Executive Meeting, soon to be held in Indianapolis. It was from these same notes, scribbled on the tablecloth, that the present G.I. Bill of Rights evolved. There were many setbacks, but eventually came victory.
 Incidently, all of the eight who helped former Governor Stelle in his “tablecloth odyssey” were signally honored by the Illinois Legion. All have now passed on. The bronze plaque on the wall of the Salem Legion building is a sidewalk reminder that the G. I. Bill of Rights had its birth on Salem’s main street.
 What happened to the tablecloth with its many notes? One source contends it is in the possession of the John Stelle heirs. And that’s where it should be. Its value today as a piece of rare Americana might amaze you.
 It is presumed that the St. Louis poet, Eugene Field, and John Stelle, late Governor of Illinois, had never met personally. Yet they had one thing in common—scribbling.
 Eugene Field’s residence in St. Louis is now a museum, and no doubt some of his wardrobe is on display there.

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