The other day I went by the old Randolph Roudabush station, just north of the Ford garage. They are starting to tear it down. I think he built this brick building probably in the early thirties to replace a station that was there. It was a nice, two stall brick station on a busy corner of Highway 6. It is evidently going to be demolished. I was reminded of this when I saw them tearing the roof off the station and wanted to share this story. It's just some nostalgia about a small part of our town that is going to disappear in the way of progress.  I know that Steve Link Ford needs the space to put his automobiles on.
            Randolph worked hard in the filling station and made real good at it. He probably ended up owning a couple of farms and I think, no doubt, had plenty of money besides; all made there in that filling station, selling gas and fixing tires. I remember as a kid pulling in there with the folks in a Model A or Essex car or whatever we were driving at the time. Dad would always get a dollar's worth of gas. A dollar's worth was five gallon more or less. Randolph would come out and clean your windshield with the same rag he had used to check your oil, but that was alright.
           Randolph always wore coveralls, striped, but not like what you see today. He always bought them with real long pant legs and always had probably a foot of cuff on each leg. To keep his books, he just had a little account book in the station. When you got your five gallons or your dollar's worth of gas, he'd just write your name in the book and the amount. If he fixed a tire, he usually charged 50 cents for a car tire and I think a truck tire was $2.00 or $2.50.
          When I started trucking later on, I'd try to buy most of my gas from Randolph. He'd put my name and how many dollars worth of gas I got in his account book. Every month I'd go in and try to pay him. He always said, well, he'd have to go thru the book and figure it out. He'd always say, "I'll figure it out and you can pay the next time you come in." We'd go on like this for some time before I'd ever get him paid. I'd get so disgusted trying to pay him, I'd swear I'd never ask him again, he'd have to ask me for the money. But, that wouldn't work either, 'cause I don't think Randolph ever asked anybody for money. Eventually, I'd get him paid but not until I'd practically begged him to give me my bill.
          Randolph had a bad stuttering habit. One lady's husband told me about her going in to get gas. Randolph came out with his usual cheery greeting and he started stuttering. He said, "You sou..., you sou..., you sound like you got a cold." But that was one of the things about Randolph everybody knew and liked.
          For years, while he was in that station, he was Mr. Republican of Brooklyn, Iowa. There wouldn't be a politician for miles around that didn't make their headquarters there. It seemed like the Sheriff was there pretty nearly every day. George Paul was our State Representative at the time—he was there. If any Republican candidates came to town, it always was to go to Randolph's station.
         The reason wasn't because his station was so clean and neat. He had one counter that he had a few things under, but the books and price lists and everything else was on top of the counter, about 6 inches thick! You couldn't get to the top of the counter, if you tried.