"1933 and 1934 were not good years. Dust storms and crop failures shaped the lives in Cheyenne County, and the hard times showed in the spare absence of luxury or frills. Shaded green lawns and colorful gardens were much more rare then than in later, more prosperous years. One who had not lived in St. Francis during that time would not realize the oasis that our park created.

The City Council was able to arrange for the WPA to provided workmen and federal funds to help build a park on an empty lot on Main Street. The workmen soon caught the spirit of creating beauty here, and they worked with enthusiasm and dedication. My dad volunteered to plan and supervise, and with my mother, Vivian at his side, he plotted out every archway-every detail. Dad was a small man, but he handled every large stone personally, and worked alongside the men in every phase of the job. It was a labor of love.

Elm trees already grew in the block, and trees and shrubs of many varieties were added. Great quantities of flowers were planted, so that cheerful color was planned for early and late in each growing season. The huge tree left where is stood, inside the oval amphitheater, gave a canopy for shade for a good portion of the audience seated there.

One at a time, Dad poured wet cement into a bowl-shaped mold he had devised, and formed planters and lamp posts for the gates and the entryways. The central fountain was poured on location in a mold of earth he patted in by hand. It was really a triumph of homemade construction. I tagged along to bring large goldfish from a farmer's tank, and cattails were planted in the fountain's center. Stepping-stones came toward that central fountain from four directions. The American flag, formed from concrete, used the old floor of the jailhouse for its platform. Benches were placed along the paths, each with a planned view. A sundial had the motto "I count none but sunny hours." It was long before the days of sprinkling systems, and the great areas of grass and gardens required faithful hose dragging. For that first year, as new grass appeared, Dad place little signs saying "No-no" and "Please" to encourage people to give it a chance.

In the rock garden that backed the circle of auditorium seats, a special niche was built on the southwest side, near a shaded bench. A verse calligraphically lettered by Dad was set behind plate glass, surrounded by ivy growing among the stones. My mother had selected Tennyson's lines for the small sanctuary there:

             Flower in the crannied wall, I pluck you out of the crannies
             I hold you here, root and all, in my hand.  Little flower,
             But if I could understand what you are, root and all, and all in all,
             I should know what God and man is.             

The band shell housed Boy Scout meetings inside, and the piano rolled out onto the stage whenever needed. I wish there had been colored film then, to show the rainbow that framed that tall arch, meeting at the top with a golden harp. How those wonderful acoustics were designed, I have no idea. I was six and while Dad painted four murals inside the band shell, I watched and entertained myself. Three floodlights set in stone out in front of the state had nails protruding from the concrete on top. An inventive stonemason had arranged the, thinking he would discourage the public from sitting on what might be mistaken for three little stools. Across the front of the stage were all the notes for "America".

On summer evenings, the band shell had band concerts. The City Band was made up of farmers and townspeople from the area. The operating fountain had colored lights and was lovely at night. The flowers were fragrant, and the children rolled on the lush lawn in the amphitheater circle. I was one of them. The music and the lights and the people together, made it a special time in a special place." Virginia Sawhill Galloway