Pillar of Salt Discovered on Commercial Street.

Pillar of salt extending over Commercial street

Last month, a work crew digging up the old storm sewers on Commercial Street uncovered a pillar of salt, about the size and shape of an adult human female.

The contractor contacted the city and concerned C-Street business owners. If this turned out to be some kind of a bog person, it would have to be properly buried, or perhaps placed in a decent museum. One business owner said, “I can vaguely remember hearing a story when I was a kid about a lady who was turned to salt, but I can’t remember where I heard it, or how it happened.”  Others agreed. They wanted to learn more about it.

They decided to call in a team of forensic scientists.  But due to the sequester in Washington there were no federal grants available, and the only scientists they could afford were all-but-the-dissertation cultural anthropologists. These men and women had sat through enough seminars and had read enough academic material to cure an insomniac, but none of them had completed a dissertation to earn a PHD yet. And none of them would admit to ever hearing a story about a woman becoming salt, so they were eager to study this salt pillar to complete their academic credentials.

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They searched the archives of the local newspapers and magazines and couldn’t find any reference to it.  There were no known stories among the native tribes who once lived here, or among those who passed through here on the Trail of Tears.  They went through Vance Randolph’s books and papers on Ozarks folklore without finding salt pillars. The classics professors at the local universities were puzzled. Lots of ancient Greeks were turned into interesting things but not salt. One professor said, “read Ovid sometime. It’s lots of fun when you’re not worried about getting a grade.”

And there were no salt marshes around here. Even the Boone family had to travel 175 miles north of here to get salt. But the enterprising Boones wouldn’t have hauled back a bog lady from that distance without mentioning it to somebody.

Finally, an old fellow sitting under the old Jefferson Avenue foot bridge spoke up. “I’ve heard some good stories around here. Back in the day, this street was bustling with gas stations, saloons, railroad crews, cattle buyers, and ladies who entertained those gentlemen from out of town, if you know what I mean. When prohibition came, the street took it real hard. Then later, things got worse when the railroad switched from steam to diesel, and even moved most of their yard activity two miles west. So one story goes that one of the last ladies who entertained around here looked back as she was leaving, and was turned into salt. But I have observed events on this street for many years, and I can tell you where your pillar of salt really came from.  It was left over from the street clearing effort after the great ice storm of ought seven. They pushed a big pile of ice up Boonville until they got to Commercial Street and combined it with the ice here. I’ve never seen the city use so much salt for one Winter storm.”

Another old timer spoke up. “You fellows need to go back to school. I know how hard things are for you scholarly types in a bad economy, but you can’t build an academic career on salt pillars. Sometimes a pillar of salt is just salt.”

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