As a farm wife, Mrs. Charles Vollmer probably had an easier time putting meat on the table than her big-city counterparts during World War II. A farmer didn’t need to produce a ration stamp when he slaughtered a cow or pig for his family’s consumption. Still, with many staples in short supply, even farm families looked for ways to stretch their food dollar. That’s no pork roast going into Mrs. Vollmer’s oven in the photo below – it’s the better part of a 30-pound raccoon shot by her husband, a Mankato-area farmer. The Minneapolis Tribune treated readers to a page full of photos of the overnight hunt and the beaming farm couple.
Have you ever tasted raccoon? The first edition of "Joy of Cooking," published during the Great Depression, included recipes for raccoon, squirrel and opossum. And raccoon apparently is enjoying renewed popularity as "the other dark meat" in some parts of the country. Mmmm-mm, now that's good eatin'.
|The original caption is deliciously understated: "A 30-pound raccoon prepared for baking is put into the oven by Mrs. Vollmer. A 30-pound raccoon is considered large." Other adjectives come quickly to mind. (All photos here were shot by the Tribune's Wayne Bell)|
|Original caption: "The hunting party was composed of Irving Guentzel, David Wendelshafer (with dogs), Charles Vollmer (partly hidden), Fritz Ochler and Art Bochland, all farmers near Mankato. The hunt started at 8 p.m. and lasted almost until daybreak. Five raccoons were bagged."|
|"Dogs are used by hunters, and here one has a raccoon treed. ... The raccoon is considered a valuable fur-bearing animal and can be hunted and trapped until the one-month open season closes Dec. 1." Minnesota's raccoon season now lasts nearly five months, ending in mid-March.|
|"A raccoon pelt is thrown around the shoulders of Mrs. Vollmer by her husband. An average pelt brings about $7.00. The animals are hunted almost every night, weather permitting, when they are on the prowl for food."|
More from Yesterday's News
A century ago, the Minneapolis post office hand-sorted a half-million letters a day. More than 2,000 arrived with mangled or incomplete addresses. Here's how patient specialists dealt with letters that "would baffle an expert in hieroglyphics."
On a friendly wager, a Minneapolis man set a blistering pace in the vertical portion of an unusual duathlon: an 8-mile run followed by a 75-foot chimney climb.
How many children does it take to move an old, decrepit house six miles? The answer, Minneapolitans learned back in 1896, was about 10,000.
In a United Press story published in the Minneapolis Tribune, a Yale man who probably managed to avoid frat houses during his undergrad years demonstrates that you can be right about all the facts and still come to the wrong conclusion.
This Minneapolis Tribune story is a mess. But the headline is sublime.