100 years of Roundup - 17 years of me

The Roundup Record-Tribune, the weekly newspaper from our hometown, has been taking up most of its front page for a couple of years with stories from past issues. That's because Roundup, Montana, officially turned 100 years old this year.

I've devoted a lot of time over the past year reading about things that I knew nothing about as I learned how my hometown grew from 1908 until 1959 when I was born. However, I learned a few other things from about 1959 until 1970 because I didn't really pay much attention to such things as who owned what stores, what pioneer rancher died, who was the mayor and sat on the city council, etc. So you can imagine by wonderment when finally the newspapers started to arrive with some old news that I actually recognized, like the girls who won the state golf championship in 1975. I knew those girls and went to college with a couple of them.

But sadly, the years I actually knew about, or cared about, occurred in only a couple of weeks worth of newspapers. Now the newspaper that arrives in my mailbox has jumped into the 1980s and I had left town years earlier after graduating from high school in 1977. So again I'm reading about history that I had no part of or no stake in. It's people whose names some times sound familiar but I can't seem to come up with a face for the name.

When I grew up the mayor was Hershel Robbins and the sheriff was Troy Palmer's dad. The principal was Jay Erdie and the superintendent was Bob Krogh. However, they don't last forever and new people take their place...people who I don't know.

In the final analysis, I've come to understand that very little of my life actually revolved around Roundup. Yes, I was born there, my family lived there, my cousins lived there, my grandmothers lived there and my parents lived there most -- if not all -- of their lives, but for me, it was a brief 17 years and most of that time I was too young to care about any newsworthy events.

I know once upon a time there was a clothing store in Roundup named "Who's Allen" but I can't remember ever going into it...although I suppose I did when I was a kid. I remember the Knauss dime store about as good as anything. And I remember taking Hunter's Safety classes in the basement of the Arcade from Mr. Heinle who owned the Gamble's store across the street. I remember Model grocery because it was across the street from the elementary school. Now when I look at the building, I can't believe that it was so small because it seemed so large when I was a kid.

This makes me wonder what my grandparents would have thought if they had lived to see the size of a Super Wal-Mart or Sam's Club.

I liked shopping at Model grocery because I knew the family that owned it. The Picchioni's -- from Frank Senior to Frank the third -- were all nice people. Louie, their cousin, worked behind the meat counter, and I liked him, too. I went to school with three of Louie's daughters and they were nice, too.

But alas, the store is closed. And a few remnants of the Picchioni family run the IGA store, but it's not the same. It doesn't have the "family" feel because I don't know these third and fourth generation folks. And a couple of them, I'm pretty sure, aren't really Picchioni's.

You see, I left town when I was hardly more than an adolescent. And while I returned to visit my folks, that in fact is what I did...I visited my folks. I didn't renew old friendships or strike up new ones or find out who the new mayor was -- except when it was my aunt Almeada. So now I when I read about Roundup in the '80, the '90s and the last decade, I can continue to scratch my head and ask "who are these people?"

The Roundup I knew is only recognizable in my dreams.