Chris Jepson: For me, it will always be Sioux

“Let us be grateful to the people who make us happy; they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom.” – Marcel Proust

When I was a younger man I would rattle-off an inane little bromide about life that went, “I’ve places to go, things to do and people to meet.” This would be uttered if the party (life) slowed to a pace I perceived as insufficiently stimulating. We want it all . . . this moment. I’m more at a point in my life when it is: this moment . . . that is all. Ah, nuance.

Place, too, is something for which to be grateful. It, too, makes our souls blossom. I was fortunate to have grown-up in Iowa in the 1950s and ’60s. Sioux City, to be specific, was my Garden of Eden. My ancestors (great uncles George and William, and grandfather Christian Jepson) arrived there in the 1880s and were quickly established. My grandfather was a state legislator who oversaw the revision of the Iowa state legal code in 1906 and then practiced under it for the next 40 years. At one time, there was a Sioux City law firm of Jepson, Sifford, Jepson, Jepson & Jepson. Sifford was a son-in-law.

I was the last Jepson born (save my nephew, Aaron) in Sioux City. My hometown was a gift. From the age 12 on, the only real restriction I had was to be home for dinner at 6 o’clock sharp.

Sioux City sits alongside the Missouri River in the northwest corner of the state. Railroads crisscross the city and from nearly anywhere in town you can hear the trains at all hours coupling. From junior high on I was hopping freight trains out of town, jumping-off miles away and hitchhiking back. Omaha was just a 100-mile hop away. I’d meet harmless, homeless, toothless friendly bums who recounted marvelous stories of WWII.

There were two bridges and a pipeline crossing the Missouri River into Nebraska and I jumped off all three, nearly dying (drowning) because I stupidly jumped-off the railroad bridge on the wrong side (up-river) and got sucked under the pilings and only survived because I was such a strong swimmer (thank you, Mother). My best friend watched from above and did not think I would surface. We laughed. I was chastened, not to quit jumping but to leap smarter.

Sioux City had a sweet little downtown with miles of alleys of backdoors, and I tried every one. The police picked me up six times in three years for harmless activities (well, I considered them so) and because of family connections nothing much came of any of it. By age 16, I wised up after my father one 2 a.m. morning pointedly asked me, as the police left my front porch, “When are you going to learn?” The proverbial light switch was pulled. Thank you, Father.

Sioux City had three theaters downtown and inevitably I saw free movies two times a week. You’d buy underage alcohol in Nebraska at Antlers and extraordinary fireworks in South Dakota. There were huge, abandoned meat packing plants to explore. Sioux City, once-upon-a-time, was the third largest stockyards in America. There were weekly dances in the municipal auditorium (Iowa girls are the loveliest), and I attended a high school of near mythological proportions.

Each of us is molded by his/her environment. This Thanksgiving take a moment and remember where it all began for you and be grateful.