French Colonial influence in Illinois, Major Ezra Owen
August 22, 2009

I had no idea what a marvel the history of this area is! The French colonized along the Mississippi River beginning in 1699 with fur trading posts, began exploration in 1673 (dates courtesy of encyclopedic partner). It’s obvious there are enough historic sites in Randolph County to keep us busy for some time. We are staying at the Cahokia RV Parque (cute, ain’t it?) in the town of the same name (without the parque), but this first day were unable to resist an hour-long drive to Chester, the County seat even though we know we will need to do the drive again for further research. We will later check government records; today we perused the local library and found lots about our ancestor, Ezra Owen.

We knew he lived in Kaskaskia, a town that was washed away by a flood of the Mississippi River. In the olden days, Kaskaskia was on a peninsula between that mighty waterway and the Kaskaskia River. When it was destroyed, the neck of the peninsula disappeared, turning the land into an island and eliminating the town entirely.

We discovered that Ezra was, as always, a mover and shaker, in this case instrumental in creating the town of Blenheim, an activity that he continued later in Arkansas when he founded Collegeville and Owenville and a college. He named his sons after dignitaries he admired, in our case - James Monroe Owen. Others were Benjamin Franklin, Thomas Jefferson and Shadrack Bond (the first governor of Illinois). He held many public offices wherever he lived - Illinois was no exception - as did his sons.

The library’s genealogy collection was disorganized and odd in its holdings; nevertheless, we filled in a lot of data about the family. Undoubtedly, we will find more at the Courthouse and historical society.

Pierre Menard, penitentiary, Fort Kaskaskia, Popeye . . .
When we were finished freezing our hineys off in the library, we visited the Pierre Menard house. Menard, a Canadian from Quebec, was a wealthy merchant and trader and sometimes politician. His home and really most of the older buildings in the area reflect strong French influence in the architecture.

In Chester and other small towns here, such as Redbud, we see historic areas that are reminiscent of New Orleans’ French quarter with the attached townhomes and wrought iron balconies. It’s all very attractive and exciting, especially with learning about the history. Of course those French roots are reflected in many landmark names, such as St. Louis (we’re across the river from it), St. Genevieve, and so on, and the predominant Roman Catholic influence.

We met a swell fellow at the Menard House, a State park ranger name of Andrew. He looked at Chris so quizzically when we arrived that I thought he might have something even more untoward than his unkempt, overgrown whiskers, but no, Andrew thought Chris looked so much like a fellow ranger that he thought it might be a trick being played on him.

After our interesting tour of the house and grounds, we walked up the 181 steps that led us partway up the hill to the site of Fort Kaskaskia. Nothing remains of it except for extensive earthworks and a sign explaining how Lewis and Clark recruited men from there to join in their expedition. Andrew explained that a tree fell on the major interpretive sign.

Driving what is called the Great River Road, I find the countryside to be enchantingly beautiful. It is hilly, on the bluffs above the Mississippi, deep forests of towering trees rising above impassably thick underbrush and vines. I never tire of seeing that river from any perspective, so enjoyed crossing over and driving a bit on the Missouri-side levee, wondering what it would be like to live in one of those houses below out on the flood plain.

As we paralleled the Mississippi on a nearly-untraveled back road, we passed the Menard Penitentiary, a maximum-security prison housed in buildings that appeared to be very old and attractive in a very-old-prisoney sort of way, so natch, I wanted a pic of said facility. As we slowed and stopped, I saw a guard in a not-very-old-but-very-prisoney sort of tower take sudden notice that we had stopped immediately in front of the place and were rolling down our window and pointing an object toward them. It was at that time that I saw him also reach for and raise up an object (dare I hope it was a pair of binoculars). Photo quickly snapped, Chris gives the guard far above us a wave as if to say, “Thanks for a lovely time”, and away we zoom, unobtrusively topped by two purple kayaks and Goat Hill Music signs on the doors.

Chris is famous for his waves at folks who are mad enough to spit little red nickels, always assuming that they will know from that little flick of the fingers exactly what it is he’s doing/thinking/planning. I guess I should be happy he doesn’t indicate his thoughts with a more offensive gesture.

We saw great egrets, our first of the trip surprisingly, and a great blue heron, in addition to hundreds of cliff swallows languishing on power lines while not darting after mosquitoes.














And . . . the discovery of the day: Chester is the home of Popeye, thus studded throughout with statues of the sailor man and his fellow characters.