Hometown pride from D.C.

By Cathy (Howard) Miller

Editor's note: the following recollections of Powell were submitted as part of the Tribune's celebration of Powell's Centennial. More information can be found here.

Powell — a small town where everyone knows you and you know them, a place to raise children, where you can feel safe. An old fashioned main street. I remember crazy days, 10-cent movies, gas at 10 cents a gallon, dragging main with my friends, white Christmases with a downtown that looks like it could have been a Rockwell painting. The smell of the town when the bean mill burned down — the sight of my grandfather racing to get to the fire station so he could fight fires. The old junior high when Mr. Langdon was the principal; Mr. Merithew, who retired after he and I had an altercation; Mr. Gonion who changed grades and classes every year his son did and I managed to get him every year for either math or science.

Francie Cozzens, who locked me in the post office one night when I was out way too late, leaving me to explain to Mr. Duram why I was there the next morning when he opened up. I spent the better part of my adolescence and teen years walking from one end of town to the other several times a day. One day a friend and I even walked to Elk Basin to see her dad for his birthday.
Growing up in a simpler time and place — the best time of my life.

Powell has a past a little checkered at times, but still better than most places. Powell has a future, and I see great things for the town of Powell ... I hope it stays small and friendly. I no longer live in Powell, but there isn't a day goes by that I don't think about the town I grew up in or tell my grandchildren about the town I came from. I tell them about my friends growing up and about the schools. I tell them about the main street that is only three blocks long and the stores don't stay open 'til 10 p.m., but the things they can do there that they can't do here would astound them. See, we live outside the metro D.C. area, and you don't let your kids outside here without being with them. The oldest grandchild is 9 and has never been out without adult supervision here. Powell was a great place to grow up in the '50s and '60s, and I'm proud to say Powell is my hometown.