Rosalia’s Little Museum Has Special Appeal

You never hear it coming, the miniature Tootsie Roll that finally nails you.

One moment you’re sitting on the curb, soaking up the Saturday morning sun and making faces at a toddler named Betsy. Then, thunk.

“Sorry,” a sheepishly smiling woman marching in the Battle Days parade called out after accidentally hitting me in the head with a piece of tossed-to-the-crowd candy.

No harm. Maybe it even jogged my memory. Because the truth was, I hadn’t gone to Rosalia to watch Shriners on scooters or hear a high school marching band blat “Louie Louie.”

The town’s museum was having an open house. And a question awaited an answer. What would a museum in a place the size of Rosalia be like?

Pretty neat, it turned out.

The museum is located in the tired-looking City Hall. And shortly after the parade, people started drifting in.

A woman seated by the door called the guest book to the attention of a cluster of visitors. “Somebody from England signed it,” she said. “Last year.”

The eclectic collection is displayed in two connecting rooms. And though it’s not all that dusty and only cramped in places, it sort of reminds you of a lost-in-time attic. An attic where generations of Palouse residents saved just about everything.

Guns, a wagon wheel, a saddle, military uniforms, old school desks, a mounted bear head, vintage horse tack, bells, old saws and other tools, a vinegar barrel bung, lanterns, old cash registers, calendars, an old metal bathtub with wooden trim along the top, maps, portraits, a 1911 “Rosalia” pennant, black and white photographs, dresses, a typewriter, a crystal set radio with earphones, a jail cell, newspaper clippings, a collection of Battle Days buttons from years gone by and more.

Three boys in baseball caps and T-shirts were making quick work of their tour when one of them saw something that stopped him. “First TV in Rosalia,” he said, reading the sign.

It was an old stand-up Crosley set. The dial indicated it could receive half a dozen channels. A pair of 1949 ski boots rested on top.

“Whoa,” said the boy, still looking at the TV. “Turn that on one time and I bet there’d be so much radiation you’d go bald.”

“Wonder if this is like what my great-grandparents had,” said one of the others.

The third offered the ultimate thumbs-up. “Weird,” he said.

, DataTimes MEMO: Being There is a weekly feature that looks at gatherings in the Inland Northwest.