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About The frontier. (O'Neill City, Holt County, Neb.) 1880-1965 | View Entire Issue (June 30, 1949)
Prairieland Experiences By ROMAINE SAUNDERS Edilor-in-Chief, Diamond Jubilee Edition To a boy just transplanted from the settled society beyond the Mississippi to the rugged and sometimes rough elements of the open prairie everything held the charm of adventure. u day in Mav the native flowers touched with color the sea oi green and the wind of Spring fanned across the far-flung land scape. The only visible objects to rise out of the waving miles of grass were here and there the abode of a homestead family. The wind had blown steadily out of the South throughout the day and as night spread its dark mantle across Holt county stonn clouds gathered on the far Northwest horizon. A had ItirTd ily—my father and mother, my younger sister and I-had retired for the night in an unfinished house setting forlornly on a spot of the open prairie a few miles out from O'Neill father and mother occupied a room below, sister and I rooms above. At the stroke of 11 the storm struck out of the Northwest with raging fury. A crash and the house moved under us. We were all awak ened to what approached frightened panic. Sister and I scream ed, left our beds and hastened down stairs. The house had been moved off of the heavy timber on the Wes, sfdera wav ,„ res, on the Umber on the leaving the building leaning against the storm. Father assurea us d Would move no farther, while mother leveled up her pans of milk Tod mopped up ,he streams ,ha, had come from them now trickling down across the room. _ Storm insurance that had been secured through thcOmaha Bee provided some of the funds to set the house on a brick fou dation and otherwise put the home in liveable condition. Tha storm occurred during the first week of my kid days ,n Nebras ka. _ ___ Other storms blew out their rage upon us but after that first one we always had a good storm cellar for refuge if it seemed best to take to cov er. It was not uncommon to see the head of a homestead er emerged through the door of a storm cellar to learn if his shanty was still standing. My father had professional training but the blood of the pioneer was in hjm. He had pre ceded us to prairieland and had begun what he planned for the family future home. It reached fruition when death took him. He was laid to rest in one of the very early graves on the hill in O’Neill. Came November. The Summer had been fruit ful. The cellar was stocked with the bounties that virgin land can produce and grain and other feed provided for the stock. A barrel of fresh meat stood in the open at the Northeast corner of the house. A cold November night brought a gale out of the Northwest that upset that bar rel, rolled it across the prairie, and scattered the contents along the way. Father went forth in the morning and recovered both barrel and the meat. Life on the prairie was open handed hospitality. Cowboys stopped for water and something to eat. Winter days half-frozen settlers would stop on the way to or from town and thaw out. The custom was not to knock at the door, but ride in and give a lusty “Hello”! or fire a shot. There was a Summer night when father was away, leaving mother, sister and I at home. About midnight a wagon drove up to the house and a man shouted to awaken us. Mother got me up while she went to the door to see what was wanted. There were three men in the wagon and they wanted to put up for the night. Mother ex plained that she was alone with the children and could not keep them, but that there was a place a mile farther on that made a business of keeping travelers for the night. I made the mistake—if it was a mistake—of getting into the picture. These fellows insisted I go with them to show them the place. With boyish temerity 1 c limbed into their wagon and we wheeled away. I directed the course and when in sight of the buildings they let me out after slipping me a silver dollar. Think I ran that mile in mid night darkness back home, where 1 displayed my night s earnings. Alex Boyd was holding down a claim two miles far ther out and passed our home each morning and evening on fool. He worked as a carpen ter in O'Neill and walked the seven miles from his claim in to town and back each day. On a warm day in early Aut umn a beautiful English setter came trotting into our yard, lap ped up a drink of water, and stood eyeing us with aristocratic dignity. I spoke to him and re ceived a friendly wag of his tail in a sort of haughty way. Evi dently a hunting dog that had become separated from a party of hunters out after prairie chickens, of which there were thousands. To his ultimate un doing and my sorrow, the dog adopted us. Some weeks later, whether he got into bad com pany or something primitive from remote ancestors stirred within him, he had a part in driving off our small herd and was caught redhanded by my father chasing the cattle over the countryside. Father was a man of action rather than words. He shot the dog on the spot, and sister and I grieved for days for our haughty Eng lish friend. What sustained the home steader—most of them penni less? The virgin soil and a few cows produced an abundant table supply. My father was hir ed to teach three or four chil dren that came from a wide ra dius of homesteaders and re ceived $20 a month. 1 would be sent to town on occasion with a fat heifer for which I received $15 or $16. One load of corr sold to Dan Tohill for 22 cents a bushel. Bear in mind $10 then was equal to a hundred now. My father died on June 15. 1887. It seemed advisable as Summer faded into Autumn to move into O’Neill before Win ter. An older brother then em ployed in town secured for us the former home of the widow of Gen. John O’Neill, two blocks East of the present site of the postoffice. We had 18 acres of corn when I became afflicted with a crippled hand. Somehow, the neighboring homesteaders saw the situation and came and got that field of corn out for us. For lack of a better place it was stored in the house after we moved to town. The nearest neighbor mag nanimously offered to keep an eye on things for us. This he did by passing the word to a brother of his living some miles further on of our stor age of corn. A load of some thing like 50 bushels was taken. The following Summer that homestead home became only a memory. The house was moved into O’Neill and still stands as one of the substantial hojnes on South First street. Ed Welton I dug the basement and Hank Mills put down the well. John Triggs did the brick work and a character out on Dry Creek by the name of Mason looked after the plastering. The other build ings were torn down, taken away and the old homestead re verted to its original status as the haunt of antelope and coy ote, the playground of jackrab bit, and the holing up place of prairie dogs, rattle snakes and owls. Life on prairieland in the long ago brought joy and pain. And today I weave a wreath again to the memory of father and moth er, who had the vision to per ceive, the courage to dare and handed on to their children the heritage of the pioneer. * * * Sheriff Unarms Bronc Busier — Probably the most picturesque character that has filled the of fice of sheriff of Holt county was Ed Hershiser, who functioned as such during the Kid Wade and vigilanter days. He held a rein over lawless elements in outlying sections of the county and was a one-man police force at the county seat. Booted, belted, gun-toting broncho tamers were a part of the daily street scene. One of these gents had a span hitched to a wagon and had been pound ing them over the streets and outlying open country until the little cayuses were near exhaus tion. As they came up Fourth street they turned and stopped at the board walk just off of Douglas street. The gent got out of the wa gon and began to badger the ponies to get them going again. Not succeeding in this, he reach ed to his holster and came out with the familiar six-shooter and was about to -use it on the horses when Hershiser stepped up, took the gun away from him and made him unhitch those ponies and give them a rest. You might see Hershiser out in subzero weather without a coat. He wore a blue flannel shirt and buckskin underwear. Marcellus Implement Co. WEST O'NEILL PHONE 5 We will never realize the hardships under which the pioneers conquered this wild territory, which did not look too promising to the less observing settlers. The sturdy pioneers who settled this community—and North-Central Nebraska and Southern South Dakota—took a second look, investigated the possibilities. Sure, ** was difficult to envision what time and work could do in making this truly a 'land of milk and honey." Our pioneers were builders for the future—they were laying the foundation for those who were to come later—for you and me. We of the present day have a rich heritage. How are we going to pass it on to a future generation? To meet this challenge, every modern method of farming must be followed. The Allis-Chalmers company has long been studying this problem and leads the field in research. We would be glad to talk over your machinery and implement needs with you. and we are particularly proud of our service department which is fully-equip ped and expertly staffed. Drop in and see us anytime. 1 \ *UTHORiztol ah» 4WP <ltvict | JUBILEE EDITOR'S PARENTS .. . J. G. Saunders and his wife came to Holt county in 1883. They were parents of Romaine Saunders, Jubilee edition editor. Infant is Constance Evans. Father Smith In Action — Father Smith, one of the first if not the first pastor of St. Pat- j rick’s church, took his job of looking after the youth of his - parish seriously. The church, a : little frame building where the ; present edifice stands, and a: small house where the priest lived, were not the confines of his activity if occasion requir- | j ed. One Sunday morning some boys of the families of his congregation absented them selves from church and had the affrontity to engage in rough-and-tumble stuff less than a block from the open door of the church. The black-robed priest was aroused to action and came fonh with a rattan cane in hand, got after the boys, administered the rod over their backs and herd ed them into church. * * • The Comely Widow — Mrs. Hooker, the blonde and comely widow of Captain Hook er, who Lad been in military ser vice at the Ft. Randall post, maintained with the aid of two maids a somewhat aristocratic establishment where the resi dence of Judge and Mrs. Har rington now stands and served meals to a few choice young bloods of the town. A New Years day these pre- j tentious bachelors made formal j calls and to give it a Fifth av enue touch amid a setting of cowpunchers and pony herds I was drafted, had my face black ened and equipped with white gloves and a tony outfit carried a platter of personal cards, went the rounds with the gentlemen and took their cards to the door of each home on their list. Mrs. Hooker, regal yet haughty, cal led me a black devil. This humiliation was amply compensated by the gents in that party raising a two dollar fund for me. The short time we were on the rounds that just about matched today’s union scale. Pat McManus may recall the day, as he was one of the “young bloods.” * * * Blow from Fisi Instead of Kiss— He wore tailor-made clothes, hand-made boots—and by boots is not meant shoes—washed his face before going to the barber for a shave, walked with the air of military aristocracy but was as friendly as a month’s old pup. Everybody knew him simply as Roscoe. He had fought with Grant in the campaigns down the Mis sissippi and wore the Grand Army badge. He was never known to work and his sole oc cupation during his years in O’ Neill was to preside at the desk at the old Commercial hotel, which still stands on lower Fourth street and is now wrap ped in a cocoon of brick-roll. Among the guests for the night at the hotel was a lanky gent from the cattle range and also one of the demi-monde profession that had dropped into town on professional business. Official restrictions on per sonal conduct didn’t exist or were disregarded in a pioneer community. She arranged a date with the lanky gent who had wandered off the range, the guide at the end of the trail af ter ascending the steps was a handkerchief at the door to a room. Roscoe discovered the plot and repaired to his room, removing the handkerchief to his door and when the fellow came up to meet his engagement he got in to the wrong stall and instead of being greeted with a kiss re ceived a jolt in the jaw from Roscoe’s capable fist. * * * A Prairie Sailing Rig — B. F. Cole, an early day jew i eler, was also an inventor. Also a sodhouse homesteader in the | lush grasslands out by Amelia. Everybody got around those j days on foot, on a pony or be hind a pair of them. Mr. Cole adopted neither method. He se cured a buggy, removed the top ■ and box. built a platform and ; equipped the outfit with a sail. He took advantage of windy days and made it out to his claim with his sailing outfit and when the wind changed came back to town. * * * Youth Trained as Speakers Mrs. Adams, the c°mely and capable widow of Waldo Adams, if I remember the name cor rectly, was an active Womans Christian Temperance Union worker and was the inspiring genius that decorated a lot of rising young elocutionists of the town with those Demerest med als. It was during a period of a great temperance wave sweep ing the country and contests were held where young people displayed their speaking ability by twisting the neck of John Barleycorn. The amber fluid flowed free ly in frontier towns and what these contests did to check it was not noticeable at the time. The town, however, found it self with a lively set of the young element organized into a Good Templars Lodge. The Dem erest Medal contests drew con tinual crowds for a year or more and maybe did something beside entertaining people and giving the youth an experience on the platform. * * * A Sod House Classic — “The Little Old Sod Shanty on the Claim” became a classic of the frontier literature. In verse that was set to tune the sod house was immortalized. And down there two miles South of Inman, the Southwest quar ter of section 31, township 28, range 10, originated this crude bit of classic, the author, the homesteader, Joseph Raymond. It first came to light in the In man Index, a small four-page paper published by Cross & Son. The vivid picture, the clever rhyme at once caught the popu lar fancy and it has been some thing of a favorite in recent years with radio audiences. What Raymond got out of his production if anything no one seems to know. He was one of those patriots who left to pos terity a popular bit of jingle while he passed out in oblivion. * * * The Bakers — O’Neill has had one or more bakeries since 1884. Dan and Mrs. Connally appeared in the pioneer picture at that time out of the congested areas along the Eastern Canadian border, put up a one-room leanto on the West side of the Giddings build ing that stoo.d across the street from where the K. C. hall now stands. That particular corner at that day was the site of a ho tel. That little bakery survived for a few years. A little Swed ish gentleman came to town in 1886 and put in a pretentious affair next to The Frontier, but as pioneer women did most of their own baking, he did not last long. Barney Welton, a for mer sheriff of the county, next tried the bakery game in a small building about where the theatre now is. Then the Bentley bak ery on the opposite side of the street put the business on a firm footing in O’Neill. * * * Another Holt county pro duct dwelt on the heights of fame before his death some years ago in Minneapolis, Minn. Dr. Ross A. Gortner at tained to international recog nition in the field of science. He was born in the Gortner home in O'Neill in 1885. * # * Holt County Giant — Mike Carrol, a homesteader six miles Northeast of O’Neill, was the giant of the county. Nothing remarkable about Mike but his size, and he was a bach elor, good natured and open handed liberality. A six-foot four-inch bedstead just lacked four inches of accommodating his 6’ 8” perpendicular dimen sions. So, like grandfather's clock that "was too tall for the shelf" and "stood 90 years on the floor," Mike spread a mat and went to rest at night on the floor. Just before leaf and bud with ered and died in Kansas and Nebraska during a period of hot winds, Mike sought out a loan agent in town, mortgaged his claim for a wad, sold his cattle, loaded his stuff on a wagon and pulled out for the Missouri Ozarks. * * * Babe Unhurt by Cyclone — The last I knew of him he was living in Huron, S. D. He was alive because of a miracle in his boyhood when a cyclone swept across the old McClure ranch in Southeast Holt county when we were still pioneering on prairieland. George Majors, a ranch hand, and family lived on the lower end of the ranch. The day of the cyclone their baby was asleep on a bed. The storm opened the roof of the house just above this bed, drew the bed coverings out through the i opening but left the baby on, the bed unharmed. Another son of the Majors, Bill, has lived at Chambers for many years. • * • Words Have but Hollow Sound— On November 19, 1863, Lin coln concluded the short Get tysburg address and sat down. There was a hush. Not a hand was lifted in applause. Ap plause? That may as well follow the praying of the Lord’s pray er. Lincoln felt he had failed. As applause was presumptions on that day, a word from this generation eulogizing Jphn Mc Cafferty, Neil Brennan, John Mann, the Thompson and Mc Evony band, others who plucked the first prairie roses at a spot now called O’Neill; the able men and devoted women who came shortly after and joined in lay ing the foundation of this com munity, may now have but a hollow sound. Their remains are at rest on yonder hill. Their memory is revered by sons and daughters now greying in the shadows of life’s sunset, while those here who never knew them will be conscious of a rich her itage. * * * Throw Rotten Apples — Patrick Hagerty, an erudite young Irish gentleman turned merchant, supplied the new set tlemen clustered in shanties that was assuming the propor tions of village from a conglom erate stock of merchandise got together in a frame building where the Golden hotel now stands. Two roust-a-bout fun ctionaries, Den Hunt and my brother, Grant, were assigned the task by Mr. Hagerty of sort ing apples stored in the cellar that had started to spoil. To ex pedite the work, that is to get any work out of the boys, they were separated, one being plac ed at each end of the pile of ap ples. The fruit had been brought in at some expense from Iowa. The boys found a way to con tinue contact by throwing rot ten apples at each other. While engaged in this work Den went up into the store for a short time and when Grant saw a pair of legs start down the stairs, supposing it to be Den, let fly with a rotten apple which land ed square to the solar plexus of the boss himself. Now at four score years Den recalls the ac curacy with which those spoiled apples splattered his person. * * * Ball Game Assures Teacher — The teacher gave up and quit the school in a district just out of town because he could not manage the rough necks that dominated the school. A husky young fellow who had come to town and attended teachers’ in ititute, his only possessions be ing what he wore, blue overalls, high top boots, a shirt and hat that rested on a head of hair like a Fiji islander, learned of the situation, applied and g<$ the school. He was sold a suit ot clothes on credit by M. M. Sulli van and went f®rth to conquor or be conquered. Tension was at high pitch dntil the morning re cess, when this new teacher an nounced, “Come on, boys, let’s play ball!” That teacher, his first venture as a pedagogue, was Guy Green. He won the hearts of students and parents alike with a ball and bat. He later acquired the status of a journeyman printer and served as The Frontier’s “devil” to make a start in that direction. A ‘Nigger’ in Woodpile; Attorney Dickson Fumes Deputy Postmaster Campbell received a letter from Omaha asking for the name of any rep utable colored man in O’Neill, reported The Item 50 years ago. In the goodness of his heart, be ing anxious to accommodate, and not knowing just what color was wanted, Tom, afte!* a consultation with Harry Math ews, sent in the name of Attor ney Dickson and said nothing. Last Sunday evening Dick went to the post office, and there among other mail was a letter postmarked Omaha. He opened it and found an appeal, beseeching him, as a friend and brother, to attend a negro con vention. He read it several times and suddenly startled the crowd by howling, “Think I’m a nig ger, do they? I’ll be-”, The balance of the remarks were of such a character that we firmly decline to publish them in this moral paper, circulating as it does among the very best class of citizens, and all we can say is there was a flavor of brim stone in that locality for awhile. The Item and other friends are doing all they can to keep the matter quiet, and it is hoped the episode .and the letter Dick sent will teach the association to plainly state what color they want, whether black or red, so Tom will not make another mis- ■ take. Another World to Conquer — This is the way Jim Killoran wrote it for his paper, The Tri bune, a day in March, 1887: “Judge Kinkaid last week dis solved the marital ties which bound Rozelle Hills to her hus band, and she is now standing upon the tower of single glory wafting her sighs to heaven for another world to conquer. Both parties reside in Holt county.” Fredrickson — LIVESTOCK COMM. CO.— James G. Fredrickson, Mgr. O'Neill Phone 2 Selling Consignments Only!! AUCTION EVERY THURSDAY! Congratulations, O’NEILL! WE DOFF our hats to this fine, uprising city on the occasion of its Diamond Jubilee. We're proud to be a part of this thriving town; we're glad that with us has been vested the privilege to serve the buyer and seller alike in the greatest enterprise of them all: the live stock industry. THE FREDRICKSON LIVESTOCK COMM. CO is in its fourth year in business in O'Neill. We're new comers here in comparison to those who came when the Elkhorn valley was untamed and the vast expanses of sandhills stretched out beyond the horizon with little sign of the White Man. IN THE PAST DECADE the livestock industry has come into its own and in no small way contributes to the growth and expansion that has taken place in O'Neill. Again, Our Hats Off to O’Neill . . . Queen City of North Nebraska! 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