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!
Bonded
for
Your
Protection
